a Sermon for St. Patrick’s Day

Text: Matthew 28:16-20

Please pray with me.  G-D of Hope and Wonder, as we come together here in this community of similar traditions, gathered in hope and anticipation, we ask that you help us see your joy and love for us.  Amen.

A long time ago, along the northwest coast of Britain, there was a young man who was kidnapped.  One day, Irish slave-traders stole him from his family.  He was taken to Ireland and forced to work in the fields as a shepherd, a grueling and difficult job.  For five years, this young man lived apart from his family, far from home.

I’d like to know how Patrick escaped; how he returned home to Britain.  I’d love to know what he was thinking about, how he felt: those mixed emotions and anxieties about being reunited with his family.  Five years of love pouring out of his parents as they saw him again; perhaps running out to meet him as the father greets the younger prodigal son.  Rich material.  It sounds like the source for a motion picture; or at least the plot for a procedural crime drama on CBS.

This is the early story of St. Patrick, the individual most of us will celebrate by wearing green, and many of us will toast with a beer tonight—the victim of kidnapping who was pressed into slavery.  What is most remarkable, though, is what Patrick does with his life.  He seeks holy orders and becomes a presbyter and later, a bishop.  And then he does the unimaginable—he goes back to Ireland and serves a region close to his place of captivity.  It is there that he continues some of the most remarkable ministry in history, sharing the gospel with people in their local context.  He meets the people where they are at.  Perhaps the best way to describe Patrick’s ministry is that he was adaptive to his environment.

I am struck by what seems to me to be a herculean ability to overcome his past—a history that clearly gave direction and influence to his ministry.  In other words, how was he able to not only go back to the place of his persecution, but minister to them, share his life with them, and devote himself to their welfare?  Would any of us do that?

In a modern day case of this, we might diagnose Patrick with Stockholm Syndrome—the way a captive or hostage will sometimes grow close to his or her captors and may even protect or defend them.  Or we might see the way in which he replaced holy places throughout Ireland and made them Christian as a later-day conquering of the backwards people that stole his life—as a sort of theological vigilante.  Both of these interpretations are plausible, but all things being considered…fairly unsatisfying.  No, I think the really shocking reason is love.  Love for G-D and for all of his neighbors.  In fact, he packed up and moved to find neighbors that needed his love.

Just as difficult for us to deal with as Patrick’s past is our gospel lesson: the Great Commission.  This text was chosen by the church to reflect with the Saint: that taken together, Patrick and the Great Commission can tell us something about the nature of the Triune god, named as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  What is funny is that several of us were talking about the Great Commission last week at the lunch at Central Baptist.  We talked about how external focused we can be—to the detriment of our spiritual center and our relationship with G-D.

We might be sorely tempted to take this gospel, the last words in Matthew, as free rein, to go out willfully and destructively dismantling other cultures and practices.  Because some of our Christian predecessors have.  We could read in it an invitation to dominate our own world, subjecting the people to our interpretation of G-D’s law, like modern day Pharisees.  Because some of our Christian predecessors have.  We could use this saying of Jesus’s as justification for teaching our way as the highway.  Because some of our Christian predecessors have.  But not all of them.  Not even most of them.  Most of them looked at the Great Commission and saw three powerful suggestions: 1) make disciples, 2) baptize them, and 3) teach them the ways…in that order.

What Patrick understood, just as many do today, was that Jesus spoke not of conversion to a religion or developing an Irish theocracy, but to go to where the people are and make disciples.  To find people willing to be students…who would learn from a teacher, then join the community, and finally would embody the principles of the community.  And one day, they would seek disciples.

It may be difficult to see in St. Patrick’s Day festivities this Biblical directive.  It seems so thoroughly secular.  It seems so tied to nation and genetic identity.  It seems so like pointless revelry—an excuse to get together and party.  We might begin to wonder if we’ve learned anything from Jesus and Patrick.  The truth is that this is a spiritual day.  As good liturgists, we clothe ourselves in celebratory garb, preparing to gather in community to share in the presence of Jesus—wherever two or three are gathered.  This day is full of tradition and longing for community: it is about celebrating together joyfully and exuberantly.  Just because no one is likely to stand in the middle of the bar and read the gospel doesn’t mean the gathering is any less holy.

Patrick, Jesus, and even the guy in the bar down the street are motivated today by love.  Love for G-D and creation.  Love of friends and strangers and even enemies.  Love for community gathered.  And in all, it is about expressing that love exuberantly and joyfully, even in the middle of this otherwise solemn season of Lent.   In a few minutes, we’ll be getting together to eat and share and celebrate this amazing day.  I think we ought to make some noise in there.

May the G-D that created us and continues to inspire us be the G-D of our greatest joy.  Amen.