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Teachings from the Ancient Celts: Bravery and Courage

Teachings from the Ancient Celts: Bravery and Courage

In this post Christian author Mark Fisher looks at the attribute of bravery and courage among the ancient Irish Celts and how this trait helped St. Patrick in his mission to the ancient Irish.

St. Patrick’s Bravery

In his book, How the Irish Saved Civilization, Thomas Cahill  writes:

“We can also be sure that the Irish found Patrick admirable according to their own highest standards: his courage—his refusal to be afraid of them—would have impressed them immediately; and, as his mission lengthened into years and came to be seen clearly as a lifetime commitment, his steadfast loyalty and supernatural generosity must have moved them deeply. For he had transmuted their pagan virtues of loyalty, courage, and generosity into the Christian equivalents of faith, hope, and charity.”

Courage in the Face of Danger

Courage. Bravery in the face of personal danger. These were things the Irish highly valued. When Patrick approached the Irish, he was a Roman entering a foreign culture. For years before he escaped back to England, he’d lived among them as a slave. So he knew the Irish and their ways. But bringing the gospel to such a people was dangerous. The only ones who could safely travel the lands between the Irish kingdoms were druids, poets, bards, and the nobility. And no doubt the latter traveled with an armed escort. Between the kingdoms roamed bandits. So when Patrick appeared before the clan leaders speaking of a new God, he risked capture, slavery, and even death.

His Enemies—The Druids and Some Princes

One of his enemies was the druid class. When they heard Patrick’s message of the one God, they knew instantly this Christian religion brought trouble. Weren’t the spirits of the druids in the forests, rivers, lakes, and streams? Did they not exist in their mythical ancestors with names like the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha Dé Danann? And they were not also in the gods Danu, the earth mother, Manannán mac Lir, god of the sea and the Otherworld, and in Lugh, god of many things? Their gods were fickle, dark, and ever demanding. Patrick’s one God—and a God who loved!—threatened all this. More than once they tried to poison him.

Another enemy, at times, was the nobility of the regions. To a region mired in ancient tradition, Patrick brought change, and change was always threatening. Once, the princes of a region even beat him.

Yet he walked into this danger without hesitation. He preached his message of salvation for all with bravery and courage. And for this most of the Irish gave him admiration and an audience.

A Warrior of a Different Kind

For wasn’t it courage that upheld the warrior when he went into battle against his foe? When the raiders came, trying to steal cattle, grain, or women, the Irish went out to meet them with swords and spears held high and a battle cry on their lips. To go into battle was to admit that you might, at any moment, go into the next life. A fierce warrior, unafraid of death, was a feared and respected combatant. Thus was Patrick. He was a warrior of a different kind, fighting a spiritual, not an earthly enemy. And for this, the Irish greatly respected him.


Mark is the author of The Bonfires of Beltane, a novel of Christian historical fiction set in ancient, Celetic Ireland at the time of St. Patrick. To learn more about his book, click on the link.

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St. Patrick’s Easter Surprise on Beltane Eve

St. Patrick’s Easter Surprise on Beltane Eve

In this post, Christian author Mark Fisher recounts St. Patrick’s Easter surprise on the Hill of Slane on Beltane eve. Thus did he break the druids’ taboo and end their reign over King Lóeghaire of Tara.

The Beltane Taboo

Many are the legends and stories of St. Patrick. Some are myth. But others are certainly true. What follows is a fictionalized account of what might have happened on Beltane eve. This retelling is through the eyes of Coll, one of Patrick’s followers. It’s based on my novel of Christian historical fiction, The Bonfires of Beltane.


Coll’s Account of the Events on Beltane Eve — An Easter Surprise, Indeed

What can I say about Beltane eve that has not already been whispered to astonished ears around cooking fires or repeated to stunned men over flagons of ale? I witnessed the events myself. I was a follower of Patrick’s. I heard him speak the inspiration that broke the druids’ taboo and ended their reign. And I was there when the chief druid, Ohran, incited the mob against us. Thus do I tell my tale.

Among Tara’s ancient traditions there was a taboo related to Beltane eve, the night on which the spirits of the Otherworld leave their dark realms and walk the earth. To celebrate that night, of course, we used to light bonfires on hilltops all across the land. But in Tara, the druids had long taught that if ever anyone in the realm lit a bonfire before the king’s, the reign would end.

