Today is the Memorial of Saint Jerome, one of the great Doctors of the Western Church. He wrote numerous commentaries on Sacred Scripture and authored the Latin (“Vulgate”) translation of the Bible that is still our current primary source. Art of St. Jerome working at his desk often includes a skull, like in Caravaggio’s “St. Jerome Writing”. I also keep a skull (not a real one, but a weighted, life-sized one) on my desk. Here’s a reflection on why:

In the quiet corners of sacred art, a skull often rests beside saints like St. Jerome, its hollow eyes staring silently. This isn’t mere decoration or grim fascination – it’s a profound symbol, a memento mori, a reminder of our mortality.

As Christians, we’re called to keep death in mind, not to wallow in gloom, but to sharpen our focus on what truly matters. The skull, stark and unyielding, speaks to both the brevity of life and the eternal weight of our actions. It’s a call to live well, to work well, because in doing so, we touch something timeless.

The phrase memento mori – Latin for “remember you must die” – sounds heavy, but it’s not about despair. It’s a nudge to live with intention.

Our days are numbered, and none of us know when the final count will come. This truth should stir us to action and intentionality each day, each moment of our lives.

The skull reminds us to let go of what’s fleeting – wealth, status, the endless scroll of distractions – and cling to what endures: faith, hope, love, and the work we’re called to do.

For St. Jerome, that work was translating Scripture, a task that shaped the Church for centuries. The skull often depicted on his desk wasn’t just a nod to his mortality but a spur to keep at his labor, knowing it connected him to eternity.

Jerome’s life offers a vivid example of this:

As a young man in Rome, he wasn’t exactly saintly. He fell into the moral laxity of his peers, chasing pleasures that left him empty.

But visits to the Roman catacombs, the underground tombs of early Christians, renewed his focus on what mattered. Surrounded by the stark reality of death, he faced his own failings. That confrontation led to his conversion and baptism in the 360s.

From then on, he embraced a life of penance and detachment, retreating to the desert to pray, study, and translate.

The skull in his study wasn’t just a symbol of death. It was a reminder of his past sins and his resolve to live differently. It kept him grounded, focused on the eternal.

This idea of detachment is key.

The skull tells us that worldly things, like money, fame, and even our carefully curated online personas, fade to dust.

For ascetics like Jerome, this was a lived reality. They stripped away comforts to pursue God with single-minded devotion.

But you don’t need to flee to a desert to live this way. Detachment means holding things lightly, prioritizing what aligns with God’s call.

It’s about doing the work you’re given – whether raising a family, building a business, or creating art – with excellence, because that work ripples into eternity.

The skull also speaks of penance, a word that can feel outdated but is deeply human. Jerome’s life shows us that acknowledging our failures isn’t defeat, it’s a step toward grace. The skull in his study wasn’t a badge of shame but a sign of hope, a reminder that God’s mercy transforms our brokenness.

When we face our own mortality, we’re invited to make amends, to turn back to God, and to offer our best efforts as a response to His love.

So, why keep a skull on your desk, figuratively or literally? It’s not about being morbid, it’s about being awake. It’s a whisper that time is short, but your work, done well, can echo beyond it.

Whether you’re writing a book, teaching a child, or serving your community, the skull reminds you: this matters. Your life, however brief, is a chance to create something that lasts.

Like Jerome, let’s work with eternity in view, knowing that in God’s economy, nothing done in love is ever lost.

Saint Jerome, pray for us.