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6A – Daily News – Wednesday, March 17, 2010 Opinion St. Patrick — the real deal D NEWSAILY RED BLUFF TEHAMACOUNTY T H E V O I C E O F T E H A M A C O U N T Y S I N C E 1 8 8 5 Greg Stevens, Publisher gstevens@redbluffdailynews.com Chip Thompson, Editor editor@redbluffdailynews.com Editorial policy The Daily News opinion is expressed in the editorial. The opinions expressed in columns, letters and cartoons are those of the authors and artists. Letter policy The Daily News welcomes let- ters from its readers on timely topics of public interest. All let- ters must be signed and pro- vide the writer’s home street address and home phone num- ber. Anonymous letters, open letters to others, pen names and petition-style letters will not be allowed. Letters should be typed and cannot exceed two double-spaced pages or 500 words. When several letters address the same issue, a cross section of those submit- ted will be considered for publi- cation. Letters will be edited. 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How to reach us Main office: 527-2151 Classified: 527-2151 Circulation: 527-2151 News tips: 527-2153 Sports: 527-2153 Obituaries: 527-2151 Photo: 527-2153 On the Web www.redbluffdailynews.com Fax Newsroom: 527-9251 Classified: 527-5774 Retail Adv.: 527-5774 Legal Adv.: 527-5774 Business Office: 527-3719 Address 545 Diamond Ave. Red Bluff, CA 96080, or P.O. Box 220 Red Bluff, CA 96080 St. Patrick’s Day is upon us and I mean to take this opportuni- ty to say something about a real man who faced real challenges that would chill most of us to the bone. I don’t know anything about running the snakes out of Ireland and I’m pretty sure he knew noth- ing about green beer – although they certainly had beer in his day and he most likely enjoyed a pint or two. The man we know as Patrick of Ireland was born in the fifth century AD to reasonably wealthy parents in present day England. He was kidnapped by Irish pirates between the ages of 14 and 16 – Patrick’s age, not that of the pirates. He was left in an isolated sheepfold with little to eat or to keep out the penetrating cold and damp. He was fitted with a large iron slave collar that made clear he was fair game for any who might decide to kill him if he left the land to which he was assigned. Although his family was nominal- ly Christian he had nothing like a personal relationship with God in any form and no desire for one while he was comfortable in his parents’ home. In the sheepfold he had no one to talk with for relief of the misery that was his new life – no one except the One he identified only as "the voice." This disembodied voice began speaking to him shortly after his arrival and always gave him words of comfort and hope – words he could not have made up out of the bleakness that was the shards of his own imagination. The voice claimed to be the Spirit of the Living God. After some two years in the sheepfold Patrick was awakened one night by the voice. "Rise and walk, Patrick; your ship is here," was all it said. Guided only by the voice Patrick spent the next weeks walking more than two hundred miles through country in which anyone who spotted him had both right and duty to kill him as a run- away. He never encountered a liv- ing person in that time, and he always found just enough food to send him again on his way. When he reached the east coast of Ire- land there was indeed a ship wait- ing; the captain was willing to take him to France in exchange for the passage money Patrick lacked. He asked the captain to wait a few days; when he returned he had the money although he did not know where he had come by it or how. From France he found other transport back to England and was re-united with his parents. The only trouble was that he could not be comfortable when he was once again surrounded by all the comforts of home. It was that pesky voice – it kept saying things like, "I have been preparing you these two years for your purpose in life. Pack yourself and return to Ireland; you will bring my good news of abundant life to the peo- ple who abused and imprisoned you." Patrick had long since given his heart to that Voice – and to the Father and the Son for Whom the Voice spoke. He packed and returned to Ireland and what we do know is that the island and its people gave their hearts to that same Trinitarian family as a result of his faithful working there for the rest of his life. What has any of this got to do with any of us 1,600 years later? The answer is, "Nothing at all," unless we are willing to chance the idea that real life – abundant life – exists only outside of our com- fort zone. If our job is so good and so secure, our kids doing so well, our personal issues so at bay, and our marriage so vibrant that it could not be any better than we have it – then we need to stay comfortable right where we are. If – on the other hand – we are like most Americans at this time – jumpier, angrier and more afraid of the future than we have ever been before – then we may need to have no one to talk to other than a voice that brings words of comfort and hope that we could not have made up. We may need to choose to say, "Okay, Boss," to whatever He commands – or even advises. Even in the midst of this reces- sion – which is itself fueled more by fear than anything else – even in the midst of epidemics from swine flu to AIDS – social and public health conditions are actu- ally better than they have ever been before. Crime, divorce, abor- tions, and drug addictions are actually down in a period when James Wilson