My desire to visit the ruins of Ostia Antica in Italy last year, and to walk the streets of that ancient port city, was inspired by the knowledge that most of the first Christians who came to Rome would have arrived at this famous grain terminal.

The writings of the late Prof Gerald O’Collins SJ—who died just last week—first alerted me to the remarkable contribution of these early Christians to that society, and to what he called their ‘miraculous triumph’.

These missionaries to the vast city of Rome gained a firm foothold and in a short time brought the Gospel to a sizeable proportion of the population. Their firm Christian belief in the risen Lord eventually transformed the values of the city. The early Christians generously shared what they had with all people. They were not slaves to money but used it as an instrument. They knew that the orphans, aged and widows needed care, so they encouraged each other to ‘dress the altar of the poor’, since Christ was in all people.

The Christians of Ostia, and Rome, were missionaries of action, conversation and prayer.

With some of these random ideas in mind, I walked through the archaeological gate with my wife. The first inscription on a large marble sign was a familiar one, an excerpt from St Augustine’s Confessions in which his mother, St Monica, announces that she is to be buried in Ostia.

Last days

On the feast of St Monica, which we celebrate this week, the Catholic Breviary presents this key scene, as recounted by Augustine. The encounter between Monica and her two sons during her last days reveals much about her personality and profound spirituality.

In AD 383, when Augustine was almost 30 years old, he took the post of professor of advocacy in Milan, an important city in the Roman empire and the site of an imperial residence. Monica, an influential figure in the life of her son, had left her home in North Africa and followed him, via Rome, to Milan, where she encouraged him to marry into a wealthy and influential family. This move would have offered this brilliant scholar the prospect of an outstanding career.

But God had other plans for Augustine. After years of sowing seeds of faith and praying for her son, Monica’s prayers were granted ‘in superabundance’ when he became a Christian. Augustine would go on to become a father of the Latin Church and remains a giant of Western theology.

Monica makes it clear that her burial location is not as important as her remembrance at Mass—a simple statement of profound spiritual depth.

In her last days, his ailing mother was resting at Ostia after a long land journey from Milan. Here Monica, in conversation with her sons, made a surprising announcement, firmly refusing to sail back to north Africa and declaring that she would be buried at Ostia. Her sons had hoped that she might spend her last days in her homeland, but to their surprise, Monica sternly rejected their plan, asking them instead to remember her at the altar of the Lord. ‘Lay this body wherever it may be,’ she said. ‘This only I ask of you that you should remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be.’

In his Confessions (Book 9), Augustine recalls Monica telling him, ‘One thing there was, for which I desired to remain still a little longer in this life, that I should see you a Catholic Christian before I died. This God has granted me in superabundance, in that now I see you his servant.’

This scene reveals not only the formidable element of her character but also her steadfast belief in the power of the Eucharist. She makes it clear that her burial location is not as important as her remembrance at Mass—a simple statement of profound spiritual depth.

The Eucharistic prayer that grounds the celebration of the Lord’s Supper includes an intercession for the deceased. St Monica clearly believed that she would be close to her sons when they attended Mass, when they joined the Catholic community in offering praise to the Father for the life, death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus the Lord.

Arguably the most quoted line on Australian memorial cards comes from St Monica: ‘Remember me at the altar of the Lord.’

Being in Ostia and seeing these familiar words engraved in marble brought back to me the countless Masses my family had attended at St Monica’s in Moonee Ponds, where I grew up. Many of them were funerals at a sandstone altar, to which we brought our memories of loved ones.

Seeds of holiness

Pope Francis, in his apostolic exhortation Gaudate et exsultate, suggests five signals of holiness that I find very encouraging. The holy ones in our midst, he tells us, are humble, joy-filled, ambitious, community-focused and prayerful.

St Monica ticks most of these boxes. So did many of the parishioners I encountered during my years at the suburban Melbourne parish that bears her name. Standing among the ancient ruins of Ostia, I recalled the everyday conversations and examples of simple holiness in my own history—examples that encouraged and guided a young life.

It is significant, I think, that Pope Francis’ final sign of holiness is constant prayer, a quality that is visible in many of the faithful, and not just at Sunday Mass. The quiet mother who reads her Bible each day or joins in the Italian rosary on her iPhone. The elderly altar server who prays each Sunday before Mass. The woman in a wheelchair who lights a candle at Our Lady’s altar for her family members.

As I stood in the place where St Monica uttered her final words to Augustine, one simple encounter from my childhood came particularly to mind.

In years to come, I would learn that the Spirit of God could guide my life, anchor my plans, gradually reveal a pathway ... But Mrs Davies sowed the seed with her simple, faith-filled advice.

I was walking to St Monica’s primary school one morning when I was warmly greeted by a parishioner, Mrs Davies, as she stood in her front garden. I have never forgotten the short exchange that took place that day.

‘What’s happening for you at school today?

‘We have a test.’

‘Well, pray to the Holy Spirit. That always works.’

That was all she said—a simple statement of profound spiritual wisdom.

I am unsure if the Holy Spirit was part of my religious constellation at that time, although Jesus, Mary and St Monica were prominent figures in this pre–Vatican II parish.

Mrs Davies’ message was so clear. She shared her fervent belief that the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity was powerfully present in my life. In years to come, I would learn that this Spirit of God could guide my life, anchor my plans, gradually reveal a pathway leading to a wholesome future that is more human and more divine.

But Mrs Davies sowed the seed with her simple, faith-filled advice.

The visit to Ostia was a memorable day for many reasons. I remembered St Monica and her care for her children, which took years of perseverance and prayer. I recalled with gratitude the parishioners in our lives who encourage the young people among us. And I was reminded that just as the early Christians achieved a miraculous triumph, our own parish communities can transform values and guide a future generation.

Banner image: Ary Scheffer, Saints Augustine and Monica, 1854, oil on canvas, National Gallery, London.