I must have noticed before today, August 27, that St. Monica’s feast day falls on my grandson Noah’s birthday, but I don’t remember ever having done so. And I would remember, for Noah died six years ago from alcohol poisoning, three weeks from his 26th birthday.
My mind wandered off a little during the Alleluia of the first Mass of the school year at Saint Louis Catholic School. My eyes were still looking at the music teacher singing the Gospel Acclamation, but I was suddenly thinking about the story of Abraham when he agreed to the Lord’s command to slaughter Isaac.
By the time I looked up from my songbook during the Offertory, I knew why I was thinking of Abraham: my daughter was bringing up the gifts.