A Leper for Christ: Saint Damian of Molokai and Solidarity
When Damien de Veuster arrived in Hawaii in 1864, he found an island-community beset by infections. Over the years, travelers and seamen had introduced diseases like influenza and syphilis. Yet none were as bad as Hansen’s Disease, more commonly known as leprosy. First reported in Hawaii in 1840, leprosy devastated people in many ways. First, because the disease was highly contagious and untreatable until the 1930s, people contracting it had no hope of recovery. This often led to deep depression among its sufferers. Second, leprosy caused a progressive degeneration of their skin, eyes, and limbs. It thus disfigured people and eventually immobilized them. Finally, few diseases isolated people from their communities as much as leprosy. Sufferers were seen as outcasts and cautioned to stay away from everyone else.
In 1866, to curb the spread of the disease, Hawaiian authorities decided to consign lepers to an isolated community on the island of Molokai. On three sides, the colony, called Kalaupapa, bordered the Pacific Ocean, and the fourth side featured massive, 1,600-foot cliffs. Once the lepers were out of sight and no longer a threat to the general population, the government turned a blind eye to their basic needs. Shipments of food and supplies slowed down, and the government removed most of its personnel. The result was a highly dysfunctional community marked by poverty, alcoholism, violence, and promiscuity.
Puritan missionaries became convinced that leprosy stemmed from the people’s licentiousness. But Damien knew that was not true. He believed the people on Molokai were basically good, not corrupt, and that sin did not cause the spread of the disease.
In time, Damien came to see the neglected colony as the answer to his boyhood longings for adventurous missionary work. He asked the local bishop for permission to go to Molokai, and the bishop not only granted approval, but personally accompanied Damien to the island. He introduced Damien to the 816 community members as “one who will be a father to you and who loves you so much that he does not hesitate to become one of you, to live and die with you.”
This introduction did not surprise Damien, who had no illusions about what his mission would entail. He knew working in the disease-ridden colony virtually guaranteed that he would become infected too. Yet he never wavered in his commitment.
At first, the conditions around the lepers proved overwhelming. Damien often felt as if he had opened a door to hell. Victims wandered about, their bodies in ruin and their constant coughing the island’s most familiar sound. Damien could hardly bear the stench:
“Many a time in fulfilling my priestly duties at the lepers’ homes, I have been obliged, not only to close my nostrils, but to remain outside to breathe fresh air. To counteract the bad smell, I got myself accustomed to the use of tobacco. The smell of the pipe preserved me somewhat from carrying in my clothes the obnoxious odor of our lepers.”
Eventually Damien overcame the distressing sights and smells. His superiors had given him strict advice: “Do not touch them. Do not allow them to touch you. Do not eat with them.” But Damien made the decision to transcend his fear of contagion and enter into solidarity with the Molokai lepers. He committed to visit every leper on the island and to inquire of their needs.
One early realization was that to show the lepers the value of their lives, he had to first demonstrate the value of their deaths. So he built a fence around the local cemetery, which pigs and dogs regularly scavenged. He also constructed coffins and dug graves, committing that each leper, even if marginalized throughout his life, would receive a decent burial upon death. This had a remarkably uplifting effect on the community.
Damien also devoted his attention to the sick. He brought the sacraments to bedridden lepers. He washed their bodies and bandaged their wounds. He tidied their rooms and did all he could to make them as comfortable as possible.
What surprised the lepers most was that Damien touched them. Other missionaries and doctors shrank from the lepers. In fact, one local doctor only changed bandages with his cane. But Damien not only touched the lepers, he also embraced them, he dined with them, he put his thumb on their forehead to anoint them, and he placed the Eucharist on their tongues. All of these actions spoke volumes to the dejected lepers. They showed that Damien did not want to serve them from afar; he wanted to become one of them.
Damien was careful never to present himself as a messianic figure, soaring in from a higher, more privileged position. He invited lepers to join in the work, turning his service to the community into an act of solidarity. He had them help build everything from coffins to cottages. When the colony expanded along the island’s peninsula, his leper friends helped construct a new road. Under his supervision, the lepers even blasted away rocks on the shoreline to create a new docking facility. Damien also taught the lepers to farm, raise animals, play musical instruments, and sing. Although the lepers were used to being patronized or bullied, Damien spread among them a new cheer and sense of worth.
This refreshing spirit impressed visitors to the island. “I had gone to Molokai expecting to find it scarcely less dreadful than hell itself,” wrote Englishman Edward Clifford in 1888, “and the cheerful people, the lovely landscapes, and comparatively painless life were all surprises. These poor people seemed singularly happy.”
