ST. PATRICK
Sower of Light in Ireland
by Jennaya Dunlap

What Really Happened During the Middle Ages
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Irish
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MAPS by
Knowledge Quest, Inc.
© 2005 Terri Johnson

ST. PATRICK
Sower of Light in Ireland
By Jennaya Dunlap
The Land of Bondage
Northern Ireland, around 432AD
atrick’s heartbeat quickened to the pace of
his feet as every step took him closer to the
palisade in Dalriada, Ireland. Memories,
now nearly forty years old, of slavery under
Miliucc, the cruel chieftain king who ruled the
region, came back to him as he trod along the wooded trail. He
had escaped long ago, and now he was coming back to buy his
freedom, so he could walk the land a truly free man.
“What will they do to you?” Benen lifted anxious eyes
to search Patrick’s troubled face. This youthful son of another
Irish chieftain was a new convert to Christianity, eager and
loyal, but none of the trials that he had seen since he had joined
Patrick could compare to the one that was coming.
“Be not afraid, Benen.” Patrick put his arm around the
1

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youth’s shoulders as they walked. “God is with us and will
protect us. This must be done in order for the Lord’s work to be
carried out unhindered.”
Still, fearful thoughts pressed into his own mind. They
could kill you, Patrick. You are an escaped slaveby law you can be
put to death. This is pure foolishness.
The palisade was in view as they came out of the
clearing. Patrick’s heart pounded like the Irish war drums.
Benen sung the words of the Lord’s Prayer softly beside him,
his voice shaky. Patrick drowned his thoughts in prayer— God
had delivered them before and he prayed He would do it again.
As they approached the gates of the palisade, a strong
odor of smoke met their noses. “Patrick, look! Smoke!” Benen
halted and pointed, grabbing Patrick’s attention. “It’s coming
from the center of the palisade! What could this mean?”
Patrick lifted his eyes and saw thick black smoke rising
from Miliucc’s fortress. Orange flames leapt from the walls,
consuming them quickly. Bewildered, he stopped a young Irish
slave who was fleeing from the fire. “What is the meaning of
this fire?” he asked urgently.
“Master Miliucc heard that a former slave of his was
coming, and he was afraid, and has gathered his possessions
into his house with him and lit it on fire.”
“But why?” Patrick’s voice revealed his shock at the
news.
“Because he heard that the slave was coming to convert
him to his God,” the slave told him, quivering. He turned and
ran toward the woods.
“He could not bear to be converted, even in his old

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
15
age. He would rather die than be subjected to Christ’s ways.”
Patrick watched, dazed, as the flames licked at Miliucc’s futile
earthly glory. As the choking, black smoke drifted toward
them, he fell to his knees, shaken. What was God showing
him now? His mind went back to that time so many years ago,
when he first became a slave….
From Wealth to Slavery
Slemish Mountain, Northern Ireland, around 395AD
The sheep wandered about the beautiful green hillside,
grazing on the lush Irish grass. Patrick sat on the damp ground,
his staff lying beside him. His stomach was in a constant
turmoil from hunger and thirst, and the cold mountain air
aggravated the pain of the beating the head herdsman had
given him recently. It would be weeks now before he could
collect provisions down in the village.
Could it have been so few months ago that the sixteen-
year-old youth had sat at his father’s banquet table in Somerset
of Roman Britain, dressed in finery and enjoying his parents’
wealthy position? He had grown up wealthy, with little
restraint, the son of a civil magistrate and tax collector. His
grandfather had taught him about Christianity, but he had
never taken it seriously.
All the pain of the past months came back as the
memories flooded him. The Irish raiders’ boats, closing in to
the shore, the fire, killing and destruction that had suddenly
surrounded him as the warriors, armed with spears and

