St. Augustine had finally been converted. His mother’s prayers were fulfilled. He had been baptized with his son by St. Ambrose in the Cathedral of Milan, and they were journeying back to North Africa where they lived. Monica never got back. She died in Rome on her way back. She is buried in Rome in the Church of St. Augustine.
They were down by the harbor, which is called Ostia, right outside of Rome, resting for their sea voyage to Africa. And while they were there an event took place. What follows, is a most impressive description, of contemplative experience, shared by two people – A mother and her son.
When this happened Augustine was a new convert, he was not yet a bishop. And his mother and he were talking about what the eternal life of the saints might be like. Monica was filled with joy because she had prayed for her son all those years, and he got worse and worse and finally, he had been created.
And they were talking, in deep joy, forgetting the things that were behind, and looking forward to the things that were. “And we were discussing in the presence of Truth, which you are, O Lord, what the eternal life of the saints might be like – which eye has not seen nor ear heard – and with the mouth of our heart we panted for the high waters of your heavenly fountain, that fountain of life which is with you. That being sprinkled from that fountain, according to our capacity, we might in some sense meditate on so great a thing.
And our conversation brought us to this point, that any pleasure whatsoever, of the bodily senses, and any brightness whatsoever, of corporeal light, seemed to us not worthy of comparison, with the pleasure of that eternal light – not worthy even of mention. And rising, as our loved flamed upwards, towards that self-same reality, we passed in review, all the levels of bodily things, up to the heavens themselves, where the sun and the moon and the stars shine, and we went beyond the heavens, soaring, and thinking with our minds, and speaking and marveling of your work. And so we came to our own souls, and we went beyond them, to that region of riches unending, where you feed Israel forever, with the food of truth. Their life is that wisdom by which, all things are made, things which have been, things which are yet to be. But this wisdom is not made. It always has been, and ever shall be.
And while we thus speaking of your wisdom, and panting for it, with all the effort of our heart, we did for one instant, for the twinkling of an eye, attain to touch it, and sighing and leaving our hearts there, we returned to the sound of our tongue. Your Word has beginning and end.
And so we said to each other, if to anyone, the tumultuous noise of the flesh grew silent, silent the images of earth and sea and sky, if the soul grew silent to herself, and all things grew silent, and in that silence He spoke to us, not by them but by Himself, so that we could hear His word, not uttered by tongue of flesh, or voice of angel, or sound of thunder, or darkness of parable, but we should hear Him, who is in all these things we love, – hear Him and not them – just as we had, in an instant, touched on that eternal wisdom. If this could continue, and all other experiences so inferior be taken away, and this one, so wrapped up in inward joys, that all of life, might become like that one moment, would this not mean, enter into the joy of the Lord. And when shall it be? Shall it not be, when we shall all be raised, and we shall be changed.
An extract from, ‘The Major Spiritual writings of Saint Augustine ‘ by Fr. Benedict Groeschel.
St. Pauls Publication 