Despite the idyllic community Damien had built through a decade of work, the moment he feared finally arrived in December 1884. One day, while soaking his feet in extremely hot water, Damien experienced no sensation of heat or pain—a tell-tale sign that he had contracted leprosy. The disease quickly developed, causing Damien to write to his bishop with the news: “Its marks are seen on my left cheek and ear, and my eyebrows are beginning to fall. I shall soon be completely disfigured. I have no doubt whatever of the nature of my illness, but I am calm and resigned and very happy in the midst of my people. The good God knows what is best for my sanctification. I daily repeat from my heart, ‘Thy will be done.’”
Soon, he also wrote home to his brother: “I make myself a leper with the lepers to gain all to Jesus Christ.”
Even before contracting the disease, Damien spoke of himself and the people of Molokai as “we lepers.” He identified closely with those he came to serve and thus, before and after the disease, offered a powerful, concrete expression of solidarity. And it was for that reason he become known not by his homeland, but by the island community he served—Saint Damien of Molokai, patron of lepers.
Brandon Vogt is a bestselling author and works as the Senior Content Director for Bishop Robert Barron’s Word on Fire Catholic Ministries. Reprinted with permission from StrangeNotions.com
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Ever heard of a robber who turned into a Saint? Moses the Black was a leader of a band of thieves who attacked, robbed, and murdered travelers in the Egyptian desert. The very mention of his name spread terror in people’s hearts. On one occasion, Moses had to hide in a monastery and was so amazed at the way he was treated by the Monks that he converted and became a monk! But the story doesn’t end there. Once, four of the robbers of his former band descended upon the cell of Moses. He had lost none of his great physical strength, so he tied them all up. Throwing them over his shoulder, he brought them to the monastery, where he asked the Elders what to do with them. The Elders ordered that they be set free. The robbers, learning that they had chanced upon their former ringleader and that he had dealt kindly with them, followed his example: they repented and became monks. Later, when the rest of the band of robbers heard about the repentance of Moses, they also gave up their thievery and became fervent monks. After many years of monastic struggles, Moses was ordained deacon. For another fifteen years, he continued his monastic labors. About 75 disciples gathered around the saintly Elder, who had been granted the gifts of wisdom, foresight, and power over demons by the Lord. Once, a certain brother committed an offense in Scete, the camp of the monks. When a congregation was assembled to decide on this matter, they sent for Abba Moses, but he refused to come. Then they sent the priest of the church to him, imploring, “Come, for all the people are expecting you,” and finally, he responded to their pleas. Taking a basket with a hole in it, he filled it with sand and carried it upon his shoulders. Those who went out to meet him asked, “What does this mean, O Father?” And he replied, “The sands are my sins, which are running down behind me, and I cannot see them. Yet, I have come here today to judge shortcomings that are not mine.” When they heard this, they set that brother free and said nothing further to him.
At the age of 20, Anthony lost his parents and was left with a large inheritance and the responsibility of caring for his sister. About the same time, Anthony happened to hear a reading from the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus tells a rich young man, "If you want to be perfect, go and sell everything you have and give the money to the poor." Anthony believed he was that rich young man. Shortly after, he gave away most of his property, sold almost everything else, and kept only what he needed to care for himself and his sister. But that’s not exactly what the Lord had commanded! Not long afterward, Anthony was at Mass once again and heard the Gospel passage, “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself” (Matthew 6:34). Again, he knew Jesus was speaking directly to him, so he gave away even the little he had saved, entrusted his sister to the care of some holy women, and entered the desert to live a life of poverty, solitude, prayer, and mortification. In that harsh desert landscape, the devil attacked him in countless ways saying “Think about all the good you could have done with that money you gave away!” Firm in prayer and mortification, Anthony fought off the devil and his manifestations. Many were attracted to his wisdom, and these he encouraged to seek self-denial and the hermetic life. No wonder after his death he became Saint Anthony the Great or Saint Anthony of the Desert, the father of Christian Monasticism. Once a brother renounced the world and gave his goods to the poor, but he kept back a little for his personal expenses. He went to see Abba Antony. When he told him this, the old man said to him, "If you want to be a monk, go into the village, buy some meat, cover your naked body with it and come here like that." The brother did so, and the dogs and birds tore at his flesh. When he came back the old man asked him whether he had followed his advice. He showed him his wounded body, and Saint Antony said, "Those who renounce the world but want to keep something for themselves are torn in this way by the demons who make war on them."
