Saint Patrick's Day: At King David’s Pub and Winery
(Scene opens in Heaven, at the Pub. Seamus and Patrick are sitting at the bar. Patrick is asleep, with his head on the bar counter.)
Seamus (St. James): Say, Paddy, now. Wake up, you idjit.
Padraig (St. Patrick)/Paddy: Ah, Seamus. Can ye not leave a good saint to a daecent sleep?
Seamus: It’s yer people there, Paddy. They’re at it again. (Leaning over his pint, looking down on the velvet green)
Paddy: Oh, Mother of God, is it that day already?
Maire (St. Mary): Paddy, was it ye who called? Oh. (She looks down on Dublin.) So. Yer Irishmen are at the celebratin’ yer Holy Day. The day ye up and died down there.
Paddy: (Looking down) So it ‘tis, Maire. And would ye look—Chicago has dumped green into ta rivers again! As if that meant a ting, Lord help us.
The Lord God: (enters with angels singing and clouds billowing) Was it ye, Paddy, that called m’name? (Seamus and Paddy vacate their pub stools immediately.) David, here, be a good man, and pour me a glass of cider.
King David: Aye, My Lord. The best Yer Hands ever made, here Ye go. Have at it. (David pushes the glass over to God, who has settled down on a stool.)
The Lord God: So, Paddy, what’s troublin’ ye, up here in heaven?
Paddy: Oh, it’s the Irish people agin. They’re after celebratin’ my holy day with all sorts of carryin’ ons. And it bein’ Lent, ‘tis a sad ting ta behold.
The Lord God: (quaffing a satisfying amount of apple cider) Well, ye know, Paddy, People ha’ forgotten jest what I did for them, sendin’ ye to Ireland. They were a terrible mean group, worshippin’ trees and such, ‘fore ye taught ‘em about the Trinity.
Seamus: Yer right, My Lord. An’ Paddy drove out them there serpents, and done all them miracles. Ye did right good work, there. (Seamus pats Paddy on the shoulder, who nods and perks up a bit. Maire sits down next to The Lord God.)
The Lord God: ‘Tis my desire that ye shake the Irish up a wee bit. Paddy, ye go down to yer holy wells—there’s one down near Clonmel I’m partial to. Stir the waters up a bit when there’s a group there. And, Maire, go to some of yer holy grottoes, and send some tears down the cheeks of yer image. That’ll make the Irish think a bit. I bet ye’ll see more pious Irish at Mass come Good Friday.
Seamus: I’ll go along with ‘em, My Lord, jest to keep ‘em company. (The three saints exit.)
The Lord God: (watches the saints depart, and laughs softly) Ah, there go some fine saints. Glad I made ‘em. (He leaves the pub in a cloud of glory, with angels singing. David gathers up the glassware, and hums “When the saints go marching in…” Scene ends.)
If I have offended any, please forgive me. I lived in Ireland, and have a different perspective. Thank you, Alexia and Colene! I loved doing this!