Our small band of followers had only recently arrived in Tara. Patrick’s goal was to bring the gospel to yet another pagan land. Earlier on the trail, we’d met Fedelm and Eithne, King Lóeghaire’s daughters. Then and there, they converted to the Christian faith. This news greatly displeased the king, in whom ancient tradition had congealed like dried blood. The chief druid, Ohran, also met us with stony glares and harsh words. And when he realized the danger we posed to his worship of the dark spirits, he threw threats against us like daggers.

Days later, God sent Patrick a dream which saved us all from a fiery death. Patrick woke us in the middle of the night, ushering us from the hut with all haste. Later, the entire village watched as flames engulfed the thatch and lit up the night. When Ohran saw us standing alive across the yard, his tiny dark eyes bored into us as if stares alone could kill. Then we knew the arson was of his making.

The Hill of Slane

The next day, we set up camp on the Hill of Slane, a good ten miles from Tara, where Patrick proceeded to preach and gather converts.

As Beltane approached, Patrick thought it might be close to Easter. “Let us use the occasion,” he said, “to celebrate instead the death and resurrection of Christ.” This, of course, was in direct opposition to the druids’ pagan ceremony.

At Patrick’s instruction, we worked all day, chopping and mounding a great pile of timbers on the hilltop. Much to my puzzlement, we also collected a torch for each of the two hundred souls committed to the work.

Evening came with great anticipation. When night had barely blackened the land, Patrick lit flame to the pile. At the same time, we looked toward Tara. The hill was dark.  Patrick’s blaze had gone first into the night. The taboo was broken.

Ten miles separated us from the Rath na Ríogh, Tara’s Fort of Kings, and we knew it would be a while before anything happened. We waited, breathless, while Patrick prayed. What occurred next, I learned later from a believer in town.

The Bonfire That Went First Into the Night

The druids saw the bonfire first. Ohran confronted Lóeghaire, and within earshot of many, warned that our fire  must be put out that very night. “Or,” he shouted, “their flame will become a blaze that will ignite your entire kingdom.”

The king was aghast. He ordered men to collect weapons and ride to Slane. “Put out that fire!” he ordered. “Then kill every last man and woman who lit it.” But as Ohran left to gather a throng, the king said he feared his own daughters would be among the slaughtered. Later, we learned he drank himself stocious with mead in his rooms.

Ohran gave a fiery speech before a great crowd, filling them with revenge and malice. The enraged mob rode the distance to our hill and dismounted below us.

From our vantage on the hilltop, we saw the grim-faced men begin to climb, bearing swords, sickles, and knives. At Patrick’s orders, we had brought not a single weapon to the fight. “We must trust only in God,” he’d said.

The End of the Fight

We gathered for a short prayer then lit the two hundred torches we’d made earlier. We ran to the ridge overlooking the slope, held the flames high, and, as Patrick had commanded, we shouted seven times, “Halleluiah! Gloria Deo Christus!”

What happened next was astonishing. The advancing throng paused, looked up the hill, and halted. Some began dropping torches and weapons. Others began running toward the trail. Horses reared and followed. Then the whole mob broke and ran in panicked flight back to Tara.

We stared, dumbfounded. What they’d seen, of course, was not a rag-tag group of believers from the village standing with torches on the hilltop. Nay, they beheld instead a grand army of God’s angelic host, bearing swords of light, covered with blazing armor, blowing trumpets that shook the ground with thunder and drove fear into every heart. They saw a vision from God, sent to protect Patrick’s mission of converting a people lost to pagan spiritual darkness.

Aye, my friends, the  night belonged to God. And that is what happened on Easter eve in the land of Tara. And I was there to see it.


Mark is the  author of The Bonfires of Beltane, a novel of  Christian historical fiction set in ancient Celtic Ireland at the time of St. Patrick. The preceding story comes to you condensed from that book. To learn more about his book, click on the link.

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St. Patrick’s Disastrous Baptism of King Aengus at the Rock of Cashel

St. Patrick’s Disastrous Baptism of King Aengus at the Rock of Cashel

In this post, Christian author Mark Fisher brings to life the story of St. Patrick’s disastrous baptism of King Aengus at the Rock of Cashel.