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helmets, tore through the town, now unprotected since the
Roman legions had fled the land...
Patrick could vividly remember the pounding in his
heart as he ran through the streets, followed closely by his
pagan pursuers. They were faster than he was, and soon he
was bound with ropes and forced onto a waiting boat. He had
known even then what awaited him in Ireland— slavery and all
the horrors and drudgery that came with it.
He cringed even now, to think of the terrible treatment
he had gotten on the way to the Irish shores, and on the journey
to the northern kingdom of the cruel, warlike chieftain, Miliucc.
He had been used to a life of ease and comfort, to the disdain
and anger of the herdsman in whose charge he had been put.
Many a time would Patrick be beaten for doing a job wrong or
carelessly.
I deserve this, he had told himself. I have sinned against God
and rejected His ways. The admonishing words of his Christian
grandfather came to his mind in his despair, and he cried out
to God aloud. “O Lord God, help me! Help me to repent and
to follow Your ways! Give me strength in this hour of trials!
Listen to my plea, O God!”
He had lain awake that night, under the stars, deep in
prayer, as a new hope and faith came over him.
During the six long years of slavery that followed, he
was beaten and mistreated as much as ever, but he found great
solace in his walk with God. Throughout the cold days, spent
with his sheep in the mountains, he prayed for hours at a time.
He got up long before daybreak, even in the worst of weather,
to continue praying and meditating on what he had learned.

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
17
One night, six years after the beginning of his
enslavement, he had just gone to sleep on the mist-covered hill
where he had been conversing with his Savior.
Patrick! His eyes flew open as he heard his name called
in the darkness. He waited in silence for a moment, but nothing
happened, and he drifted back to sleep. Patrick! The voice was
distinct and urgent. As Patrick opened his eyes once more, a
picture passed before his eyes— a ship sailing the open waters.
Come and see, for your ship is ready for you, the voice spoke clearly.
He sat up straight and threw off his tattered cloak. This
was the second vision telling him to return home. Perhaps it
was now time to make his escape. He hurried up the path to
the top of the hill, looking out over the quiet valley, and here he
kneeled to pray, under the vast spread of the night sky.
The high, sweet call of a bird, fluttering about nearby,
brought Patrick out of a light slumber with a start. He had
fallen asleep, still on his knees. He stood for a moment in the
pre-dawn cool, watching as the first streaks of light colored
the distant horizon. In his heart he prayed still, asking for
guidance. The first rays of sun shone on his face, lighting up the
drops of dew on the grass. Go now— it is time. The moment had
come.
Patrick quickly found his staff and the ragged bag of
provisions that he had collected only yesterday, and he turned
to leave.
The Escape
Days of travel wearied Patrick, but the visions God had

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given him came back to his mind to renew his courage. He
crossed the mountains, avoiding roads and civilized areas lest
he be discovered and recaptured. Mile after mile fell behind
him, and at last he could smell the salt in the air. Gulls flew
about above him with their mournful cries. He had reached the
sea at last.
Dogs barked in the distance as Patrick approached the
port. He pushed back his wind-whipped hair to catch a glimpse
of the trading ship that was preparing to sail. His heart jumped,
for it was the same ship he had seen so clearly in his vision! If
he had had any doubts before that God’s hand was guiding
him, he entertained them no longer.
The excitement inside him grew as he drew nearer to the
ship. The sailors busily tied up Irish hounds to carry onboard,
to trade when the ship arrived in Britain. Two men looked
up as Patrick came toward them, and one hurried to bring the
captain.
The captain, a gruff man with wild hair pulled back in
a sailor-style knot, stepped forward as Patrick reached them.
“What is it you want, youth?” he asked roughly.
Patrick felt his heart pounding, but he spoke boldly. “My
God has shown me in a vision that I am to go on this ship to
Britain.”
The captain and the sailors exchanged knowing looks
and burst into laughter. “What will you pay us?” the captain
demanded.
“I have the fare for passage, right here.”
“But we do not want you or your God to get on this ship.
You’ll have to go elsewhere.” The other sailors laughed roughly

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
19
again.
“But God has shown me that I must go on this ship,”
Patrick answered calmly. “I’ll kneel over there and pray for a
while, to see if He will change your minds.” With this he strode
some distance away and knelt by a rock, as the waves moved in
and out around him.
You led me to this ship, O Lord. I know you won’t fail me now.
You can change the minds of these men. Renewed confidence filled
his heart as he prayed. Perhaps he should approach them once
again to request passage. If this was God’s plan, he could face
the jeering and taunting.
Footsteps sounded in the shifting sand behind him. A
sailor called out to him, several feet away. “The captain says
we’ll take you anyway. Hurry now— the tide is coming in.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Patrick said aloud as he followed the
sailor back toward the ship. He boarded the ship in haste and
was relieved when it set out quickly, for now there was no time
for the men to change their minds.
For three days the ship traveled on the sea, blown by
the gale that greeted them from further out. Patrick helped the
sailors with their work but spent his free time in a solitary place,
deep in prayer, while the pagan sailors drank and mocked him
and his love for Christ. The captain particularly disdained his
faith and mocked him mercilessly.
On the third day they had reached land, but it was
not the English port at which they had intended to pull in.
Wilderness covered the shoreline for as far as Patrick could see.
As they pulled the boat to shore on a sandy ledge, the
sailors exchanged frightened looks. “We’ve landed in Gaul,”

