Croagh Patrick & Confession 46

Therefore I should give unceasing thanks to God, for He has often been forgiving of my carelessness and stupidity.  

The Confession of St. Patrick, #46


Last year, I explained why St. Patrick is my homeboy. He still is. And I’m still smitten by the Irish and in love with the people whose speech sounds like a song. And every St. Patrick’s Day every Irishman (and woman) goes out to find another Irishman to make a speech to, said Shane Leslie. 

Here am I. 

Because I can’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day without thinking of Croagh Patrick and I can’t think of Croagh Patrick without thinking of what happened on that holiest of Irish mountains. But my memories climbing “Patrick’s Stack” are a wee bit tainted by a real tragedy.

Which should come as no surprise, Irish daughter of Eve such as I am. W.B. Yeats said the Irish had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustains them through temporary periods of joy.

I share that sense. But I’m not Irish Catholic and I don’t share their long iceberg of guilt. I go back with Patrick and rest in God’s forgiveness. More on that in a minute. 

Back to the tragedy. The one in blue there on the left might have been flanked by two at St. Patrick’s summit. But the third sister didn’t arrive because of selfish, stupid me.  

What happened at Ireland’s Holy Mountain will stay on that mountain. Suffice it to say, it did not involve a shove of treachery on the high mountain scree. 

But there could have been three. There were two because I stole a mountaintop memory from one.

And godly grief produced repentance that lead to salvation without regret. Mostly. Salvation and forgiveness and grace for sure. 

But still a twinge of regret. Because when we met, as the sun set behind the sacred mountain, her blue eyes were wet. And I knew we couldn’t re-do

Dingle Peninsula and Gallarus Oratory and so many more roads to travel in two last days. Then home. And it’s not an easy pilgrimage to repeat, being from across the sea. 

I couldn’t get over or under or around the truth that my stupid sin got in her way. So, as much as I wanted a do-over, a pilgrimage for all three, grace had to be enough

And it was. It always is. 

So don’t worry. Don’t be Irish that way, you know, worried that you don’t have something to worry about. Sister three assured me she can laugh about it now. Which is quite her gift to me


A day will come when joy prevails, even over regret and tears and tragedy. It will all be swallowed up in victory. The Lamb will reign and in his presence will be fullness of joy. Complete and utter joy, untainted by carelessness and selfishness and just plain stupidity. 

St. Patrick’s day is bittersweet. And that’s okay. Because bitter reminds me of my Lord’s scars, wounds borne for sinners such as I, and sweet for God’s forgiving grace. It’s the air we sisters breathe.

When I asked the sister who didn’t summit if I could post this today, she said, Sure-just don’t be too heavy. Make ’em laugh. There’s grace.” 
I don’t know if I’ve succeeded with that. But onward and upward. Joyfully pressing on through Croagh Patrick and beyond.
I pray I tread as Patrick trod, by grace and with unceasing thanks to God who has been forgiving of my selfishness and stupidity.  
If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, O LORD, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.

Psalm 130:3-4

2 thoughts on “Croagh Patrick & Confession 46

  1. Abigail says:

    God be exalted! Thank you, Jackie, for taking your precious time to read what I peddle and pump. This one has been taking shape since that day on the mountain, but it needed some settling time.

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