A while ago, my wife and I were trying to find a movie that we hadn’t seen before. We settled on the film Molokai (1999). Though I had heard of Fr. Damien before and had filed his name away in the back of my mind given our common Low Countries heritage, the film was my first true introduction to Fr. Damien de Veuster, whose feast is celebrated today.
While the movie attempts the impossible task of trying to fit sixteen years of the saint’s life into a two hour running time, it is a faithful and moving adaptation of the story into movie form. It solidified my devotion to the saint.
Fr. Damien was born Jozef de Veuster, the youngest of seven children of a pious family in rural Belgium. Two of his sisters became nuns and an older brother became a priest in the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus Mary. His family needed him to work on the farm, cutting his education short, but he felt a call to the priesthood. At age 20, he joined the same congregation as his brother, taking the name Damien, presumably after the St Damian of the fourth century, famous not only for his martyrdom but for being an “unmercenary” physician (treating the sick without fee).
The name would prove prophetic.
When his brother could not go to the mission field because of illness, Damien was sent by his superiors to Hawaii in his place. He was ordained a priest in Honolulu and first served north of the city on the island of Oahu. It was there that he first became acquainted with the health crisis among the native Hawaiians caused by diseases from foreigners to which the natives had no immunity. Due to the fears surrounding leprosy especially, those diagnosed to the disease were sent by the government to quarantine camps on the island of Molokai.
The Bishop responsible for the Hawaiian missions wanted to send priests to care for those in this desperate situation, but he did not feel that he could order anyone to endanger their health so he asked for volunteers. Four priests volunteered, with the original plan being that they work in shifts to minimize the danger to any one man. Fr. Damien was the first sent, arriving at the settlement on May 10, 1873. From the beginning, he made his concern not only the spiritual welfare of the lepers but their physical welfare as well, working with them to build up the church, repair the houses, and construct roads and hospices. He ate with the lepers, bandaged their wounds, and when needed, build coffins and dig graves with his own hands.
In a letter to his brother still in Europe, he said that “I make myself a leper with the lepers to gain all to Christ,” paraphrasing and taking for his life’s motto the words of St Paul in 1 Corinthians 9.
In his sermons and speeches to the Catholics of the camp, he would often begin with the words “My dear lepers.” In December 1884, after eleven years of ministering among them, the residents knew that things had changed forever when Fr. Damien started with the words, “My fellow lepers…” He continued working with the people until his condition made it impossible. Volunteers took up his duties and cared for him on his deathbed. He died on April 15, 1889, only forty-nine years old.
He was canonized by Pope Benedict XVI in 2009. Very interesting to note is the fact that his feast day is not the day of his death, but May 10, the anniversary of his arrival at Molokai.
Every saint points us back to Jesus Christ, the source of all holiness. I have often compared the grace of Christ to pure, bright light. The saints are like gems, each of them reflecting that light in a unique way due to their unique composition and shaping by the Spirit. But this means that, by looking at Christ as He lives on in His saints, we might possibly see details about Our Lord that we might otherwise have missed looking only at the pure light itself.
We of course see much of Christ in St Damien. Much of Our Lord’s ministry to the sick was devoted to the lepers in particular. But there is one healing in particular that I believe today’s saint illuminates in a striking fashion. In Luke 5: 12-13, we read:
While he was in one of the cities, there came a man full of leprosy; and when he saw Jesus, he fell on his face and besought him, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.” And he stretched out his hand, and touched him, saying, “I will; be clean.” And immediately the leprosy left him.
While the English translation is good, it masks a feature of the Greek text. In Greek, in a sentence like this with multiple actions (stretching, touching, saying), the author can choose to emphasize one of those actions by writing it in what is called the indicative mood. The other actions are then rendered as participles. Thus, a more literal translation might read: “And, stretching out His hand, He touched him, saying…”
It is the touch, the touch of Jesus Christ that St Luke wants us to focus on here.
Our Lord could have healed the leper in any way. We see other types of cures in the Gospels. For the man born blind, he makes a mud compress. Others He cures with a mere word. So why here in this passage does He choose to cure with a touch?
St Damien helps us see why.