Few Saints of the Catholic Church have captured the popular imagination like Joan of Arc. Her story is depicted in paintings, sculptures, and numerous films. Born into a peasant family in 1412, Joan grew up illiterate, but acquired a profound love for the Church and a deep faith in God from her mother. Because she loved prayer and the sacraments, her neighbors said, “She was so good that all the village loved her.” She cared for the sick and homeless, often even giving them her own bed. By the age of thirteen, Joan began to hear the voices of Michael the Archangel, Saint Margaret of Antioch, and Saint Catherine of Alexandria. They told her she was to liberate France and ensure the French heir to the throne was installed as France’s rightful king. She won his trust by telling him details of his past only someone with divine knowledge could know. At the time, France was dominated and ruled by England. Convinced that her “voices” came from God, Joan heroically and faithfully obeyed their instruction, despite obstacles and suffering. Prayer and contemplation remained primary in her life even as she led battles, during which she never raised the sword against an enemy Though two years earlier a commission had “declared her to be of irreproachable life, a good Christian, possessed of the virtues of humility, honesty and simplicity”, Joan was accused of witchcraft and heresy after the English captured her, receiving no support from the very King she put on the throne. At her trial, Joan manifested her deep faith and wisdom, and despite being wrongly condemned, she never lost her faith in God or the Church. When she was burned at the stake, she proclaimed the name of Jesus while holding a crucifix to her heart, causing an observer to say, “We have burned a saint.” Her death increased her fame and popularity. Twenty years later, a new trial declared her innocent of all her alleged crimes. After her reputation grew over the centuries to epic proportions, Joan was beatified in 1910 by Pope Pius X and canonized eleven years later by Pope Benedict XV. She is now the patron Saint of France and one of the Church’s most beloved Saints. Joan’s obedience to God ensured France kept the Catholic faith during the Protestant Reformation while England abandoned it. France remained a solid center of Catholicism from which it would spread to northern Europe.
The river had swelled so high that water covered everything and all sense of where the road or footpath might be was purely a guess. With water everywhere, it seemed foolish to advance, especially in a carriage, for if anyone strayed ever so little off the road, they would perish without a doubt. As her companions panicked, Sister Teresa encouraged them, “As we are engaged in God’s work, how could we die in a better cause?” She then led the way on foot to the convent through the fierce storm. Suddenly she slipped down an embankment and fell squarely into the mud. Instead of complaining or cursing, the irrepressible nun, looked to the sky and quipped, “If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you don’t have many!” The sixteenth-century Saint and Doctor of the Church, Teresa of Avila, didn’t take herself or this world too seriously and brushed off the little hardships of life with a sense of humor. Her ability to humbly recognize her own faults and need for grace was also tinged with her refreshing humor. In her autobiography, Teresa writes, “Having virtuous and God-fearing parents would have been enough for me to be good if I were not so wicked.” Saint Teresa was also mindful of false piety and once said, “From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us!” A healthy and good sense of humor will keep our head straight and enable us to see the world’s true beauty. Did God say that we need to be “sour-faced” to be holy? So, if you want to become a saint, lighten up, share the joy of the Lord and laugh with your friends like Jesus did.
Maria Stardero, a 12-year-old girl, was led by her aunt into the church where dozens of boys were standing about or kneeling in prayer as they waited for Don Bosco to arrive for confessions. As she made her way to a pew, some of the boys noticed that the young girl’s eyes had no corneas and resembled white marbles. When Don Bosco arrived, he asked the girl about her condition. She had not been born blind, she told him, but because of eye disease she had completely lost her sight two years earlier. When he inquired about medical treatment, her aunt began to sob. They had tried everything, but doctors had only one thing to say: “It is incurable!” “Can you tell whether things are big or small?” Don Bosco asked the child. “I can’t see anything.” He led her to a window to see if she could perceive light, but she couldn’t. “Would you like to see?” Don Bosco asked. “Oh, yes! It’s the only thing I want,” said the girl, breaking down in tears. “Will you use your eyes for the good of your soul and not to offend God?” “I promise I will, with all my heart!” “Good,” said Don Bosco. “You will regain your sight.” After recourse to Mary, Help of Christians, Don Bosco recited the Hail Mary and blessed the girl. Then holding a medal of Mary Help of Christians before the girl’s eyes he asked, “For the glory of God and the Blessed Virgin, tell me what I’m holding in my hand.” “She can’t . . .” the elderly aunt began, but Don Bosco paid no heed. After a few seconds, the child shouted, “I see!” Immediately she described the medal in great detail. But when she stretched out her hand to receive it, it rolled into a dark corner. The aunt moved to retrieve it, but Don Bosco motioned her back. “Let her find it to see if the Blessed Virgin has thoroughly restored her sight,” he insisted. Immediately, the girl walked to the dark corner and bent down to retrieve the tiny object. As the many witnesses looked on, awed and profoundly moved, Maria, thanked Don Bosco profusely and with sobs of great joy. Entrust everything to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament and to Mary, Help of Christians and you will see what miracles are! Saint John Bosco
Venerated as one of the fourteen Holy Helpers (intercessors invoked especially against diseases) Saint Catherine of Alexandria is a virgin martyr of the late third century and early fourth centuries. Though there are no primary sources that attest to her life, there are many traditions about her kept alive over the centuries, including the fact that Joan of Arc claimed hers as one of the voices that spoke to her. Born around 287 in Alexandria, Egypt, a cultural and educational center of the ancient world, she was of the noble class and a very gifted student. She embraced Christianity at age 14 after seeing a vision of Jesus and His blessed mother. A precocious young woman, she didn’t hesitate at the age of 18 to challenge the emperor Maxentius when he began to cruelly persecute the Christian community. The emperor was so impressed by her wisdom that, rather than execute Catherine, he ordered her to debate his best philosophers, whom she easily bested. In fact, the philosophers were so taken by her wisdom, that they and some 200 soldiers embraced the faith. Sadly, all were immediately martyred. Frustrated by Catherine’s amazing resilience, the emperor ordered that she be jailed and tortured. But even her brutal scourging did not cause Catherine to give up her faith. So, the emperor tried a novel approach: he offered to marry her and make her an empress. Already wedded to Christ and having dedicated her virginity to him, Catherine refused the emperor. Enraged, the emperor ordered that she be executed on a spiked wheel, an especially brutal means of torture. But when Catherine touched the wheel, it miraculously shattered. Finally, the emperor commanded she be beheaded. Especially popular during the medieval period, devotion to Catherine spread during the crusades and she has remained popular in both the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches. Celebrated in much renaissance art, Catherine is the patroness of students and teachers, librarians, and lawyers. Her feast is celebrated on November 25. May her courage and her wisdom in accepting death rather than abandoning her faith in Christ inspire us and give us hope. Saint Catherine of Alexandria, pray for us.
At Mass one day, after distributing Holy Communion, Saint Philip Neri saw a man leave the church just moments after he had received the Eucharist. The man seemed to lack awareness of the Real Presence of Jesus in the consecrated host he had just received. The good priest felt he had to do something to help the man understand how disrespectful his action was, so he quickly asked two altar boys to take their lighted candles and follow the man through the streets of Rome. Soon, the man realized the altar boys were following him. Puzzled, he returned to the church to ask Fr. Neri about it. Saint Philip told the man, “We must pay proper respect to Our Lord, whom you are carrying away with you. Since you neglected to adore Him, I sent two acolytes to take your place.” The man was deeply touched by these words, and resolved to be more aware of Jesus’ presence in his heart after each Holy Communion. Our Lord Jesus is truly and substantially present in the Eucharist, and the minutes following Communion are ‘golden moments’ when we can have a heartfelt conversation with Him. He is present in our souls to listen to our every petition, carry our every burden, and bestow every grace we need. Let us be mindful of His loving presence, and spend at least a few minutes in thanksgiving and adoration after each Holy Communion.
As a young drug addict, Jim Wahlberg felt despised and forgotten by the world…until God spoke to him through a special person! Read his inspiring story of redemption I grew up Catholic, but more in the Catholic tradition than the Catholic faith. I was baptized and made my first Holy Communion. My parents sent us to church, but we didn’t go to Sunday Mass as a family. There were 9 children in my family, so anybody who was old enough to walk to church, walked to church. I remember the feeling of not belonging: the few times I went to church I would take the bulletin, and then go off to do something else. Then I stopped going altogether. Most of my siblings did the same. Nobody ever told me that Jesus died for me or that God loved me or that the Virgin Mary would intercede on my behalf. I felt I wasn’t worthy, that the people in the pews were better than me and that they were somehow judging me. I was starving for attention and acceptance. Chasing Acceptance When I was 8 years old, I saw the neighborhood kids drinking beer. I forced myself into their little group and convinced them to give me some. I didn’t become an alcoholic that day, but I got my first taste of acceptance and attention from the older, ‘cool’ kids. I was instantly hooked on the attention and continued to hang around the people that were drinking, doing drugs or smoking, because I found acceptance there. I spent the rest of my adolescence chasing that attention. I grew up during the forced integration of the Boston public school system, so every year I was put on a bus and sent to school in a different neighborhood. I attended seven different schools during my first seven years of grade school, which meant each year I started over as “the new kid”. God was completely out of the picture. The only relationship I had with God was one of fear. I remember hearing over and over that God was going to get me, that He was watching, and that He was going to punish me for all the bad things I was doing. A Lost Little Boy On the Friday night of my last day of 7th grade, I was getting ready to go out when my dad turned to me and said, “Don’t forget, when those streetlights come on, you better be in this house, or else don’t bother to come home.” That was his threat