Many are the legends surrounding the life of St. Patrick. Are they all true? Most probably not. Some, like his supposed banishment of snakes from the island, are clearly fiction. Ireland never had any snakes. But others, like the story I am about to tell, could well have come to pass in one form or another. It occurred at the ancient Celtic center called the Rock of Cashel

Let us now go back to AD 450 and look in on a baptismal ceremony told through the eyes of a certain Finnean mac Eoran, cleric in training to the great evangelist Patrick from Roman Britain…


Patrick at the Rock of Cashel

How grand and jubilant did the day begin! What honor and glory this ceremony would bring to our Lord! And how little did I know what a surprise events would bring!

Rock of Cashel Today

For two months, I had been with Patrick at Cashel in southern Munster. King Aengus himself had requested my master come and preach to him. Aengus had heard of Patrick’s miracles of healing and how he’d smitten the idol of Crom Cruach in the north, breaking it to pieces with his crozier. So he wanted to hear about Jesu and the God of Light from the lips of the great man, himself.

Patrick’s teaching to the king was plain and straight-forward. The king pondered Patrick’s story of the Son of God, and, after some questions and discussion, agreed to the ceremony.

Thus did we stand in the courtyard of the king’s rath under cloudy skies, surrounded by a colorful retinue. From miles around came the Rí Tuatha, these kings of clans with their sons and subordinates. Everyone wore their best. Striped leggings of finest wool. Bright plaid tunics. Artfully crafted brass brooches. And more silver and gold torcs hanging from necks than I’d ever seen.

Before the ceremony, the king himself gave a short speech, enjoining the company to follow him. And as I glanced over the assembled, I saw many eager nodding heads. I had no idea of the disaster that would soon change their minds.

A Royal Baptism

Then came the event itself. The king had insisted he be baptized inside his rath on Cashel Rock, not down in a forest stream where we usually performed such rites. “Let history know,” he’d said, “that it was in this place I sought my Savior.” To accommodate his wishes, we’d ordered a hole dug in the square, whose sides and bottom servants lined with flat rocks, then filled with water. It was a baptismal fount fit for a king.

Dressed in loose flowing tunics, Patrick and the king stood before the fount. Patrick bore his favorite crozier and gripped its hooked handle, embedded with jade and emeralds. Its pointed spike dug into the earth beside him.

“Do you believe in God the Father Almighty?” boomed Patrick’s voice of authority.

“I believe,” said the king.

“Christ Jesu was born of a virgin called Mary. He was murdered by Pontius Pilate, the ruler of distant Palestine. He died, was buried, and on the third day rose again, alive from the dead. Then he ascended into heaven where even now he sits at the right hand of God the Father. Do you believe this, Aengus, King of Cashel, Ruler of Munster?”

“I believe.”

“And do you believe Christ Jesu is the Son of God?”

“I believe,” responded the king.

The Clonmacnoise Crozier

Then Disaster Struck

And so it went. It was proceeding well—until disaster struck. Patrick had reached the end, and as he prayed, he closed his eyes. Then he did something that even today, as I write these words, I shake my head with disbelief and horror, while at the same time, I struggle to suppress my laughter. What did Patrick do? In the middle of his prayer, he lifted his crozier high and brought it down. Hard. Sending the spike through the center of King Aengus’s foot.

The king stifled a cry of pain. Patrick kept on praying. I heard the crunch, opened my eyes, and looked with drooping jaw at the king’s foot as it bled profusely. But Aengus, stoic that he was, kept silent.

Patrick finished his prayer, passed the crozier to me, and stepped into the water up to his chest. Only then did he notice the king’s wound. What did Patrick do next? For some moments, he stared at the damage. Then, as if nothing had happened, he lifted his eyes to Aengus and beckoned him enter the water. The king doffed his tunic. Naked, Aengus limped into the water where Patrick baptized him.

To this day, Patrick never said a word about the event. The king thought it was all part of the ceremony—this stabbing of the foot—and merely went along with the procedure. Unfortunately, we received no further requests for baptisms that day. All those previously eager souls were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until weeks later that I and my fellow clerics, after much quiet convincing, brought half the king’s court down to a forest stream, where Patrick dunked them—with their feet intact.

And that ends my tale of the baptism of King Aengus at the Rock of Cashel.


Mark is the author of The Bonfires of Beltane, a novel of Christian historical fiction set in ancient, Celtic Ireland in the time of St. Patrick. To learn more about his book, click on the link.