What Would Father Damien Do?

God save me from ever being this kind of Christian.
via Twitter: Tim Meshginpoosh/@OldReepicheep

As Christian as I am, I deeply distrust public religiosity, like snake handling or praying in tongues. Rather than demonstrating a commitment to living the Gospel, depicted in Jesus’ life and teachings, people who participate in these displays prefer showing fellow Christians how profound their faith is. Like Jesus’ proverbial pharisee, praying on street corners, such Christians choose a vaudeville religion. Now let’s add vaccine denialists to that list.

Antivax Christianity, like snake-handling, is a heresy, because it privileges displays of human glory over quiet lives of faithfulness. Claims, like the one above, that Christians don’t need medicine because we have “the antibody of Jesus Christ,” aren’t meant for healing the sick or comforting the grieving. This form of showboating religion treats humans like God, and mistakes foolhardiness for faith. As I've written before, historically, these displays end tragically.

Watching grotesqueries like this unfold, my mind drifts to Father Damien of Moloka’i. Born Jozef De Veuster in Flemish Belgium, he felt his religious calling at the unusually senior age (by 19th Century Catholic standards) of eighteen. He took the religious name Damien during his novitiate, then traveled to Hawai’i as a missionary, and was formally ordained in Honolulu, then was briefly shuffled around several parishes throughout the Kingdom of Hawai’i.

In 1866, King Kamehameha V authorized creation of a leprosy (Hansen’s disease) colony on Moloka’i. Like syphilis, influenza, and whooping cough, leprosy was introduced to Hawai’i by outside traders; unlike those other diseases, leprosy could be contained. The Kingdom established its colony at Kalawao, a remote peninsula accessible only by sea. The patients confined to Kalawao immediately suffered spiritual dislocation, acedia, and great suffering.

Father Damien volunteered to plant a parish at Kalawao, which eventually became Saint Philomena’s. With 600 patients, the colony was fairly large, and Damien was the only pastor. The bishop intended to rotate several pastors through Saint Philomena’s every six months, to protect the priests’ health, but a paucity of volunteers meant Damien didn’t have any relief. That, my friends, is where Damien becomes relevant today.

The official state statue of Father Damien
at the Hawai’i Capitol in Honolulu

Given the opportunity to leave Saint Philomena’s empty, Damien elected to remain. The medical mission to Kalawao was financially well-supplied, but short-handed. Thus, besides his apostolic mission, Damien also became volunteer nurse, house carpenter, schoolteacher, and eventually, coffin builder and gravedigger. Can you imagine today’s megachurch pastors changing their parishioners’ suppurating lesions? Can you imagine Rick Warren or Joel Osteen digging their parishioners’ graves?

Though Father Damien worked with superintendents who were Hawai’ian or part-Hawai’ian, they rotated out for safety. Damien alone worked without relief. Under his watch, the lepers’ shacks were upgraded to painted houses, and many operated successful farms. Damien was only part of the lepers’ support network, but he was the only part which remained constant for several uninterrupted years. Reportedly, he even began preaching in the Hawai’ian language.

Most important, Father Damien had no magical illusions that Jesus provided him immunity from disease. When he’d ministered in Kalawao for eleven years, he realized he’d stopped feeling pain in his extremities, a diagnostic sign of Hansen’s disease. He’d become a leper. The disease became so advanced that he needed to wear a bamboo frame beneath his liturgical vestments to keep his clothing from blistering his skin.

And still he served his parish. He eventually served sixteen years among perhaps the most feared population in Hawai’i, then died among them, and was buried in their midst. Having the protections of a European in an essentially colonized nation, he could’ve received much better treatment, if he’d only left his parishioners behind. But he didn’t perceive Whiteness as gain; he served lepers, until he became a leper.

Witnessing today’s spoiled, White megachurch Christians claiming God will prevent them getting infected with a highly infectious disease, I can’t help comparing them to Father Damien. For him, Christianity meant getting his hands dirty, getting the castoffs from parishioners’ saturated bandages on his clothes. It meant loving them during their lives, and ensuring they had honorable burials when they died. Christianity meant walking into Kalawao, and never walking out.

I’m not always the best representative of Christianity. I get short-sighted, focused on my own comfort and ease. It’s easy to say “I’m only human,” but so were the Apostles. And so was Father Damien. In an era defined by colonial poverty, a rootless state, and widespread disease, I want to be more like Father Damien. I want to stop thinking about my glory, and instead serve the suffering, those Christ calls us to serve.