Scholastica was the sister of Saint Benedict of Norcia. She had been consecrated to Almighty God from her very infancy, and was accustomed to visit her brother once a year. The man of God came down to meet her at a house belonging to the monastery, not far from the gate. It was the day for the usual visit, and her venerable brother came down to her accompanied by some of his brethren. The whole day was spent in the praises of God and holy conversation. At night fall they took their repast together. While they were at table and it grew late as they conferred with each other on sacred things, the holy nun thus spoke to her brother: “I beseech you, stay the night with me and let us talk till morning on the joys of Heaven.” He replied: “What is this you say, sister? On no account may I remain out of the monastery.” The evening was so fair that not a cloud could be seen in the sky. When, therefore, the holy nun heard her brother’s refusal, she clasped her hands together and, resting them on the table, she hid her face in them and made a prayer to the God of all power. As soon as she raised her head from the table, there came down so great a storm of thunder and lightning and rain, that neither the venerable Benedict, nor the brethren who were with him could set foot outside the place where they were sitting. The holy virgin had shed a flood of tears as she leaned her head upon the table, and the cloudless sky poured down the wished-for rain. The prayer was said, the rain fell in torrents. There was no interval, but so closely on each other were prayer and rain, that the storm came as she raised her head. Then the man of God, seeing that it was impossible to reach his monastery amid all this lightning, thunder and rain, was sad and said complainingly: “God forgive you, sister! What have you done?” But she replied: “I asked you a favour, and you would not hear me. I asked it of my God, and He granted it. Go now, if you can, to the monastery, and leave me here!” But it was not in his power to stir from the place, so that he who would not stay willingly, had to stay unwillingly and spend the whole night with his sister, delighting each other with their questions and answers about the secrets of spiritual life.
On the following day the holy woman returned to her monastery, and the man of God to his. When three days after he was in his cell, and raising his eyes, he saw the soul of his sister going up to Heaven in the shape of a dove. Full of joy at her being thus glorified, he thanked his God in hymns of praise, and told the brethren of her death. He immediately bade them go and bring her body to the monastery, which having done, he had it buried in the tomb he had prepared for himself. Thus it was that, as they had ever been one soul in God, their bodies were united in the same grave.
Dom Prosper Guéranger:
The sister of the Patriarch Saint Benedict comes to us today, sweetly inviting us to follow her to Heaven. Apollonia the Martyr is succeeded by Scholastica the fervent daughter of the cloister. Both of them are the Spouses of Jesus, both of them wear a crown, for both of them fought hard and won the palm. Apollonia’s battle was with cruel persecutors, and in those hard times when one had to die to conquer. Scholastica’s combat was the life-long struggle whose only truce is the soldier’s dying breath. The Martyr and the Nun are sisters now in the Heart of Him they both so bravely loved.
God in His infinite wisdom gave to Saint Benedict a faithful co-operatrix — a sister of such angelic gentleness of character that she would be a sort of counterpoise to the brother whose vocation, as the legislator of monastic life, needed a certain dignity of grave and stern resolve. We continually meet with these contrasts in the lives of the Saints, and they show us that there is a link of which flesh and blood know nothing, a link which binds two souls together, gives them power, harmonises their differences of character and renders each complete. Thus it is in Heaven with the several hierarchies of the Angels: a mutual love which is founded on God Himself, unites them together and makes them live in the eternal happiness of the tenderest brotherly affection.
Scholastica’s earthly pilgrimage was not a short one, and yet it has left us but the history of the Dove, which told the brother, by its flight to Heaven, that his sister had reached the eternal home before him. We have to thank Saint Gregory the Great for even this much which he tells us as a sequel to the holy dispute she had with Benedict, three days previous to her death. But how admirable is the portrait thus drawn in Saint Gregory’s best style! We seem to understand the whole character of Scholastica: an earnest simplicity and a child-like eagerness, for what was worth her desiring it; an affectionate and unshaken confidence in God; a winning persuasiveness, where there was opposition to God’s will, which, when it met such an opponent as Benedict, called on God to interpose and gained its cause. The old poets tell us strange things about the swan, how sweetly it can sing when dying. How lovely must not have been the last notes of the Dove of the Benedictine Cloister as she was soaring from Earth to Heaven! But how came Scholastica, the humble retiring nun, by that energy, which could make her resist the will of her brother whom she revered as her master and guide? What was it told her that her prayer was not a rash one, and that what she asked for was a higher good than Benedict’s unflinching fidelity to the Rule he had written, and which it was his duty to teach by his own keeping it? Let us hear Saint Gregory’s answer: “It is not to be wondered at that the sister who wished to prolong her brother’s stay should have prevailed over him for, whereas Saint John tells us that God is Charity, it happened by a most just judgement that she that had the stronger love, had the stronger power.”
Our Season is appropriate for the beautiful lesson taught us by Saint Scholastica — fraternal charity. Her example should excite us to the love of our neighbour, that love which God bids us labour for, now that we are intent on giving Him our undivided service and our complete conversion. The Easter Solemnity we are preparing for is to unite us all in the grand Banquet where we are all to feast on the one Divine Victim of Love. Let us have our nuptial garment ready, for He that invites us insists on our having union of heart when we dwell in His House.
