Nevertheless, He Persisted…

A pirate vaulted the fence and knocked him to the ground. Young Maewyn struggled back up, but froze when a sword poked his neck. He swallowed and tried not to cry. A trickle of blood pooled on his throat. “What do you want?” he stammered.

The looming face laughed as he grabbed the teenager’s shirt and hauled him to his feet. The powerful hand spun him around, laid the sword across the boy’s shoulder, and pushed him toward a half-dozen others already bunched. They bound each prisoner’s hands, then tied the group into a single file.

Maewyn couldn’t understand a word. Not Latin. Not any local tongue either. The pirates bickered, jerking looks in every direction. Some motioned back up the hill. Others shook their heads and pointed down. The leader pondered. Plunder was easier now. The rumors must be true. The accursed Romans were finally gone from Britiania! But what if…? Not worth the risk. He bellowed a command. The raiders obeyed, barked more orders and herded their captives downhill. Maewyn stole a frantic glance back up the hill. No rescue came as the last border of his home, the Succat estate, disappeared beyond the trees.

They ran for hours. Arms ached. Bloody knees throbbed from falls over roots and rocks. Suddenly, he smelled the sea! It overpowered the stench of sweat and fear as they surged out of the trees onto a narrow beach wedged between rocky cliffs. A long boat waited, it’s stern rising and falling in surf’s edge. The pirates forced the trussed prisoner tangle up over the gunwales then let them drop down into a heap in the bottom of the open hull. Some crewmen sprang to oars. Others pushed the boat into the surf then leapt aboard, grabbed more oars, and pulled together at the captain’s cadence. The wind hit as they cleared the narrows. Someone hoisted a sail and the boat surged forward. Maewyn’s heart sank. They had to be Celts. He knew then there’d be no demand for a ransom his father could pay, would willingly pay. No, this meant only one thing. Slavery.

Days at sea gave way to another fettered march up another muddy hill that led to a muddy marketplace in a muddy village. He stood on a platform most of the gray day, unable to move out of the rain dripping off the tree onto his head and down his back. The curious mocked, poked and pinched him. Others ogled a healthy 16-year-old boy. And a few serious buyers paused. Finally, a tall, angular man with long braids stopped for a second look. He haggled with the pirate leader, jerked Maewyn off the platform, then motioned for him to follow. His new owner stopped after a dozen steps. He turned, pulled out a small knife and laid it against the boy’s neck. An eyebrow lifted above his glare delivered the message: “Run and you die.”

Maewyn learned the Celtic language and culture while he herded sheep on the wild Irish hills. He endured most nights cold, wet, hungry, and despairing for life itself. Oddly, longing dreams of home comforts gave way to memories of his parents speaking about somebody called Jesus who supposedly rose from the dead. He’d always thought all that god stuff—Roman, pagan, Christian, whatever kind—was nonsense. But now he wondered. Maybe…?

He finally surrendered to Christ, but slavery’s harsh reality knocked him down again. So, he prayed. Cold gripped him, so he prayed. Fear paralyzed him, so he prayed. Hunger gut-punched him, so he prayed. Loneliness sapped him, so he prayed. Resignation tempted him, so he prayed. Then, after six years of captivity, he heard a voice telling him he would return home soon and that his ship was ready.

One day, a vexing sheep bolted away from the herd and dashed off into the wilderness. “I’m already late, Lord. I don’t need this. Help me!” he cried aloud. He didn’t want another beating so he chased it down a long, narrow draw. Suddenly, he realized he was alone. No one could see him! He made an instant decision and kept running. No food. No water. Nothing. But this was as good a chance for freedom as he’d ever get. Somehow, the Lord would make a way. Even where there was no way.

Two hundred grueling miles later, he reached a small port. He persuaded a boat captain to take him aboard and landed in England three days later. A small group left the boat with him only to wander in a wilderness, becoming faint with hunger. He urged them to put their faith in Christ and prayed for the Lord’s help. Shortly afterwards they came upon some wild boars and ate again. He reached home twenty-eight days after landing and credited Christ both with preserving his life and for his miraculous deliverance from slavery.

After a few years at home again, he had a vision. He described it saying:

“I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: “The Voice of the Irish.” As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea—and they cried out, as with one voice: “We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.”

He accepted the calling and wanted to leave immediately. But the Lord led him to a monastery to prepare. Fifteen years later the Church finally ordained him as a priest and gave him the name Patricius—Patrick in modern English—and sent him to the land of his captors in western Ireland around the year 432.

His position as a foreigner caused him many problems. He operated outside the usual bonds of kinship and patronage. And, only a smattering of the Celts embraced Christianity. Most were pagans who opposed Patrick. He often faced death, but the Lord spared him as he led many to Christ. He said during those days:

“Daily I expect to be murdered or betrayed or reduced to slavery if the occasion arises. But I fear nothing, because of the promises of heaven.”

His influence grew, and he baptized thousands, eventually reaching his former captors. A network of Christian communities and monasteries emerged from his teaching and leadership. In the decades after his death they spread throughout Europe. They became the guardians of knowledge and learning in the chaotic years after the fall of Rome by establishing libraries and schools that honored Christ. Many historians claim their efforts saved civilization from centuries more darkness.

Patrick never quit because his central life focus was: