Just over 150 years ago, in 1873, a Belgian priest named Father Joseph Damien de Veuster was sent to minister to lepers on the Hawaiian island of Molokai. He was filled with missionary zeal and a desire to be of service, and upon arrival, he visited each person in the leper colony, hoping to establish a relationship of Christian love and friendship. However, to his surprise and distress, the people would not accept him. Father Damien, as he was known, did everything he could on their behalf, including building a chapel with his own hands, other forms of manual labor, holding Sunday and weekday Mass, and being available to those in any need—but it seemed nothing was working; no one was responding to his ministry. Father Damien had been willing to come to Molokai for the sake of the Gospel, but it now seemed that Jesus had asked too much of him—and after twelve long years, he finally decided to leave.
As he was standing on the dock, about to board a ship that would take him away, Damien felt some numbness in his hands—and when he looked down at them, he noticed several white spots. After all those years of working among lepers, he himself had contracted leprosy. He realized immediately what he had to do: return to the leper colony and resume his ministry. Within hours word spread throughout the colony about what had happened—and hundreds of lepers gathered around Father Damien’s hut; they understood his fear and uncertainty about the future, and silently expressed their solidarity with him. The next Sunday, when he arrived at the chapel to say Mass for the handful of people who normally attended, he found it filled with lepers, with many more standing outside. Damien was finally accepted by the lepers because he was now one of them, and from that time on his ministry became enormously successful (James Hewett, Illustrations Unlimited, p. 327)—so successful that the Church now recognizes him as Saint Damien of Molokai. Father Damien spent the rest of his life on Molokai, and experienced a happiness and peace far greater than anything he had ever imagined. This is how Jesus chooses to work in our lives. He always asks more of us, and gives us more, than we could ever expect.
In the Gospel of Mark (12:28-34) a scribe, or educated man, had something to ask Jesus. Many of the scribes, Pharisees, and other religious leaders were enemies of Our Lord, but not this one. He had an honest question: which of the many commandments of the Law was the greatest? He was expecting one answer; Jesus gave him two: love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself. The scribe received more than he asked for—and probably also a greater challenge than he expected. He accepted it, for he was pleased with Our Lord’s response, but from then on no one else asked any more questions—everyone was probably afraid that Christ’s answers would be too challenging. I think we can understand this feeling. If I were to ask, “How many of us love God?,” we’d all immediately raise our hands. If I were then to ask, “How many of us truly love all our neighbors—that is, all the people we know?,” many of us would hesitate. It’s usually easy to love God, but often much harder to love all of the people in our lives. Jesus challenges us to do both. He Himself did this, as the Letter to the Hebrews (7:23-28) tells us, by offering Himself as a sacrifice for our sins; in this way He demonstrated the sort of wholehearted love of God Moses speaks of in the Book of Deuteronomy (6:2-6). Love of God and love of neighbor must always go hand-in-hand.
It would be easier, of course, to love everyone if everyone always acted in a lovable way—but of course, that’s not the case, as Saint Damien himself experienced. One Catholic author writes, “Because of his impetuous nature and rough manner, and because of jealousy on the part of some non-Catholics . . . Father Damien had many critics as well as admirers, especially in his later years. These critics were to be found even in the ranks of his own [religious] congregation. Damien suffered more on this account than he did from the leprosy he at last contracted” (Ann Ball, Modern Saints: Their Lives and Faces, Book One, p. 115). Even after the saint died, many vicious things were written about him—to the point that the famous author Robert Louis Stevenson, himself a Protestant, wrote a strong defense of the holy priest and his ministry. Despite the unjust criticism, mistaken beliefs, and opposition of worldly people—all of which were experienced by Jesus Himself—Our Lord summons us to love everyone without reservation:  a challenge we can meet successfully only by relying on His grace.
There’s a little saying that goes, “I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my neighbor, and I found all three.” We’re called to find God in one another. Doing so can be more than we bargained for, but it can also be a greater blessing than we expected. Before I was ordained a priest, I knew I’d be spending a lot of time with people in my ministry. I had no idea of the challenges, annoyances, and difficulties I would face.  I also had no idea of the joys, consolations, and blessings I would experience. Jesus works that way. We might tend to  say, “Well, Lord, I’ll  give you this much love, and I’ll budget this much concern for my neighbor, and I’ll set aside this much commitment to my faith, but I’ll hold some things back in reserve—just in case.” Jesus says in response, “Stop being silly. Give Me your entire self and your entire life; don’t hold back, and don’t be afraid. Yes, I do ask a lot—in fact, I ask everything of you—but in return I’ll give you far more than you ever imagined.” Saint Damien de Veuster found this to be true, and so will we. If we truly have love, we can’t put artificial limits upon it. Our love of God has to touch our neighbor, and indeed, every aspect of our lives. This is what it means to be a Christian. Loving this way is the greatest challenge we will ever face—and also the greatest promise.