Leprosy proper (Hansen’s disease) doesn’t kill directly. It deadens nerves so that wounds are not cared for properly and thus become infected. You lose your body, one piece at a time. But it is a notorious disease not only for the horrific harm that it does to the body but because of the great fear of contagion around it. This fear causes communities to isolate the sick away from everyone else. Leprosy takes all human contact away, destroying all human feeling just as surely as it destroys feeling in one’s fingers and toes.
How does Jesus choose to bring healing to the leper? With a touch. We don’t know how long the man had suffered, but it is not impossible to think that it may have been years, even decades since he had known the warmth of human contact. Our Lord’s touch is the man’s salvation. For sixteen years of his life, Fr. Damien was the touch of Jesus for the lepers of Molokai, reaching them, calling them not only to the Gospel but calling them back to their basic humanity.
God may not ask many of us to minister to those who suffer from Hansen’s disease as St. Damien did. But we are all too aware of the various leprosies of the soul that plague our modern world. Every Christian is called to imitate Christ. We need to look for ways that, like St Damien, we can be the hands of Our Lord: reaching out in compassion, reminding the dead and dying around us of their dignity as children of God, never compromising the truth but proclaiming the Gospel of Love and Life with our own lives. We can be the hands of Jesus in the world today, if we so choose.
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Three reactions to this most inspiring piece:
1. As a young boy of around 8-9, I belonged to a Catholic book club that monthly sent a work on the life of a certain saints. The book that made the greatest impact was that about the life of Damian of Molokai. I thought at the time that I wanted to have the faith of a man who lived such an heroic life; this is the Church I want to be a part of.
2. At age 10, our Catholic school in Brooklyn took us to Radio City Music Hall to see the opening of the movie Ben-Hur. The part of the movie with the greatest impact (even more than the chariot race) was Judah Ben-Hur finding his mother and sister hidden away from society in the Valley of the Dead where lepers were sent. Watch the movie and see if you don’t agree.
3. The third point refers to the writer’s citing of the scriptural text about Jesus touching the leper. What’s unique to man is that he is created by God with an immortal soul that is incorporated i.e. with a body that is essential to who he is. Physical contact is critical to affirming who man is. An infant lacking the touch of another human will likely develop an anaclitic depression and oft-times die. I once went to confession to a priest on the occasion of a Vatican-sponsored meeting. Confessions were heard in a very large auditorium where priests sat on a chair and the penitents knelt for the priest to hear their confession. When I was finished, the priest gave me absolution, stood up and then held out his hands to help lift me off the floor back onto my feet. It was that act of his touching that I found most healing.
I watched Ben Hur as a small child & the scene you describe with his mother & sister is the one that affected me the most also. In fact it was the only scene I remembered until I watched the film again as an adult.
This is very well put. I admit when I read Luke 5:12-13 I somehow gloss over the “touch” focusing rather on the words “be clean”. Healing is happening at various levels but as you articulate here in my understanding, the most fundamental and needful healing is happening by Jesus’ contact through touch. Indeed this is St Damien’s legacy reminding us of Jesus who always yearns to get closer and more personal than we realize. St Damien, pray for us!
A fine, in depth reflection of the life of a great saint. A hidden greatness of humility and compassion obscured in the remoteness of Molokai. Fr Damian de Veuster a model to turn away from my pride and callousness.
My lone affinity was as a layman teaching in Malawi giving lifts to African sufferers on foot on their way to the field hospital across the border in Zambia to where I was headed to treat my malaria. Their grateful smiles were my reward. Reasons I decided on the priesthood. Our youth should be made aware of Fr Damian de Veuster as an inspiration to the priesthood and its true meaning.
Yes, it’s Damien.
Leprosy is something seen in the US occasionally today. They’re not sure exactly how the transmission occurs but it may be related to armadillos which can also be infected with leprosy.
The armadillo, if I recall correctly, is the animal reservoir of leprosy. It was successfully used as the test animal to develop a cure for leprosy. Leprosy is indeed readily curable today but the medication still has to get to the sufferers, the sooner the better.
Fr. Damien was the only person serving the lepers of Molokai who contracted the disease. Turns out, it’s not easily contagious but requires prolonged contact for transmission. St. Damien’s story is the most dramatic but do look into the biographies of St. Marianne Cope and Brother Joseph Dutton, who is on the path to canonization.
Thank you for sharing that Miss Sandra. Ive read about St.Marianne Cope also and a little about Brother Joseph.
The BBC had an article about British red squirrels being infected with leprosy also and there’s a theory that pet squirrels may have passed it on to people in medieval times. Apparently squirrels were popular pets back then.
I think leprosy may also be less likely to infect those who have some kind of resilience to it. Maybe genetic. But stay away from those armadillos anyway. 🙂
They’re a constant roadkill feature where we live.
Oh! the poor little squirrels! Now we know the real reason Squirrel Nutkin lost his tail. . . .
I recommend “The Samaritans of Molokai, an interesting dual biography of Fr. Damien and Joseph Dutton. The latter had quite a dramatic life before coming to help Fr. Damien.
I realize that this is like going from the sublime to the ridiculous, but in the old 1931 Bela Lugosi film version of “Dracula,” there’s a shot that I never quite understood. While the Count is ushering Renfield into his castle, we see a brief glimpse of armadillos scurrying around. Your comment that they can serve as carriers of leprosy brings some sense to a detail that never quite made sense to me before.
I don’t know Ken if it was understood in 1931 that armadillos carry leprosy but we know that now, so it does add a layer of creepiness to the scene in Dracula.
Perhaps the filmmakers knew armadillos were nocturnal like Dracula or just added them for their strange appearance?
Outside of carrying leprosy and digging up lawns they’re pretty harmless critters. People who eat them in Brazil have very high rates of leprosy so armadillos shouldn’t be on our menus either but Ive heard that was sometimes the case during the Depression.
LOVED the definition of Saint. Should send it to all my protestant friends when I’m feel like I’m charitable enough to withstand the blowback.
Leprosy described might as well be “Covid” described.
Except, of course, Leprosy is real.
The story of Damien, like that of many saints, overflows with sadness mixed with joy and glory.
I do not remember the name of the book which I read about Damien many years ago, but it drew a picture of a man driven by love for the forsaken leprous people of Molokai. Damien labored incredibly, often without rest, sleeping little. Alone among these needy, hurting, uncatechized and miserable people, Damien dug sanitation ditches.
He walked miles upon miles over volcanic rocks to form paths so he could visit distant folks about whom he’d only heard. He BEGGED without relief from his order and from the princess of the islands who actually visited and promised material aid which THEN DID NOT COME. He catechized, he converted, he built and repaired rudimentary huts for (?and a small chapel) from rocks smashed and hewn, hauled and put in place by his own hands. Only after 10-12 or more years of hard and solitary labor, with his prayerful soul beseeching the Lord did the heavens open and pour down their gifts. The wonderfully overflowing ship arrived, filled with helpers. Now in an advanced stage of the disease, his work done, his prayers answered, Damien bid his fellow lepers farewell, then met the Lord for whom he had worked and loved beyond measure.
Tears form in my eyes at the memory of having learned of the heroic endurance and solitary suffering of such a man who loved much. St. Damien of Molokai, pray for us.
Also, St. Damien dressed wounds. He washed dressings and reapplied them after sanitizing and scraping diseased tissue from the putrid wounds of his lepers.
With careful proprietorship and heartfelt compassion, St. Damien may have referred to his friends as “My lepers.”
Navy ships navigating under a starry night sky from the east, and toward Pearl Harbor, always found their exact location by sighting a shaft of light from the lighthouse on the Island of Molokai. This was before GPS replaced celestial navigation and “dead reckoning,” and was my awesome experience on several occasions.
Today, where is the Molokai Light that will guide the Church beyond its current dark night of fluid forwardism?
The convenient harmony between Masonic “reciprocal tenderness and affection” and theologically vague “fraternity”? The close coupling of Dignitas Infinita, opposing “gender theory,” with the un-retracted blessing of “irregular” couples—as couples—in Fiducia Supplicans? And in Dignitas Infinita, itself, a tie more to “consciousness” than to consciences, and to history’s U.N. Declaration of Human Rights than more firmly to Natural Law and the Incarnation? Instead, the “pluralism of religions” as if willed by God. And, too, seemingly the historicist replacement of the Second Vatican Council (aggiornamento rooted ressourcement) with proceduralism and its mutant ingredients in synodality?
Of the perennial Catholic Church, and of the postmodern 21st Century, why does all of this leprous, contagious, and ambiguous loss of nerve (!) recall at its core St. Peter Damian (not Damien!) and his 11th-century “Book of Gomorrah”?