A Trinbagonian mother who became a living gospel

By Fr Robert Christo

Vicar for Communications

You could see the handbag with prayer and hymn books and smell the black cake and pastelles before you saw her. Sada and rosary in her hands. Baigan roasting and sugar ‘bunning’ (caramelising) on the outdoor two-burner pitch-oil stove, the scent of incense still clinging to her clothes from the Sunday 5 a.m. Mass.

That was my mother, Mona Christo—a whole theology wrapped in liturgy, apron, Savannah walks, and rosary beads.

A life rooted in the Church

Mammy’s life was not just connected to the Church. It was woven into it. She did not simply belong to a church. She was Church. From her teenage years through seven decades of service, seven days a week, she walked with the Church like a steady chant in the old Latin Libera Me.

She served in the Legion of Mary, the Rosary Confraternity, the Society of St Vincent de Paul, Carmelite’s third order, the Parish Council, the Liturgy Committee, and led the daily Mass choir.

She visited the shut-ins weekly, carried Holy Communion to them, and sang when the Mass was still offered in Latin. She knew the hymns by heart and lived them by heart.

The early Church Fathers spoke of the Church as ‘mother’. St Augustine wrote that the Church feeds, carries, and teaches us to walk in faith. Mammy lived that theology quietly and powerfully. She did not study theology in classrooms. She lived it in kitchens, pews, the old ‘poor house’ next to the church (now the St James Medical Complex), and along the streets of Ross Lands.

Much to my dismay as a boy, she would show up at my school during recess, interrupting my ‘rescue’ game with the boys, to push prunes through the wire fence before hurrying home to cook lunch 15 minutes down the hill.

A mother who carried more than a child

There is a story that sounds almost like prophecy. When she was pregnant, she was walking to church near the St James Police Station. She felt faint and had to be helped home. A police officer told her, “Yuh belly big, yuh sick and yuh going to church. Better dat child doh come out no priest.” But grace laughs at predictions. The child she carried became a priest, born on Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. US Bishop Robert Barron often reminds us that God does not call the qualified. God qualifies the called. That is exactly what happened here.

M.O.M.M.Y. – The gospel she lived

Mammy’s life was a living homily, a gospel you could touch. If we listen closely, her life spells M.O.M.M.Y.

M – Mass

The Mass was the “source and summit” of her life. Even when sick, she went. Even when weak, she made the effort. Her life revolved around the Eucharist.

O – Outpouring of Love (Agape)

She gave not from surplus but from sacrifice. Like the widow in Mark 12:41–44, she gave her whole livelihood. She taught us that whatever is received as gift must be given away. Bishop Barron calls this the “loop of grace”.

When I received a government scholarship, she insisted I give back by teaching in Ross Lands. To my consternation, Ross Lands was not the United States where I hoped to get rich quick.

M – Mission

She visited the sick, carried Communion, comforted families, and welcomed strangers. She was a missionary long before “missionary discipleship” became a popular buzzword.

M – Mystery

She lived the mystery of suffering, love, sacrifice, poverty, and trust in God without needing all the answers.

Y – You (The Master needs you)

Her life whispered this truth: the Lord calls each of us. The Master needs you—echo of Palm Sunday’s gospel. She surrendered her life, her calling, and her children to God.

A love that gave everything

Mammy had a Caribbean hospitality that was almost sacramental. Her home was not big, but her heart was. Sometimes our living room was under a lamppost. Strangers found welcome there. The hungry found food. Her own family often discovered that money meant for bills had quietly gone to someone in need. Some people fast during Lent. Mammy cooked during Lent. But the way she fed people still counted as penance for the devil.

A Caribbean theology of everyday holiness

Holiness for Mammy was not dramatic. It was steady like a Mayaro tide, her favourite beach where she often went with her dear friend, Shairoon. Her holiness was found in cooking, singing, praying, sharing, and enduring. As Bishop Barron often teaches, holiness is doing ordinary things with extraordinary love.

A life that became liturgy—and contemplation

Mammy’s life was not random. It was liturgy. She prayed, served, gave, and returned everything to God. Her final days carried a sacred rhythm. Anointing after the Chrism Mass. Viaticum received. Legion prayers with a legionary near midnight at her bedside. Even a final stirring moment of grace with the nurse at her last breath. Dying on Easter Sunday. Burial on the seventh day of the Easter Octave. Her 40th day falling on the Ascension. A rhythm of grace, pure liturgy.

During her entire journey, my brother David, chose to stay close to her, faithfully and quietly accompanying her through each stage of the journey. His presence was a living expression of contemplative spirituality: sitting, watching, laughing, loving without noise or spectacle. It was not merely care; it was communion. It was a son keeping vigil at the altar of his mother’s life.

St Irenaeus of Lyons said that the glory of God is the human person fully alive. Mammy lived alive with God and now lives fully in God.

The gift that returns

In Catholic tradition, when a mother gives her child to God, the gift returns in grace. The cloth from a priest’s ordination, the maniturgium, can be placed in his mother’s hands at her death. A loop of grace. A circle of love. What was offered at the altar returns to the one who first offered it. Mammy gave her life, her son, her love, and her faith to God. Now she receives back what she sowed, pressed down and overflowing.

A final word

We will miss her. But we do not lose her. Love never fails. Death does not erase it. It reveals it in full light. May her name be written in the Book of Life. May the Lord hold her gently. May her memory bless and challenge us.

Mona Christo lived simply, loved fiercely, and gave completely. To me, that is holiness. That is Gospel. That is legacy. That is Easter. Alleluia. Alleluia.