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one of them said. “Now we’ll never reach Britain.”
The men explored along the shore, looking for signs of
civilization, but it was isolated and thickly forested, without a
sign of other humans. The supplies on the ship grew scarce as
days turned into weeks. The hungry sailors scoured the land
for food, but with little success.
One morning, as they gathered wood to make a fire
by the small shelter they had built, Patrick, as was his habit,
retreated to the woods to pray. As the sun lit up the shore in
dazzling orange light, he walked back toward the shelter. Even
from a distance he could see the captain coming toward him.
His face held the same cruel, taunting look, but it was
now mixed with anxiety and desperation. He stepped in front
of Patrick. “What have you to say for yourself now, Christian?
You boast that your God is all-powerful. We’re starving to
death, and we may not survive to sail back home.”
“Nothing is impossible with God,” Patrick answered
him calmly. “Turn your heart to Him, and He will provide us
with food for our journey.” With this he knelt down again and
beseeched God to bring them food.
He could still feel the sailors’ disdainful glares as he
stepped over to the fire to warm himself, but they were silent.
There was no food, and the men, weakened from the lack of it,
spent the morning close to the fire, arguing among themselves.
Patrick stood up and turned to face the men.
“Before noon you will have food in great bounty. The
Lord will have mercy on you.” No one spoke, and for a
moment the only sound was the crackling of the logs and the
crashing of the waves on the nearby shore.

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
21
Patrick turned and walked toward the beach to spend
some quiet time with God. The sun was nearly at its highest
when he returned, with peace in his heart and renewed strength
and confidence. He stepped quietly into the camp and sat
down.
“Where is the food you promised?” a sailor asked. “Did
your God give it to you at the beach?” A few laughed, but most
of the men remained sober.
Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but a loud and
continuous grunting grabbed the men’s attention. Large
numbers of pigs rushed down the hill from the woods, covering
the path thickly and blocking the way into the forest. The
sailors jumped up, grabbing their spears with joy.
Evening came, and the men were still busy. In spite of
the abundance of food, they ate comparatively little, and even
the amount they stored seemed little to Patrick. Much of the
meat they sacrificed, burning it to honor their pagan gods.
Patrick felt God’s anger at the men for their ungratefulness, and
he retreated to a dark corner of the ship to pray, while the men
loaded it again.
Beckoned to Return
Patrick tossed about on his bed, unable to sleep in spite
of his weariness. His mind went over the travels of the last
year, before he had arrived again on British shores. He had
returned to his relatives and received a royal welcome. They
had thrown a feast for him and heaped gifts upon him, yet
somehow he did not feel content. He spent much time in prayer

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and now in reading the Bible, but God had not yet shown him
what He wanted.
One night he drifted off to sleep at last, tired from
another day of poring over his books, trying to make up for lost
learning. A voice called his name, as clearly as in the vision in
Ireland. Patrick! Patrick!
Before his eyes, he could see the people of Ireland,
yearning for hope and light. A young man stepped forward
from among them, carrying letters, as if from many of these
people. One of these opened before him, so he could see the
words on the page. “I am the voice of Ireland,” it read. One
person and another, and then everyone, cried out to him. “We
beseech thee, holy youth, to return and walk among us again.”
Tears flowed from his eyes, and he woke before he could
read any further. He sat up, choked with emotion and tears.
For hours he could not control them, and he prayed to God as
he lay awake, begging Him to show him what His plans were.
Early in the morning he opened his books to study, but
he could not bring himself to it. The words in the vision passed
through his mind over and over, disturbing him greatly. He
went through the day as if in a daze, and he was glad when
night fell and he could rest.
As he slept, he again saw the Irish people, begging him
to come among them again. He could hear their pleas, but he
could not understand the words they spoke. Above it another
voice spoke. “He that has laid down His life for thee, it is He
that speaketh in thee.”
He awoke with the words still flowing through his
mind. A certainty came over him and he knew now that he

