Acta Sanctorum: St. Monica (Aug 27)
August 27, 2025
Fr. John Colacino C.PP.S.

August 27
 
St. Monica
 
Life (331-387)
 

Most of the female saints of the first few centuries of the Church are virgins, martyrs, or both. Most of the medieval and modern female saints are nuns, especially foundresses of religious orders. Married female saints are relatively rare. With some few contemporary exceptions, they are the mothers of kings, of emperors, or of other canonized saints. Saint Monica is the mother of Saint Augustine. She was raised in a Catholic family in long extinct Christian North Africa, probably in the small town of Tagaste in modern day Algeria. Tagaste had been Christian for over two hundred and fifty years by the time Monica was born. So although from a present-day perspective she was born in ancient times, just after the Council of Nicea, her family’s faith likely dated to the first waves of African Christianity, long before Nicea. 

Monica had at least three children: Navigius, Perpetua, and her oldest and dearest son, Augustine. No mother can be reduced just to what they mean to their children, yet it is due exclusively to her son Augustine that so much is known about the life of Monica. Augustine seemed to never stop writing, and after God and Augustine himself, Monica is the central character in his autobiography, the Confessions. Monica is ever concerned about, and ever present to, Augustine. She won’t let him out of her sight. When Augustine is preparing to sail for Italy from the port at Carthage, he is surprised to learn that his mother intends to travel with him. So he deceives her about the ship’s departure time and escapes without her. But she is persistent. She later follows him to Rome only to find that he has moved on. So she follows him to Milan, finds him, and moves in with him and his friends. It is no wonder that Augustine wrote: “She liked to have me with her, as mothers do, but far more than most mothers.”

Monica married a man named Patricius and converted him, at least superficially. He was a difficult man whose early death left her a widow at forty. Monica and her husband wanted their gifted son Augustine to receive the best education possible, so they sent him away for schooling. And there Augustine fell into the serious and enduring moral and theological errors which would form the central drama of Monica’s life. It is said that all of the plots in the world can be reduced to just five or six. One of those is “Get back home.” Saint Monica’s life was dedicated to getting her son back to his home, the Church. She wept, she prayed, she fasted. Nothing seemed to work for fifteen years while her son strayed far from the Catholic path, seemingly without remorse.

In the midst of her spiritual trials and sufferings over Augustine, Monica had a vision. She was standing on a wooden beam. A bright, fluorescent being told her to dry her eyes, for “your son is with you.” Monica told Augustine about the vision. He responded that yes, they could indeed be together if she would just abandon her faith. Monica immediately retorted: “He didn’t say that I was with you. He said that you were with me.” Augustine never forgot her quick and insightful answer. In Milan, Monica befriended the great Saint Ambrose, who played such a key role in Augustine’s conversion. The seed of her prayers bore fruit when Augustine abandoned his sinful life, was baptized, and decided to return to North Africa as a Christian leader. Her son had come home to the Church and was returning to his native land. Her life’s mission accomplished, Saint Monica died in her late fifties in the Roman port of Ostia, while waiting to board the ship to cross over to Africa. In her final hours, Augustine asked if he should transport her body to Tagaste for burial next to her husband. She said she was happy to be buried wherever she died, for “nothing is far from God.” Her remains are now found in the Basilica of Saint Augustine in central Rome.

https://mycatholic.life/saints/saints-of-the-liturgical-year/st-monica-mother-of-st-augustine-august-27/

Scripture    Ecclesiasticus 26:1-4,13-16
 
Happy the husband of a really good wife;
  the number of her days will be doubled.
A perfect wife is the joy of her husband,
  he will live out his years in peace.
A good wife is the best of portions,
  reserved for those who fear the Lord:
rich or poor, they will be glad of heart,
  cheerful of face, whatever the season.
The grace of a wife will charm her husband,
  her accomplishments will make him the stronger.
A silent wife is a gift from the Lord,
  no price can be put on a well-trained character.
A modest wife is a boon twice over,
  a chaste character cannot be weighed on scales.
Like the sun rising over the mountains of the Lord
  is the beauty of a good wife in a well-kept house.
 
Writings
 
(Year C)   Now came the moment when the body [of Monica] was borne away. We followed it, and returned again dry-eyed; for not even in the course of those prayers we poured out to you when the sacrifice of our redemption was offered for her beside the grave, where the body had been laid prior to burial, as is the custom there—no, not even during those prayers did I weep, but all day long I was secretly weighed down by sorrow, and in my mental turmoil I begged you as best I could to heal my hurt. You did not, and this because, as I believe, you were reminding me that any sort of habit is bondage, even to a mind no longer feeding on deceitful words.
 
Little by little I recovered my earlier thoughts about your hand maid, remembering how devout had been her attitude toward you, and how full of holy kindness, how willing to make allowances, she had been in our regard; and now that I was suddenly bereft of this I found comfort in weeping before you about her and for her, about myself and for myself. The tears that I had been holding back I now released to flow as plentifully as they would, and strewed them as a bed beneath my heart. There it could rest, because there were your ears only, not the ears of anyone who would judge my weeping by the norms of his own pride. And now, Lord, it is in writing that I confess to you. Let anyone read it who will, and judge it as he will, and if he finds it sinful that I wept over my mother for a brief part of a single hour—the mother who for a
little space was to my sight dead, and who had wept long years for me that in your sight I might live—then let such a reader not mock, but rather, if his charity is wide enough, himself weep for my sins to you, who are Father to all whom your Christ calls his brethren. On the day when her release was at hand she gave no thought to costly burial or the embalming of her body with spices, nor did she pine for a special monument or concern herself about a grave in her native land; no, that was not her command to us. She desired only to be remembered at your altar, where she had served you with never a day's absence. From that altar, as she knew, the holy Victim is made available to us, he through whom the record of debt that stood against us was annulled. 
 
Inspire others, my Lord, my God, inspire your servants who are my brethren, your children who are my masters, whom I now serve with heart and voice and pen, that as many of them as read this may remember Monica, your servant, at your altar, along with Patricius, sometime her husband…. So may the last request she made of me be granted to her more abundantly by the prayers of many, evoked by my confessions, than by my prayers alone. (Augustine, Confessions)
Musical Selection
 
 
When I am alone I sit and dream
And when I dream the words are missing
Yes, I know that in a room so full of light
That all the light is missing
But I don't see you with me, with me
Close up the windows, bring the sun to my room
Through the door you've opened
Close inside of me the light you see
That you met in the darkness

Time to say goodbye
Horizons are never far
Would I have to find them alone?
Without true light of my own with you
I will go on ships overseas
That I now know
No, they don't exist anymore
It's time to say goodbye

When you were so far away
I sit alone and dreamt of the horizon
Then I know that you are here with me
Building bridges over land and sea
Shine a blinding light for you and me
To see, for us to be
 
Time to say goodbye
Horizons are never far
Would I have to find them alone?
Without true light of my own with you
I will go on ships overseas
That I now know
No, they don't exist anymore
Without true light of my own with you
I will go, horizons are never far
Would I have to find them alone?
Without true light of my own with you
I will go on ships overseas
That I now know
No, they don't exist anymore

I love you
 
Collect
 

Faithful God,
who strengthened Monica, the mother of Augustine, 
with wisdom,
and through her patient endurance
encouraged him to seek after you:
give us the will to persist in prayer at those who stray from you
may be brought to faith
in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord,
who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, now and for ever. Amen. (English Missal)

 

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