Guest View pundits say they should be going up. Most Americans are working and no Americans are starving or without access to healthcare – at least through the emergency room or the free clinics – regardless of their insurance status or whether they have a home to live in. Yet we are jumpy, angry, and afraid. We wonder how to navigate in this sea- son and we resent being asked to actually address issues with more than a cursory Yea or Nay. We want government to take care of us without telling us what to do and we do not want anyone making us feel uncomfortable or as though we were out of control. There are worse things than being kidnapped by pirates – at least if there is a voice at the other end. But better still might be – on this St. Patrick’s Day – saying, "Okay, Boss, " to this Voice with- out waiting to be fitted for that iron collar. We might even dis- pense with the kidnapping alto- gether and just start listening and responding. James A.Wilson is the author of Living As Ambassadors of Relationships and The Holy Spirit and the End Times – available at local bookstores or by e-mailing him at praynorthstate@charter.net. Your officials STATE ASSEMBLYMAN — Jim Nielsen (R), State Capitol Bldg., Room 4164 P.O. Box 942849, Sacramento 94249; (916) 319-2002; Fax (916) 319- 2102 STATE SENATOR — Sam Aanestad (R), State Capitol Bldg., Room 2054, Sacramen- to, CA 95814. (916) 651-4004; Fax (916) 445-7750 GOVERNOR — Arnold Schwarzenegger (R), State Capitol Bldg., Sacramento, CA 95814; (916) 445-2841; Fax (916) 558-3160; E-mail: gover- nor@governor.ca.gov. U.S. REPRESENTATIVE — Wally Herger (R), 2635 Forest Ave. Ste. 100, Chico, CA 95928; 893-8363. U.S.SENATORS — Dianne Feinstein (D), One Post Street, Suite 2450, San Francisco, CA 94104; (415) 393-0707. Fax (415) 393-0710. Barbara Boxer (D), 1700 Montgomery St., Suite 240, San Francisco, CA 94111; (415) 403-0100. Fax (202) 224- 0454. Why we need more Irish spirit Commentary Their slogan wasn't "Irish need not apply." It was worse. I speak of a battle I wit- nessed in Old Town, Alexan- dria, Va., a decade ago — a bat- tle that involved a popular Irish pub, Pat Troy's Ireland's Own, and a condo association. A new landlord purchased the building in which Troy's pub had resided for 19 years. The landlord wanted to turn the pub space into office space. He asked Troy to vacate. Troy, an Irish immigrant known for his many charitable causes, bought a building two blocks away. He planned to relocate his pub there — right next to the condo association. That's when all hell broke loose. The condo people did not want an Irish pub to be near them. They launched a political assault that made the Chicago politicians look like Quakers. First came their "NOLUV" slogan. It stood for "noise, overcrowding, litter, urinating and vomiting." Then came accusations about the behavior of the pub's patrons — that they'd drink too many pints of Guinness and sing "The Unicorn Song" into the wee hours. Next came their angry letter to city officials. It complained that "Troy's pub isn't just a bar, it's an Irish bar ... and it will affect our property values ..." Goodness. My great great grandfather came to America from Ireland in the late 1800s. He surely suf- fered similar indiscretions. That they're still occurring is no sur- prise to me. But the Irish can take it. We, of Irish descent, can take the drinking jokes: Why did God invent whiskey? To keep the Irish from taking over the Earth. What's a seven-course Irish meal? A potato and a six- pack. What's the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake? One less drunk. We don't mind the one about the tragedy at the Guinness fac- tory. McAlister fell into a vat of Guinness and he drowned. Cleary, McAlister's best friend, went to tell McAlister's wife. When she opened her opened her front door, Cleary was cry- ing. "There was a tragedy at the factory?" she said. "Yes, missus. Your husband fell into a vat of Guinness and drowned." "Tell me, Cleary," she said crying. "Did he at least die quickly? "Not exactly, mis- sus," said Cleary. "He got out of the vat three times to use the bath- room." We don't mind the one about the Irishman who finds a tea kettle in the woods. When he rubs it, a genie pops out and grants him three wishes. The Irishman wishes for a bottle of whiskey; it appears in his hands. When he drinks it, the bottle automatically refills. He drinks it again, and it refills. "What's that?" says the Irish- man. "That's the bottle of infinity," says the genie. "Every time you empty it, it will be replenished. What are your last two wish- es?" "Give me two more bottles!" No, the Irish don't mind such jokes. The Irish learned to laugh at themselves long ago. And when a group of boorish condo people succeeded in thwarting the move of Troy's pub to the building he had pur- chased — Alexan- dria's city council voted to block his move — Troy didn't cry of unfairness or bigotry or hate speech. He did what Amer- icans used to do: He relocated to another building, where he is still serving many delicious pints. Tom Purcell In an America in which everyone is so easily offended and ready to sue, we all could have a little more Irish spirit — and certain- ly more Irish humor. Tom Purcell, a humor columnist for the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, is nationally syndicated exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate. Visit Tom on the Web at www.TomPurcell.com or e-mail him at Purcell@caglecartoons.com. Which reminds me of this one: What is Irish and sits on the porch all night long? Paddy O'Furniture. ———