to make sure I followed the rules. I was a 12-year-old boy hanging out with other 12-year-old kids that were all from broken homes. We were all drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and doing drugs. Later that night, when I looked up and saw the streetlights come on, I knew I wasn’t going to make it home. Since I would be late, going home wasn’t an option, so I spent that entire summer down the street, a mile or two away from home, hanging out with my friends. We did drugs and drank alcohol every day. I was just a lost little boy. During that summer, I was arrested a few times and became a ward of the state. It was not long before I was no longer welcome at home. I was placed in foster care, group homes and juvenile detention centers. I was homeless and completely lost and alone. The only thing that filled the emptiness was the alcohol and drugs. I would consume them, and then pass out or go to sleep. When I woke up, I would be filled with fear, and I would need more drugs and alcohol. From age 12 to 17, I was either homeless, or living in someone else’s home, or in juvenile detention. Shackled and Broken At 17 I got arrested again for injuring someone. I ended up being sent to the state prison on a 3-to- 5-year sentence. I found myself fighting the same inner battle as when I was younger, struggling for attention and acceptance, trying to create an illusion. I served the full five years of my sentence. At the end of the prison term, they said I could go home, but the problem was I had no home to go to. An older brother was kind enough to say, “You can stay with me until you get on your feet.” But that would never happen. My brother picked me up at the prison to take me to see my mom. But first we stopped for a drink at a bar in my old neighborhood. I had to have a drink, before I could see my mom. It was my first legal drink, since I was now over 21. When I sat at my mother’s kitchen table, she didn’t recognize me as her child; she felt I was stranger. I had been out of prison for approximately six months before I was arrested again for house invasion. The house I broke into belonged to a Boston police officer. In court, the officer spoke on my behalf. He said, “Look at this kid, look at his condition. Why don’t you get him help? I don’t know if prison is the right place for him.” He showed me sympathy because he could see I was a full-blown drug addict. Suddenly I was back in prison serving a six-year sentence. I did all I could to create the illusion that I was changing my life so the police would release me early to rehabilitation. But I didn’t need rehabilitation—I needed God. The Road to Freedom After a few months of putting on this show of transforming my life, the prison chaplain, Father James, took notice of me and offered me a job as a custodian in his chapel. My first thought was, “I’m going to manipulate this guy”. He smoked cigarettes, drank coffee, had a phone—all things that inmates don’t have access to. So, I took the job, ulterior motives and all. But what I didn’t know was that he also had a plan. When he approached me, his goal was to hustle me just as much as I was planning to hustle him. But his manipulation was for the glory of God. He wanted to get me back to Mass, back to the foot of the Cross. Soon after I started working in the chapel, I asked for a couple favors from Father James. When he granted my requests, it felt like my manipulation was working. One day, however, he approached me and told me he wanted me to come and clean after the Saturday Vigil Mass so that the chapel would be ready for Sunday Mass. When I offered to come after Mass, he insisted I come beforehand and stay through the Mass. He was already pushing me in the direction of faith. A Divine Appointment At the Mass, I felt awkward and uncomfortable. I didn’t know the prayers or when to sit or stand, so I watched what everyone else was doing to get by. Soon after, Father James officially hired me for the custodian job, and told me we would be having a special guest at the prison, “Mother Teresa.” I said, “Oh that’s amazing! Who is Mother Teresa?” Looking back, I probably didn’t even know who the President of the United States was at the time; my life revolved solely around consuming alcohol, and I rarely concerned myself with people and events outside my bubble of addiction. Soon, Mother Teresa arrived at our prison. I remember seeing her in the distance and thinking, “Who is this person that all of the dignitaries, the warden, and the prisoners are swarming around, hanging on her every word?” Pulling closer, I noticed that her sweater and shoes looked a thousand years old. But I also noticed the peace in her eyes, and the money that filled her pockets. People often gave her money knowing she would give it to the poor.Since I worked at the chapel, I was blessed to be part of the entrance procession for the Mass with Mother Teresa. Prisoner that I was, I stood surrounded by the Cardinal, other dignitaries, and sisters from her order. The Cardinal invited Mother Teresa to sit at the altar with him, but she humbly declined, and with a reverent bow, went and knelt on the floor with some of the most dangerous criminals that I had ever met in my life. Gazing Into God’s Eyes As I sat on the floor, I caught her eye and I felt as though I was looking at God. Mother Teresa then ascended the altar steps and spoke words that touched me deeply, words that I had never heard before. She said that Jesus died for my sins, that I was more than the crimes I had committed, that I was a child of God, and that I mattered to God. In that moment, in that stillness, I felt as though there was no one else in the room, as though she was speaking directly to me. Her words reached a deep part of my soul. I ran back to the chapel the next day and told Father, “I need to know more about the Jesus that she was talking about, the God and the Catholic faith that she was talking