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
23
must return to Ireland. Out his window, he could hear the
first morning birds. He sat down by it and reached for the
Scriptures on his table.
Easter on Tara Hill
The wind stirred up Patrick’s unkempt hair as he stood
on the deck and gazed at the distant shore, still only a light
speck on the far horizon. The ship rocked on the high waves as
he held to the slimy rails. Ireland, at last, after so many years of
waiting!
He had gone to a monastery in the town of Auxerre to
study for the priesthood, not long after he had had his vision.
But church politics had held him back from his calling for so
long. Nearly forty years had passed since he had last set foot
in the land where he had spent six years in slavery, and now he
returned as a bishop.
Patrick met with opposition from the druids and
chieftains nearly as soon as he set foot on Irish shores at the
mouth of the Slaney River. The first man who showed interest
in turning to Christianity committed suicide, and several times,
for months at a time, druids and chieftains imprisoned him. The
man who had been sent before him to be the bishop of Ireland
had fled in terror, but Patrick stood his ground.
Benen, a chief’s son, was one of his first converts. He
listened with rapt attention as Patrick shared the message of the
Gospel. When he had finished, Benen asked one question after
another.
The next morning, as the sun rose slowly above the


St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
25
horizon, spreading the sky with glorious colors, Patrick got up
and awakened his companions, saying it was time to continue
on their journey.
As they walked past the crude dwellings toward the hills
beyond, Benen rushed toward them, his face alight in the dawn
glow. He fell to his knees at Patrick’s feet.
“Please allow me to come with you, Patrick, so I can learn
more about this wonderful Jesus you told us about last night,”
he begged. “I want to serve Him, like you do.”
Patrick looked at him seriously. “If you come with us
you will face the same trials as we do. I will be able to spare
you nothing of the hardships that may await us.”
“You say that your God protects those who follow Him,”
Benen answered. “I’m not afraid — please let me come with
you.”
As he was talking to Patrick, the chief and other
important men came and urged him to stay, lest his life be
endangered. Benen refused and replied, “Nothing will sever
me from this man whom God has chosen. I believe God wants
me to go with him.”
Patrick looked at the chieftain. “Allow him to have
his way. He shall be heir to my sacred mission.” At last the
chieftain consented, and Benen set out with Patrick.
He became one of the most faithful Irish Christians, and
he used his special gift for music to teach hymns and Psalms to
new believers.
After discovering that Miliucc had committed suicide,
Patrick headed toward Tara, where Loiguire, the high king,
ruled, surrounded by his best druids. He arrived shortly before

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the night of the pagan Easter festival, when the high king
annually lit a big bonfire and declared that light had returned to
the earth at his command.
On that night, shortly before it came time for the king to
light his bonfire, Patrick and his men gathered on a hill within
sight of Tara and gathered wood to build their own bonfire in
God’s name. With trembling fingers, Patrick lit a torch and
held it next to the heap of logs. In moments, flames caught onto
the logs and spread, leaping high in the moonless sky. Benen
started into a hymn, and soon they had joined hands around the
bonfire, singing about Christ’s resurrection.
In the palisade in Tara, King Loiguire raised the torch
his druid handed to him, preparing to light the pagan bonfire.
“Look,” someone shouted, pointing toward the hill in the
distance. “Another bonfire! Someone has already lit the first
Easter bonfire!”
The king trembled with fear. Who would dare to defy
the ancient pagan customs of the land? He called together his
druid advisors, and one of them stepped forward with terror
on his face. “O king, live forever. The prophecies of old times
warn that if the fire is not put out this very night, it will spread
throughout this land, and our traditions will be destroyed by
the man who lit it and his coming kingdom.”
“Never!” The king’s face blackened with rage. “Prepare
me twenty-seven chariots and gather all my druids and
warriors together! We must confront and destroy this man!”
The horses, hitched to the chariots, tore through the Irish
countryside, toward the hill where Patrick and his men added
more logs to the fire, still singing. Patrick stood up, his heart

