Today, May 4th, marks the Feast Day of Saint Monica of Hippo. Saint Monica was Saint Augustine's mother, and, when seeking counsel from a bishop regarding Augustine's wayward path, Monica was graced with these words: "the child of those tears shall never perish."
In any Catholic-based community of faith, "May the Lord be with you. . . And also with you" (in response) is a recognizable exchange between presiding clergy and those in attendance among the church body. Many of you recognize these familiar utterances, traditionally offered before prayer.
Within the context and practice of pop culture--and fanboys and girls everywhere, you may have adopted your own tradition on this day. It likely translates to something of this nature: "May the 4th be with you. . . And also with you." Yoda usually factors into this version.
Happy Star Wars Day!
My given birth name is Monica, which I was never crazy about. Not many people have/had it. Any other soul sharing my name is another with whom I create an almost instant bond. Being a child of the 90s was excellent on account of the moniker's popularity on Thursday nights with the Central Perk crew. The Clinton era brought with it smears of mud you could trace across the jokes and embarrassments lined over those six letters, also unique to me.
My daughter and me.
It was only later, as a young adult, and after retaining my license in marriage and family therapy, that I began to appreciate my name. Monica bears the meanings "wise one" and "counselor," or “advisor.” My projected career path imbued my personal struggles with understanding and highlighted my professional successes with purpose.
Everything seemed fitting at last, and I recalled that Monica was Saint Augustine's mother, a writer and Saint whose words touched me, transformed me, as a college student, reading and studying and working to make sense of it all. His Confessions remains among my favorite books of all time.
Saint Monica was not only a mother, like me, like I would become--and joyously so; she was a mother who wept over her son. She held him in constant prayer, and she pursued his conversion for the sake of pure righteousness. She toiled and suffered a near-lifetime on reconciling with Augustine. Her tears are believed to be healing tears and are named in accordance with natural springs and other small bodies of water throughout the world.
Unaware of it at the time, I gave her a saint name, too.
You may note discrepancies in the various incarnations of Monica you encounter here and there, but she is almost always associated with causes akin to alcoholism (of loved ones, or spouses, particularly), unfaithful spouses, domestic violence and abuse, and spouses and children who rejected Christianity.
To be clear, this is not a personal plea targeted to convert or change anyone I know, or do not know, for that matter. It is a recognition that Monica earned her rightly sainthood for being a woman of devotion, of selfless service, and for faithfully seeking reconciliation with her family, the beloved to whom she dedicated her most intimate time and energy.
I hold her with high esteem, as I seek to live (somewhat) up to our shared letter syntax: when I sit with abused children and spouses in the therapy room; when I love the addicts in my life, despite a progressive and confounding illness that I cannot change--with love, with hard work, with anything; when I acknowledge that love and forgiveness are actions of complete and unabashed grace, gifts given freely, that I am also called to put into action.
I am happy to align myself with Saint Monica, whose tears were shed into the ears of God; whose tears were heard and never forgotten, as prophesied, as promised.
May you see her in me, and may I see her in you, as we walk about this life together. May we greet the light we look for in each other every time we are fortunate to meet, and May the 4th be with you always!
Saint Monica of Hippo