about.” Father James was delighted! He had me right at the foot of the Cross where he had wanted me ever since he offered me the custodian job. I was willing to do anything to learn more about Jesus, so Father James started preparing me for my Confirmation. We met every week, studying the Catechism to learn about the faith. Though I was twice transferred to other prisons, I connected with the priests in those prisons as well, and was able to continue growing in my faith. A New Beginning A year later, it was time for me to make my formal commitment to my faith. My Confirmation was a thoughtful and intentional moment in my life. As an adult, I knew this was a major step that would set me on the road to a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ When the time came, I called my mom to tell her I was going to be confirmed, and that I would love for her to be there. She had promised she would never visit me in prison, so she was wary. After all that I had put her through, she was wounded as a mother. But when I called again a couple of days later, she agreed to come. The Confirmation day was monumental. It was not only significant for me and my walk with Christ, but also for my relationship with my mother. The following year, it was time for me to stand before the parole board. They said they had a letter from my mother she had written on my behalf. I knew my mother would never lie to the authorities to get me out of prison. Her letter read, “Before you stands a man of God. It’s okay, you can let him go now. He won’t be back.” Those words meant everything to me. By the time my mother passed away, she had dementia. Over the years she had lost her ability to tell stories and her world became small. But even in those moments when she was most in the grip of dementia, she was able to recall my Confirmation, the moment when she knew I was saved. Jesus Christ is my Savior, and I feel His presence in my life. While it requires work and effort, my relationship with Jesus is the most important one in my life. He will always love me and support me, but unless I fully engage in the relationship, I won’t know the comfort and love He longs to share with me. It is an honor to share my journey. Jesus Christ is our Savior.
Nilakandan Pillai was born into a Hindu family in South India in 1712. His parents were devout upper caste Hindus. Nilakandan’s family was closely associated with the Royal Palace, and he served the King of Travancore as a palace official in charge of accounts. In the Battle of Colachel, fought in 1741 between Travancore and the Dutch East India Company, the Dutch naval commander Captain Eustachius De Lannoy was defeated and captured by the King. De Lannoy and his men were later pardoned and served the Travancore army. Official work brought Nilakandan and De Lannoy together and a close friendship formed between the two. During this period, Nilakandan faced many misfortunes, and was beset with doubts and fear. De Lannoy consoled his friend by sharing his Christian faith. The story of Job from the Bible greatly comforted Nilakandan, and their conversations drew him to Christ. Nilakandan decided to receive baptism, though he knew this decision would mean sacrificing his social status and the service of the King. On 14th May 1745, at the age of 32, Nilakandan was baptized into the Catholic Church, taking the name Devasahayam, the Tamil rendering of the biblical name Lazarus. Devasahayam experienced immense joy in living his faith and strived to be a true disciple of Jesus. He thanked God every day for the grace of conversion and eagerly shared his Catholic faith with others. He soon persuaded his wife and several of his military colleagues to confess their faith in Christ. Devasahayam had no regard for the caste system and treated the so-called “low caste” people as equals. Soon the palace officials who opposed his newfound faith turned against him. They conspired to have him arrested. The King asked Devasahayam to renounce his Christian faith, and promised him a prominent position in his court. But despite the allurements and threats, Devasahayam stood firm in his faith, which further enraged the King. Regarded as a criminal, Devasahayam endured inhuman tortures for the next three years. He was whipped daily, and endured having chili powder rubbed onto his wounds and into his nostrils. Given only stagnant water to drink, he was paraded around the Kingdom on a buffalo with his hands tied behind him — an infamous punishment reserved for traitors and meant to discourage future conversions. Devasahayam endured the humiliation and torture with great patience and trust in God. His gentle and kind demeanor surprised the soldiers. Every morning and night he spent time in prayer, and continued preaching the Gospel to all who came to listen. The ministers who had conspired against Devasahayam obtained permission from the King to execute him in secret. On 14 January 1752, he was then taken to a deserted mountain to stand before a firing squad. Devasahayam’s only request was for time to pray, which the soldiers granted. As he prayed, shots rang out and he died with the names of Jesus and Mary on his lips. Devasahayam was declared a Martyr and Blessed on December 2, 2012. In February 2020, Pope Francis recognized a miracle attributed to the intercession of Devasahayam, and on May 15th, 2022, he was canonized, becoming India’s first layperson to be declared a saint. Shalom World has made a program based on the life of this great saint, whose courageous witness and martyrdom continues to inspire the faithful of today. To learn more about St. Devasahayam, watch the episode of ‘Glorious Lives’: https://www.shalomworld.org/episode/indias-first-layman-martyr-saint-st-lazarus-devasahayam