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Dear Spouse of the Lamb! Innocent and simple Dove! How rapid was your flight to your Jesus when called home from your exile! Your brother’s eye followed you for an instant, and then Heaven received you with a joyous welcome from the choirs of the Angels and Saints. You are now at the very source of that love which here filled your soul and gained you everything you asked of your Divine Master. Drink of this fount of life to your heart’s eternal content. Satiate the ambition taught you by your brother in his Rule when he says that we must “desire Heaven with all the might of our spirit.” Feed on that sovereign Beauty who Himself feeds, as He tells us, among the lilies (Canticles ii. 16). But forget not this lower world which was to you what it is to us — a place of trial for winning heavenly honours. During your sojourn here you were the Dove in the clifts of the rock (Canticles ii. 14), as the Canticle describes a soul like your own. There was nothing on this Earth which tempted you to spread your wings in its pursuit, there was nothing worthy of your giving it the treasure of the love which God had put in your heart. Timid before men and simple as innocence ever is, you knew not that you had wounded the Heart of the Spouse (Canticles iv. 9). Your prayers were made to Him with all the humility and confidence of a soul that had never been disloyal, and He granted you your petitions with the promptness of tender love so that your brother — the venerable Saint — he who was accustomed to see nature obedient to his command — yes, even Benedict was overcome by you in that contest in which your simplicity was more penetrating than his profound wisdom.
And who was it, O Scholastica, that gave you this sublime knowledge and made you, on that day of your last visit, wiser than the great Patriarch who was raised up in the Church to be the living rule of them that are called to perfection? It was the same God who chose Benedict to be one of the pillars of the Religious State but who wished to show that a holy and pure and tender charity is dearer to Him than the most scrupulous fidelity to rules which are only made for leading men to what you had already attained. Benedict, himself such a lover of God, knew all this. The subject so dear to your heart was renewed, and brother and sister were soon lost in the contemplation of that Infinite Beauty who had just given such a proof that He would have you neglect all else. You were ripe for Heaven, O Scholastica! Creatures could teach you no more love of your Creator. He would take you to Himself. A few short hours more, and the Divine Spouse would speak to you those words of the ineffable Canticle which the Holy Spirit seems to have dictated for a soul like yours: “Arise, make haste, my Love, my Dove, my beautiful one, and come! Show me your face. Let your voice sound in my ears, for your voice is sweet and comely is your face” (Canticles ii. 10, 14).
You have left us, O Scholastica, but do not forget us. Our souls have not the same beauty in the eyes of our God as yours, and yet they are called to the same Heaven. It may be that years are still needed to fit them for the celestial abode where we will see your grand glory. Your prayer drew down a torrent of rain upon the Earth. Let it now be offered for us and obtain for us tears of repentance. You could endure no conversation which had not eternity for its subject. Give us a disgust for useless and dangerous talk, and a relish for hearing such as are on God and Heaven. Your heart had mastered the secret of fraternal charity, yes of that affectionate charity which is so well-pleasing to our Lord. Soften our hearts to the love of our neighbour, banish from them all coldness and indifference, and make us love one another as God would have us love.
Dear Dove of holy solitude! remember the Tree whose branches gave you shelter here on Earth. The Benedictine cloister venerates you not only as the sister, but also as the Daughter of its sainted Patriarch. Cast your eye on the remnants of that Tree which was once so vigorous in its beauty and its fruits, and under whose shadow the nations of the West found shelter for so many long ages. Alas, the hack and hew of impious persecutions have struck its root and branches. Every land of Europe, as well as our own, sits weeping over the ruins. And yet, root and branches, both must needs revive, for we know that it is the will of your Divine Spouse, Scholastica, that the destinies of this venerable Tree keep pace with those of the Church herself. Pray that its primitive vigour be soon restored. Protect, with your maternal care, the tender buds it is now giving forth. Cover them from the storm. Bless them. Make them worthy of the confidence with which the Church deigns to honour them.Also on this day according to the ROMAN MARTYROLOGY:
At Rome, the holy martyrs Zoticus, Irenaeus, Hyacinthus and Amantius.
In the same place, on the Via Labicana, ten holy soldiers, martyrs.
Also at Rome, on the Via Appia, St. Soteres, virgin and martyr, who was descended of a noble race, as St. Ambrose testifies, but for the love of Christ set at naught the consular and other dignities of her family. On her refusal to sacrifice to the gods, she was for a long time cruelly buffeted. After she had overcome various other torments, she was struck with the sword and joyfully went to her heavenly spouse.
In Campania, St. Silvanus, bishop and confessor.
At Maleval, in the diocese of Siena, St. William, a hermit.
In the diocese of Rouen, St. Austreberta, a virgin renowned for miracles.
And in other places, many other holy martyrs, confessors and virgins.
Thanks be to God.
