Barr na Maidine greeting on St. Patrick’s Day

If you are not sure about the title, it is Irish for "top of the morning!" Today, is St. Patrick's' day and if you have Irish ancestry, I will add, " Erin Go Bragh" For those not Irish, it means, "Ireland till the end of time." I did some research on good old St. Patty and the biggest section was entitled, "Myths."

There were a few myths that surround St. Patty that create a sense of unbelief. Many think of the things that Jesus did, as myths. A myth is a story about someone who did remarkable things and legends are drawn up, making the person greater still, in our minds.

We do not believe in myths, by and large, and yet within the story, there is always a sense of truth. The same goes for St. Patrick. He wasn't even Irish! He was born to a wealthy family, in what was then, Roman Britain. He was kidnapped by Irish marauders and taken to Ireland, as a slave. There, he become a

shepherd at the age of 16. It was at this stage in his life, that faith began to evolve within him. He escaped and went back to Britain and found the call to head back to Ireland, to spread the faith.

Myths depict Patrick using the three leaf clover or shamrock to teach the people about the Trinity and he was said to have rid Ireland of snakes.

Well, there were no snakes in Ireland, since the land is very cold and next to the ocean and cold-blooded animals would not have lived long there.

In reality, this story, is about him ridding Ireland of pagans. We always dress up in green for the day, but in reality, green had already been taken and so the original colour for the movement, was blue! Patrick was never canonized by the Church, even though he became the patron saint of Ireland.

Other tales continue to be told, especially after a few pints of green beer! But, there is a modicum of truth in these stories, as he did bring Christianity to Ireland back in the fifth century.

As we venture through a time of Lent, we challenge the stories of our own lives. I read about old age being a time when the memory is shorter, but the stories get longer. I am afraid that I fall within that category.

Whenever I head back to Toronto to see my siblings and we begin to tell stories of our youth, I am often confronted with the phrase, "that's not how it happened." I may have erred in the telling, but boy was the story exciting!

As we move through our faith journey, sometimes the stories get embellished, but within them all, there is a truth that is important. Our hyperbole doesn't change the truth found within.

We wonder if all the amazing things that Jesus did, in his lifetime, really happened or not. Well, we have witnesses, in the disciples who some would say were biased, but we also have historians like Josephus, a Roman who chronicles Jesus' activities, in his writings. How unbiased can one be?

And as we approach the Easter season, the stories seem even more mythical. Yet, there is truth within the stories. We know that Jesus was real and that he died. Josephus recounts that time, as do the disciples and others, whom Jesus helped over the years.

Did the disciples believe Mary when she told them about seeing the risen Christ? Scripture says that they didn't remember the words Jesus spoke about this time. Probably not, but they ran to see for themselves.

Did they believe when they met him again, after his death and resurrection, along the Sea of Galilee? Yes, they did. Do you? By the look of our half empty churches, I would have to say, no. And yet, people are changed everyday by the power of Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

I will tell you a story. I had to do a funeral for some friends, people my age, who died in a horrible traffic accident in Pleasant Bay. Two couples lost their lives, leaving behind a couple of children.

I had married one of the couples, baptized their children, went fishing with the others and

now, they were dead. I cried, but I had a job to do. I went to the wake and offered my sympathies, but no one spoke.

The families sat opposite of each, no one uttering a sound. I said my prayer at the end and everyone got up and walked out into the dark, in silence. I went home, sat at my typewriter and prayed, "God help me. I've got to do their funeral and it has to be good." I stared at an empty page till 2 a.m.

The next day, again the wake, but this time, I was angry with God and I prayed in that spirit. Shock was etched over everyone's faces as I prayed. I don't think they had ever heard language like that from their minister. But it was how everyone felt. I said, "Amen." No one moved.

Then everyone stood up and turned toward each other and hugged and cried. I went home, again sitting in front of my typewriter. Nothing. At 3 a.m. I felt the urge to go down and I sat, my fingers whirling over the keys.

Next morning, I officiated at the funeral. When it was over, everyone was in awe of what happened in that little church.

They were filled with peace and hope. I looked at the words again and discovered that I did not write that funeral. I write the way I speak, but there were thoughts and phrases in that service, that I have never used, within the funeral. I have kept it for I believe the Holy Spirit of God, wrote that service. God was with me.

Is it true? Go to Church. Feel the embrace of God around you. Open your heart and mind and soul to the Holy Spirit. And you will be changed.

We will hear the story of resurrection on Easter morn. Is it a myth? Not if you speak to those who follow Jesus and whose lives are renewed. It will be a new day for you. It will be a new life for you. And it is true. You will know it! On that day, look to your friends and strangers and say, "Barr na Maidine - Top of the morning to you, friend." And may God bless you all.