An
extract from the “History of the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century”
by J. H. Merle d’Aubigné (1794-1872)
On the picturesque banks of the
Clyde, not far from
Glasgow, in the
Christian village
of Bonavern, now Kilpatrick,
a little boy, of tender heart, lively temperament, and indefatigable
activity, passed the earlier days of his life. He was born about the year
372 A. D., of a British family, and was named Succat.1
His
father, Calpurnius, deacon of the church of Bonavern, a simple-hearted pious
man, and his mother, Conchessa, sister to the celebrated Martin, archbishop
of Tours,2
and a woman superior to the majority of her sex, had
endeavoured to instil into his heart the doctrines of Christianity; but
Succat did not understand them. He was fond of pleasure, and delighted to be
the leader of his youthful companions. In the midst of his frivolities, he
committed a serious fault.
Some few years later, his parents
having quitted
Scotland
and settled in Armorica
(Bretagne), a terrible
calamity befell them. One day as Succat was playing near the seashore with
two of his sisters, some Irish pirates, commanded by O’ Neal, carried them
all three off to their boats, and sold them in Ireland to the petty
chieftain of some pagan clan. Succat was sent into the fields to keep swine.3
It was while alone in these solitary pastures, without priest and without
temple, that the young slave called to mind the divine lessons which his
pious mother had so often read to him. The fault which he had committed
pressed heavily night and day upon his soul: he groaned in heart, and wept.
He turned repenting towards that meek Saviour of whom Conchessa had so often
spoken; he fell at His knees in that heathen land, and imagined he felt the
arms of a father uplifting the prodigal son. Succat was then born from on
high, but by an agent so spiritual, so internal, that he knew not “whence
it cometh or whither it goeth.” The gospel was written with the finger of
God on the tablets of his heart. “I was sixteen years old,” said he,
“and knew not the true God; but in that strange land the Lord opened my
unbelieving eyes, and, although late, I called my sins to mind, and was
converted with my whole heart to the Lord my God, who regarded my low
estate, had pity on my youth and ignorance, and consoled me as a father
consoles his children.”4
Such words as these from the lips
of a swineherd in the green pastures of
Ireland
set clearly
before us the Christianity which in the fourth and fifth centuries converted
many souls in the
British Isles. In after-years,
Rome
established the
dominion of the priest and salvation by forms, independently of the
dispositions of the heart; but the primitive religion of these celebrated
islands was that living Christianity whose substance is the grace of Jesus
Christ, and whose power is the grace of the Holy Ghost. The herdsman from
the banks of the Clyde
was then
undergoing those experiences which so many evangelical Christians in those
countries have subsequently undergone. “The love of God increased more and
more in me,” said he, “with faith and the fear of His name. The Spirit
urged me to such a degree that I poured forth as many as a hundred prayers
in one day. And even during the night, in the forests and on the mountains
where I kept my flock, the rain, the snow, and frost, and sufferings which I
endured, excited me to seek after God. At that time, I felt not the
indifference which now I feel: the Spirit fermented in my heart.”5
Evangelical faith even then existed in the British islands in the person of
this slave, and of some few Christians born again, like him, from on high.
Twice a captive and twice
rescued, Succat, after returning to his family, felt an irresistible appeal
in his heart. It was his duty to carry the gospel to those Irish pagans
among whom he had found Jesus Christ. His parents and his friends
endeavoured in vain to detain him; the same ardent desire pursued him in his
dreams. During the silent watches of the night he fancied he heard voices
calling to him from the dark forests of Erin: “Come, holy child, and walk
once more among us.” He awoke in tears, his breast filled with the keenest
emotion.6 He tore himself from the arms of his parents, and
rushed forth – not as heretofore with his playfellows, when he would climb
the summit of some lofty hill – but with a heart full of charity in
Christ. He departed: “It was not done of my own strength,” said he;
“it was God who overcame all.”
Succat, afterwards known as Saint
Patrick, and to which name, as to that of St Peter and other servants of
God, many superstitions have been attached, returned to Ireland, but without
visiting Rome, as an historian of the twelfth century has asserted.7
Ever active, prompt, and ingenious, he collected the pagan tribes in the
fields by beat of drum, and then narrated to them in their own tongue the
history of the Son of God. Erelong his simple recitals exercised a divine
power over their rude hearts, and many souls were converted, not by external
sacraments or by the worship of images, but by the preaching of the word of
God. The son of a chieftain, whom Patrick calls Benignus, learnt from him to
proclaim the Gospel, and was destined to succeed him. The court bard,
Dubrach Mac Valubair, no longer sang druidical hymns, but canticles
addressed to Jesus Christ. Patrick was not entirely free from the errors of
the time; perhaps he believed in pious miracles; but generally speaking we
meet with nothing but the gospel in the earlier days of the British church.
The time no doubt will come when Ireland will again feel the power of the
Holy Ghost, which had once converted it by the ministrations of a Scotchman.