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27
trembling within him as he turned to face the angry men. His
companions hung back in terror, all except Benen, who stood by
his teacher’s side.
Lochru, the king’s highest druid, stepped forward to
demand that Patrick put out the fire. His evil eyes were filled
with hate as he insulted Patrick and his faith. Patrick waited
calmly as arrogant words were tossed upon him, but when
Lochru heaped slanderous insults on his precious Lord, he
stepped forward, anger warming his heart.
His eyes, gleaming with God’s light and presence, met
the druid’s in a steady gaze. Forgetting his fears, he shouted
out in a powerful voice, “O Lord, You can do all things, and
You have sent me here to spread Your Word. May this evil man
who blasphemes You and Your Holy Name be picked up and
die through Your power!”
He stood in silence, surprised by his own boldness.
Suddenly, Lochru was catapulted in the air and fell back onto
the ground with great force. A warrior bent over him. “He’s
dead!” he shouted.
The king glared angrily at Patrick. “Seize him and kill
him!” he cried out, pointing. Fearfully, the warriors turned
toward Patrick.
The boldness in Patrick’s heart did not die out. “May
God arise and His enemies be scattered!” he declared.
Confusion and chaos followed, as the earth began to shake.
Horses spooked and galloped away, leaving the king’s men
stranded as the chariots twisted and broke.
The king trembled as he fell to his knees, his eyes filled
with a mixture of anger and fear. His men knelt too, while

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Patrick thanked God aloud for His deliverance.
King Loiguire never did become a Christian, but his
opposition slowly died out as his fear of God’s power grew.
Several of his sons and daughters and some of his men were
converted, however, and the way opened for Patrick’s work.
Missionary to the Irish
Ireland at that time was made up of many small
kingdoms, each with its own king or chieftain, for towns did
not yet exist in the country. They fiercely guarded their pagan
ways and were hostile to Patrick’s missionary efforts. Some of
the kings were converted and often the people in the kingdom
followed suit, but this was not always the case. Those who
became Christians sometimes allowed their sons to travel with
him, to be taught by him, in honor of an ancient custom. He
usually brought gifts to the kings, in return for the freedom to
spread the Gospel in their lands.
One day he was traveling on a lonely road in one of these
kingdoms, having paid the king in full. Benen was with him,
and so were many other people, some of them converts and
others asking eager questions about Christianity. They pulled
with them a cart with all their belongings.
Suddenly, a thunder of hoofbeats pounded toward them
on the road behind them. The travelers turned to look, and
their hearts thumped with horror. The king’s warriors were
approaching speedily on horseback, armed with spears and
other weapons. The king himself rode between them.

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
29
Some of the people who were with Patrick fled, but he
and his faithful companions stood fearlessly on the road. The
horses snorted and reared as they were pulled to a stop nearby,
and the warriors jumped off, their spears drawn.
“What is it you want with me?” Patrick confronted the
king in a calm, clear voice. “I have paid all that you asked for,
and you granted me your consent to start a mission in this
kingdom.”
“I changed my mind — you came to destroy our old
ways and replace them with your worthless religion!” the king
shouted. He turned to his warriors. “Seize this man and his
companions, and kill them.”
The warriors grabbed Patrick’s arms and held them in an
iron grip, preparing to kill him. Patrick cried out aloud to God.
“Oh my God, You have created this earth and everything in it.
Save us in this hour of death, for You have shown me that You
have more for me to do on earth.”
The king’s bloodshot eyes filled with rage, but the hands
that held his reins trembled. At his orders, the armed men
seized hold of the cart and took the bags from the travelers’
shoulders, making off with them. Patrick’s arms and legs
were tied back and bound with iron, along with those of his
companions. They were dragged to a dark jailhouse near the
king’s dwelling.
Patrick fell to his knees in the darkness. He thanked God
for his life and beseeched Him to guard over them still and help
them to be freed.
He spent two weeks in prison before some dear friends,
probably Irish converts, convinced the king to let him and his

