St. Patrick’s Breastplate and the terrors of mid-Lent

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.

Well, here we are in mid-March and mid-Lent and once again I am renewing my annual quest to memorize the Lorica of St. Patrick, in its fullness.

The effort is not confined to the season; in fits and starts I work at it during the year, but the task is always re-embraced in these dreary days when the weather goes fickle, and spring’s arrival seems like a trickster’s promise. Easter looks so far off, right now, because our Lenten practices — begun with such a sense of adventure and optimism — have begun to feel like a muddy slog through the hell of ourselves, full of faceplants and failures.

It happens to all of us, and good writers and preachers remind us that failure is the whole point of Lent; its value comes in realizing that we are powerless to advance spiritually under our own steam. Indeed, to feel triumph in Lent is to do it badly, inviting in temptations to pride and self-deceit as we forget that the grace of God, alone, is responsible for any small measure of perfection we may possess.

However, the letdowns of Lent are not why I light candles and intone the Lorica at this time of year. My Scots/Irish heritage certainly honors Patrick, but the long prayer of protection attributed to this great bishop and evangelizer feels most urgently needed when Lent becomes terrifying, which is why I wrap it around myself like the breastplate it is.

Mid-Lenten alarums are nothing so picayune as slacking off of a day’s prayer, or forgetting a fast, or taking a pass when asked for our loose change. They come, instead, as we stumble through our seasonal desert intent on salvaging what spiritual gains we can in these last few weeks.

Suddenly we find ourselves facing temptors of memory or imagination who seem resolved to disorient us and keep drifting amidst the winds and the sands. That is when we realize that yes, there are things seen and unseen, and the unseen things are actually “hiding in plain sight” but rendered invisible by our distracted inattention.

“I summon today,” the Lorica goes, “All these powers between me and those evils, against every cruel and merciless power that may oppose my body and soul.”

Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul …

It all sounds pretty archaic, doesn’t it? And we moderns think we’re too sophisticated to believe in wizards and supernatural folderol.

Yet we know that such darkness still exists and is, in fact, all around us. Think of the abundance of witchy, occultic programming produced by Netflix and other commercial outlets.

Consider that every day there are terribly troubled people — many of whom are conditioned to think of supernaturalism as mere entertainment, and have no idea what real and malevolent entities they’ve engaged — who call upon these negative forces to influence others in their lives, or in the wider world.

Examine the grimoires and books of incantations readily available through Amazon and your public library. Recall the stop sign so familiar that you pay no heed to the goat’s head drawn over it. Talk to any priest about the Ouija board you played with as a kid. Or, engage briefly with the Epstein files.

Aye, St. Patrick might advise, such darkness is still and always with us, looking easy and glamorous as it sucks us into the black and whirling vortexes of sin. The battle between light and dark still continues all round us, and invites us in.

And then he might lead us in praying the most famous part of his Lorica:

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength…

Angels, ministers of grace, be with us these last weeks.

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