Seventy years ago, in a rural village a farmer lived a comfortable, middle-class life. But when his financial situation collapsed, his life spun out of control. Abandoning his faith and the Church, he turned to drinking and eventually became an alcoholic. His wife held on to her children as she knelt each day praying the Rosary for his healing. Her only desire was to see her husband make a good confession, return to Church, and receive Holy Communion. One night he passed out from too much drinking. When he woke the next morning, he couldn’t find anyone at home. His family had gone to the Church without him, and he felt a deep emptiness inside. To relieve the hangover, he searched for his bottle but found it empty. So, he staggered up the road to a nearby tea shop and sat there sipping a hot cup of tea. As he headed out to return home, he chanced to see a group of nuns walking down the lane returning to their convent from Sunday Mass. As they waited to cross the road, he noticed one of the sisters smiling. Instantly, the man felt as if he had been electrocuted. The mesmerizing smile on that Sister’s face pierced him. A divine light brighter than the sun filled his being, and he began to weep. As he wept, he could hear the words of Psalm 51 rushing over him, “Have mercy on me O God…Against You, You alone have I sinned…Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean…” He didn’t lose a moment, but went straight home, took bath, and headed to the Church. After staring at the Crucifix for a long time, he confessed his sins to the local priest. And his life changed forever. A parable or a true-life event? Miraculously, this event actually occurred in the village of Bharananganam in Kerala, India. Thanks to the constant prayers of his wife and children, the floodgates of grace opened, and this man’s life changed profoundly. The sister whose smile shone with the light of a thousand suns became the first Indian-born woman to be canonized a saint, St. Alphonsa of the Immaculate Conception, the very first saint of the Syro-Malabar Church, canonized in 2008 by Pope Benedict XVI. We celebrate her feast day on July 28. The light of the risen Lord whom she had just received in the Holy Eucharist glowed through Sr Alphonsa and its electrifying power transformed the man whose heart it touched. Each time we receive the Eucharist, we too receive the resurrected body of Christ with all its glowing power. But how often do we allow his radiant light to shine through our lives?
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I was listening in disbelief to the chastising words of my home daycare provider. Her disapproving look and tone only added to the churning in my stomach. There are few things as common to the human experience as feeling the sting of rejection or criticism. It is hard to hear less than flattering words about our behavior or character at any time, but particularly difficult when the critique leveled is one that feels unfair or inaccurate. As my husband often said, “Perception is reality;” I have come to see the truth of that statement time and again. Thus accusations that wound the most deeply are ones that seemingly come out of nowhere when the judgment of our actions may or may not reflect the intentions of our heart. Some years ago I was the recipient of the actions of one who misunderstood my intentions. Awaiting Miracle At the time, I was a mother in my late 30s, who was very grateful to have two toddlers. Despite intentional, well-timed efforts to conceive, for a full year, parenthood remained merely a dream for my husband and me. Leaving the gynecologist’s office after yet another visit, I reluctantly accepted what seemed inevitable: our only option now was the use of fertility drugs. Heading toward the car, I remarked dismally, “I guess we should stop at the pharmacy on the way home to get this prescription filled.” It was then that I heard my husband say, “Let’s give God one more month.” What?? We had already given Him a year and had been married nearly two. Our courtship had been slow to bloom. The years had added up until I was now 33 and hearing the steady ticking of my “biological clock.” Now driving home, I supposed I could wait one more month to start that drug… I peered down at the white stick’s center with the now-blue line. Excitement gripped me, and I ran out of the bathroom, shouting wildly, “We’re pregnant!!” 10 days later, I stood in front of my prayer community “family” of faith and proclaimed the good news, knowing that many of these friends had joined us in praying for this baby’s existence. Swinging Pendulum Now, four years later, we had both our long-awaited baby girl, Kristen, and our gregarious one-year- old son, Timmy, and I was listening in disbelief to the chastising words of my home daycare provider, “Miss Phyllis.” Phrases like “rebellion in children needing to be squelched,” Scriptures written out in longhand outlining the consequences of the apparent error of my ways. Her disapproving look and tone added to the churning in my stomach. I wanted to defend myself, to explain how I had read one parenting book after the other and that I tried to do everything the way the “experts” suggested. I stammered about how much I loved my children and was trying with all my heart to be a good mother. Holding back the tears, I left, the children in tow. Arriving home, I put Timmy down for a nap and settled Kristen in her room with a book to thumb through, so I could have some time to process what had just happened. As was my usual response to any crisis or problem in my life, I began to pray and seek the Lord for understanding. I realized I had two choices: I could deny the words of this woman who had been a patient, loving caregiver for my children since my daughter was 13 months old. I could try to justify my actions, reassert my intentions, and begin the process of finding a new provider for my children. Or I could examine what might have caused her to react uncharacteristically and see if there was a kernel of truth in her chastisement. I chose the latter, and as I sought the Lord, I realized