By the Gods!

Saint Christopher

Alright, friends: hearken to the tale of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of the traveler! As it happens, I’m heading out on a trip to the UK and France for a few weeks as of tomorrow, and I hereby invoke the power of all mythic figures associated with brave pilgrims such as myself.

Back to Christopher. Born in Canaan (according to Western accounts) in the 3^rd century CE, Christopher was a mammoth of a man. Almost 7 feet tall and built like a tank, Christopher served the Caananite King as #1 hired muscle. After seeing the king in a few moments of weakness, Christopher decided that only the greatest king there was was worthy of his services, so he decided to bounce out of Canaan. He found a king who called himself the greatest (unnamed in the story), but this king kept crossing himself out of fear of the Devil.

“Now hold on a second,” Christopher thought aloud, “if you’re afraid of the Devil, that means he’s greater than you! I’m gonna go work for that guy!” And so he set out to give Satan his resume. Eventually Christopher stumbled upon some bandits, and their leader referred to himself as “the Devil.” Not being one worried about checking sources, Christopher took this boast at face value, and took up employment with desert-bandit-satan. The problem with this boss, as it turned out for Christopher, was the he was constantly avoiding any wayside crosses. Since the devil was evidently afraid of Christ, Christopher made the decision to serve the good ol’ King of Kings, Christ himself.

Now, Jesus having died some centuries before, Christopher asked a hermit-priest how he could best serve his Lord. The priest suggested prayer and fasting, which Christopher thought was a lame suggestion and refused to do. Taking note of his immense size and rippling muscles, the priest told Christopher to help the puny people in the area to cross a particularly deep river by carrying them across.

For a while Christopher worked as the ferryman-hulk, and then a little child asked him for passage across the river. As soon as the kid clambered up on his back, Christopher almost buckled under his deceptively crushing mass. Staggering to stand with the child on his back, Christopher slowly grunted to the river, and made his way across the water, his muscles screaming the whole way. As the infinitely heavy child dismounted, Christopher said “You almost killed me with your girth, kid. Not cool.” The child replied “You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but Him who made it. I am Christ your king, whom you are serving by this work.” The magic baby then disappeared in a flash, and Christopher was left with the greatest bar story to tell his friends in the history of the universe.

A little later, a king ordered him to be killed for not shutting up about it. Bad luck for river-hulk.

Saint Patrick

Here he is, folks: the patron Saint of Ireland, whose big day is March 17, honoured the world over with copious amounts of green alcohol and annoying pinching prayer and appreciation. It’s the end of the holiday now as this article goes up, but who are we kidding— none of you will be in any shape to read this until late tomorrow morning, right?

We have two authentic letters written by the ol’ Saint, and from them we can garner a few pieces of information: Patrick, when he was about 16 years old, was captured from Britain by Irish raiders and taken to Ireland as a slave. He dwelt there, slave-style, for six years before escaping and returning to his family. After entering the Church and becoming a learned fellow and ordained bishop he returned to Ireland and did the whole Saint-thang.

His famous exploits include but are not limited to: 

▪ Banishing all the snakes from Ireland (they attacked him during a fast — big mistake.

▪ Making the Shamrock important — he related the three-leafed clover to the three faces of the trinity. The metaphor stuck.

▪ His magic walking stick growing into a real tree. 

▪ Communicating with ancient Irish ancestors. Being psychic is always a helpful Saintly tool.

To sum up, he was a devout bishop that served in Ireland, and lived through the late-4th to mid-5th centuries CE. He died on the 17th of March, and the day is celebrated as a day of solemnity and holy obligation in Ireland, and a day of general merriment and “kiss-me-I’m-Irish-ness” everywhere else.