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men go. Patrick stepped into the sunlight again and thanked
God for His intervention, as he looked around once more at
the rich green hills of his adopted country. His belongings
were returned, and, once more, he gathered his friends and
companions and went on his way.
God blessed him and prospered his mission, and many
hardworking Irish in kingdoms all over turned to Christ.
Patrick baptized them and continued to teach them. When he
had made many converts in one kingdom, he left a trusted Irish
Christian in charge of teaching and helping them and went on
to the next province or kingdom.
Remembering the miserable years of his own slavery,
he fought against the slave trade in Ireland and eventually
succeeded in abolishing it entirely, but not before many long
years of perseverance. He was the first known person to speak
out against slavery, at a time when almost no one saw anything
wrong with the cruel practice.
Little did he know that the next slaveholders he would
confront would be not from Ireland, but from Wales, another
part of the British Isles.
Coroticus
Hoofbeats clattered on loose rocks in the Irish hills
beyond the site of the new church, where new converts were
at work raising the stone walls and preparing to lay the rafters.
Patrick set down the heavy stones he had in his arms, turning
to see what the other men were watching. The rider tore
toward them at a frenzied speed, his head bent forward with

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
31
concentration.
Patrick hurried down the hill with a pounding heart. It
could only be bad tidings that this man, a young priest whom
he had discipled for years, from a nearby coastal kingdom, had
come to convey. He offered a steadying hand as the man slid
from the horse’s bare back, sweating and out of breath.
“What brings you here, brother?” Patrick asked
anxiously, offering the man water from the heavy jug.
“Terrible—terrible news,” the man gasped out between
heavy breaths.
“Tell me, what has happened?”
“A Welsh warlord, Coroticus, and his men— they raided
our kingdom as I was conducting baptisms for new converts.”
He paused, his eyes full of anguish and anger. “They have
killed so many of our men, and they have taken the women and
children as slaves. I escaped, and so did a few others, but they
have wrought so much death and destruction!”
“How dare they do such an evil deed— and they call
themselves Christians. They blaspheme against God’s Name!
Where have they gone?”
“Back toward the coast,” the priest told him. “Patrick, we
must do something! We cannot let them get away with this!”
Patrick fell to his knees and prayed aloud. He wept
openly about the vicious attack on these new children of God.
What should he do? As he prayed, suddenly he knew what
must be done.
“Take several of my trusted presbyters with you, and go
after them. Beseech them to let these converts go, and report to
me what they say. May God be with you and help your words

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32
to prevail.”
It was not long before they returned, weary and
frustrated. Coroticus and his men had only jeered at the
presbyters and did not listen to their pleas. Patrick went
into the house where he was staying and wrote a letter of
excommunication to Coroticus and the men who had carried
out his cruel orders, so that no Christians would associate with
them.
The letter explained what they had done in patient detail,
condemning it with great indignation. Even though he was
the bishop of Ireland, and not of Wales, he felt that it was the
only way to prevent more such raids, but it caused resentment
among the people who read it in Britain.
Rest at Last
By the year 457AD, Patrick had worked among the Irish
for twenty-five years. We don’t know exactly how old he was
by then, but he was probably somewhere in his seventies. Tired
and worn-out, he returned to Downpatrick, the place where he
had first arrived on Irish shores, so many years ago, and there
he lived for the last few years of his life.
He died on March 17, around 460AD, though the exact
year of his death is still disputed. The Ireland he saw when he
first arrived there as a slave and the country it was at the time of
his death were vastly different.
Christianity now had a firm hold on the Irish nation.
Patrick had founded 300 churches in kingdoms across the
country and brought more than 120,000 people to Christ. Irish

St. Patrick, Sower of Light in Ireland
33
slavery had ended, and so had human sacrifices, and women
and the very poor were no longer so downtrodden. And
the writings from Europe that he had preserved survived
throughout the Dark Ages, when much of the wisdom people
had gained up to that time was lost in this time of hardship and
ignorance.
Seeing all that he had accomplished, it is easy to
understand why Ireland still cherishes him in memory,
celebrating St. Patrick’s Day on March 17th every year in honor
of him.
About the author:
Jennaya Rose Dunlap wrote this story at
the age of 15. Jennaya, now 16, is home
schooled and the editor of a magazine for
home schooled girls, ages 8 to 18, Roses In
God’s Garden, published by LightHome
Ministries, www.lighthome.net. She
is also the author of Against All Odds, a
researched historical novel set in World
War II Poland under Nazi occupation, published as a serial
story in her magazine. Jennaya enjoys writing and researching,
drawing, singing, playing violin, horseback riding, and
discovering Eastern European folk songs on the Internet. She
enjoys spending time with her family on their acre beside a
meadow with a mountain view, in California.