A few months ago, Pope Leo XIV walked out onto the loggia of St. Peter’s Basilica as our new Pope. People were shocked because it has long been said that an American would never become pope. Although he is the first American to assume the Petrine Ministry, let’s recall that America is only a couple of hundred years old. In Church time, that is just the blink of an eye. Perhaps more a cause for wonder is another aspect of Leo’s background. In the mid to late Fourth Century, a Catholic woman from Africa named Monica wept and agonized that her son lived a dissolute life and refused to be baptized. She prayed, cried, and offered sacrifices all in the hope of what appeared impossible; namely, the conversion of her son. Eventually, her son was converted and was baptized. He then became one of the greatest bishops and theologians the Catholic Church has ever known. He, of course, is St. Augustine. Augustine’s autobiography, entitled, “The Confessions,” is one of the most read books in history and has helped many others to be converted to Christ. Some 1600 years or so after Augustine lived, a young man entered a religious order named for St. Augustine; the Augustinians. That man, unknown to most of us a few months ago, is Pope Leo XIV. He is, in Church lingo, a son of St. Augustine. This week the Church’s calendar has many great feasts. Among them appear a mother and her son. On August 27th, we celebrate the Feast of St. Monica and on August 28th, we celebrate the Feast of St. Augustine. These dual feasts are a source of hope. Little did the Fourth Century woman named Monica know when she begged for her son’s conversion that, not only would he convert, but that he would become a bishop, a doctor of the Church, and one of the greatest and most well-known Catholics ever. Could she ever have imagined that people all over the world for centuries would read her son’s homilies, books, and conversion story? Could she have imagined that the Pope one day would be a member of an order of priests named after her son? When people we know and love are far away from the Lord, unconverted, immersed in sin, and far from the Eucharist, it breaks our hearts. This week’s feasts remind us that our broken hearts need not be discouraged hearts. St. Monica’s prayers for her son were effective beyond her wildest imaginations. She remained steadfast in her prayers. Augustine, Leo, and all of us owe a lot to the prayers of St. Monica. Are there people in your life whom you love who have given themselves over to serious sin? Are there people in your life who are living as though God does not matter? Are there people in your life whose hearts are hardened, who refuse to go to Mass, who seem completely and hopelessly lost? Take heart! This week we will celebrate St. Augustine who seemed hopelessly lost, but the prayers and sacrifices of his mother won his conversion. Take courage and pray for those in our lives who seem beyond help. And, let us not all forget that each of us needs a greater conversion in our life. Are we ourselves struggling, becoming lackluster in our Faith, lukewarm in our spiritual lives, resigned to be merely mediocre in our Catholic life? This week’s feasts remind us that we can, by God’s grace, become great saints. On the Feast of Sts. Monica and Augustine, I will be on my yearly retreat. (Priests are required to make a retreat each year). I will be in a hermitage on the grounds of a monastery of nuns in the Catskills. During those days, I will pray for all of you. I will pray for all of those seemingly hopeless people in your own lives, that through the intercession of St. Monica and her son, St. Augustine, God might do miraculous things. I also ask you to pray for me, that I experience a deeper conversion to the Lord and that I become, like Augustine, a more faithful and holy shepherd. Lastly, to all of you who agonize for your own children and their conversion, offer your prayers, your sacrifices, and your broken hearts to the Lord, but no discouragement! You have a friend in St. Monica! Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes

This past week, a few priest friends and I spent a few days together in the White Mountains. One of their parishioners let us use their home for a few days. In fact, I’m writing this while sitting on a porch surrounded by mountains. This morning, we all woke up, made brief acknowledgement of one another’s existence, and then spent the next hour or so, quietly praying. In a little while, we will have Mass together. Our silence in each other’s presence does not isolate us from each other. In fact, during the whole time we were silently praying, I felt a greater bond with them. We often fear silence. We are afraid to think too deeply about our life, about our own heart, and about the meaning of our existence. We fill our life with noise. Even when we are not actively listening or watching something, the TV or the radio is droning along in the background. Podcasts, messages, and alerts punctuate our every moment. They fill our life with constant distraction. Much of this, I think, is because we fear hearing what our heart has to say. We also fear hearing what the Lord has to say. Silence, however, trains us how to really listen. It trains us to listen to our own heart and to know ourselves. This is no small matter. The human heart—our heart—is worth listening to. Silence also trains us to listen to the world around us. The scriptures remind us that the whole creation proclaims the greatness of God. Imagine, the whole earth is telling us about God. Do we hear it? Silence allows us to hear the chorus of creation and directs our glance to God. In a short while, my friends and I will offer Mass together, eat together, and go for a walk. I will be able to appreciate and enter into those moments with greater attention and with greater joy because of the silence we have already shared together. Silence prepares us to receive reality more completely. Silence is not an escape from reality. When we have silence in our life, we are drawn closer to what is real. Silence, draws us closer to our own heart, to the creation, to the people around us, and to the Lord. My own heart this morning is filled with much gratitude for the opportunity to spend a few days with friends, for the chance to be surrounded by the beauty of creation, and for the gift of silence. As I write these words before my friends and I offer Mass together, the silence brings to my mind all of you. In silence, I imagine you in your usual seats at Mass. The silence deepens my affection for you and my appreciation for you. It also helps me to pray for you and for your petitions. St. Ambrose says, “The devil loves noise. Christ looks for silence.” If our life is filled with noise and distraction, we become shallow and isolated. If we learn to have some silence in our life, we experience a deepening of our humanity and a deeper communion. Let’s all try to spend time in silence each day. In doing so, our life will become richer and deeper. The Devil loves noise. Christ looks for silence. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes