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Contents © 2000
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

JUNE 2000 CONFESSIONS

I AM YOUR PRIEST

Last month, I saw the Lamb's Players production of Damien, a one-man show that tells the true story of Damien de Veuster, a priest who devoted himself to caring for the denizens of the leper colony on the Hawaiian island of Molokai. (Damien eventually fell victim to leprosy himself.) I think the production was good, and that the actor gave a sound, sensitive portrayal of this heroic priest. And yet, sloppy sentimental Irishman that I am, I was strangely unmoved.

After the show, the actor, Robert Smyth, held an informal forum with the audience. During the forum, he said, "I love the fact that [Damien is] a flesh and blood human being. A lot of times, when we think of people who are saintly, it's kind of like [they have] this distance from us. [We have] kind of this little fuzzy image of, "They're so special." I like the fact that this is a very human portrayal of someone. At the same time, he has an immense compassion, and a very deep faith."

"Very human" here means, I think, fallible. Damien has a temper, and he seems to lose it most often in the presence of the board of health, which neglects the lepers it has promised to care for, and which makes his life difficult at every turn. He is tempted by the healthy, lusty daughter of a family he visits. He expresses fears that the praise afforded him in the press will breed pride in his soul. He battles with his bishop over the prudence and wisdom of his actions. And at the end, in what was for me the play's most dramatic moment, he gives full voice to his doubts.

Damien asks God if the accusations that have been leveled against him are true, if he did more harm than good, and followed not God, but his own temperament. He asks for a word of reassurance, and there is a moment of tension as he waits, and waits, and finally speaks into the silence that if his doubts are what come between him and his Lord, then he casts them aside. "You are my God," he concludes, "and I am your priest." He smiles with the joy of this statement, and his face is lit with radiant light.

The moment works because it digs into Damien's interior life, where the battles are fought, and which a one-man show may display to great effect. For the most part, the play is content to remain on the surface, telling the story of a holy man who not only laid down his life, but who effected change while alive. Too often, the struggles are earthly.

Damien gets angry at the board of health, but does anyone in the audience blame him? (More interesting was Damien's confession of beating a leper he catches molesting a young boy, then threatening him with dire consequences if he ever catches him again. Here, Christ could have risen to the surface. Damien could have sought the man's forgiveness, and tried to bring him Christ's love. But all we hear is the confession.)

Damien has to overcome his revulsion at the physical wretchedness of the lepers, but we never hear a word about his reaction to their spiritual wretchedness, their soul-twisting battles with bitterness and despair, which surely must have taken place, and with which he must have been involved. The bishop who objects to Damien's administering the sacrament of last rites to non-Catholics is almost of necessity seen as the enemy. Damien is the missionary of love to these poor souls, and this bishop is obsessing over distinctions. But shouldn't Damien, who has a great love for the sacraments -- especially confession -- have at least paused over the bishop's objection? And the fear of pride, a worthwhile theme, is introduced, but then left alone until the moment of doubt at the end.

Thinking about the play, I found myself thinking about another play, one as yet unwritten: a priest who gives himself to preaching in front of abortion clinics. A priest who angers the faithful because he seems more interested in befriending abortionists than saving babies, who must overcome his temptation to hate those people he is trying to help, who must struggle against a feeling of righteous pride in the face of the world's hatred.

I picture him helpless in the face of accusations that he belongs to a church that hates women and sex, unable to even begin to explain himself when confronted with such rage. I picture him asking forgiveness from an a doctor he has been angry with, only to have that doctor express scorn and calumny. I picture him unable to see any positive results during his lifetime, miserable for having stirred up so much division and anger, but unable to deny his calling.

And finally, sloppy sentimental Irishman that I am, I picture him dying while saving an abortionist from a zealot's bullet, finally saving a life, though not an unborn life. As the curtain falls, the abortionist stands wondering over his body, and hope is borne aloft.

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