I had allowed the pendulum to swing too far in the direction of love and mercy toward my children. I had used their young ages to excuse their disobedience, believing that if I just loved them enough, they would eventually do what I had asked them to. Before the Fall I couldn’t pretend Phyllis’s words hadn’t hurt. They had, deeply. Whether her perception of my parenting was, in actuality true, didn’t matter. What did matter was if I was willing to humble myself and learn from this situation. As the “Good Book” says, “Pride goes before a fall,” and heaven knows, I had already fallen pretty far off the pedestal of perfect parenting that I had set for myself. I certainly couldn’t afford another fall by clinging to my pride and hurt. It was time to acknowledge that the “experts” who write the books may not be the ones to listen to exclusively. Sometimes it is the voiceof experience that deserves our attention. The next morning, I helped the kids into their car seats and drove the familiar route to Kristen and Timmy’s caregiver, Phyllis. I knew I might not agree at times with advice that might be imparted from her in the future, but I did know that it took a wise and courageous woman to risk challenging me for the good of our family. After all, the word “discipline” comes from the word “disciple,” which means “to learn.” I had been a disciple of Jesus for many years, striving to live His ideals and principles. I had grown to trust Him as I encountered His enduring love again and again in my life. I would accept this discipline now, knowing it was a reflection of His love that wanted the best for not only me but for our family. Clambering out of the car, the three of us approached the front door when I paused to read once again the wooden hand-carved sign that was perched at eye level: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Yes, that was what Phyllis had done. Just as the Lord does for us every day, if we have ears to hear, He “disciplines those He loves.” Jesus, our Teacher, works through those willing to risk rejection for the sake of another person’s good. Surely, Phyllis was striving to follow in His footsteps. Recognizing that this faith-filled woman intended to pass on what she had learned from the Master for my benefit, I knocked on the front door. As it swung open to allow us to enter, so too, did the door of my heart.
Ever heard of a robber who turned into a Saint? Moses the Black was a leader of a band of thieves who attacked, robbed, and murdered travelers in the Egyptian desert. The very mention of his name spread terror in people’s hearts. On one occasion, Moses had to hide in a monastery and was so amazed at the way he was treated by the Monks that he converted and became a monk! But the story doesn’t end there. Once, four of the robbers of his former band descended upon the cell of Moses. He had lost none of his great physical strength, so he tied them all up. Throwing them over his shoulder, he brought them to the monastery, where he asked the Elders what to do with them. The Elders ordered that they be set free. The robbers, learning that they had chanced upon their former ringleader and that he had dealt kindly with them, followed his example: they repented and became monks. Later, when the rest of the band of robbers heard about the repentance of Moses, they also gave up their thievery and became fervent monks. After many years of monastic struggles, Moses was ordained deacon. For another fifteen years, he continued his monastic labors. About 75 disciples gathered around the saintly Elder, who had been granted the gifts of wisdom, foresight, and power over demons by the Lord. Once, a certain brother committed an offense in Scete, the camp of the monks. When a congregation was assembled to decide on this matter, they sent for Abba Moses, but he refused to come. Then they sent the priest of the church to him, imploring, “Come, for all the people are expecting you,” and finally, he responded to their pleas. Taking a basket with a hole in it, he filled it with sand and carried it upon his shoulders. Those who went out to meet him asked, “What does this mean, O Father?” And he replied, “The sands are my sins, which are running down behind me, and I cannot see them. Yet, I have come here today to judge shortcomings that are not mine.” When they heard this, they set that brother free and said nothing further to him.
At half past six, when it was still pitch dark and freezing cold, Joshua Glicklich heard a whisper, a whisper that brought him back to life. My upbringing was very typical like that of any northern lad here in the United Kingdom. I went to a Catholic school and had my first Holy Communion. I was taught the Catholic faith, and we went to Church very often. By the time I got to the age of 16, I had to choose my education, and I chose to do my levels, not at a Catholic sixth form, but at a secular school. That is when I started to lose my faith. The constant pushing of the teachers and priests to deepen my faith and love of God was no longer there. I ended up at university, and this is where my faith was really tested. In my first semester, I was partying, going to all these different events, and not making the best choices. I made some really big mistakes--like going out drinking until God knows what time in the morning and living a life that didn’t make any sense. That January, when students had to return from their first-semester break, I returned a bit earlier than everyone else. That unforgettable day in my life, I woke up at about half past six in the morning. It was pitch black and freezing cold. Even the foxes that I used to see outside my room weren’t to be seen—it was that cold and horrible. I perceived an inaudible voice within me. It wasn’t a nudge or a push that was uncomfortable for me. It felt like a quiet whisper of God saying, “Joshua, I love you. You are my son … come back to me.” I could have easily walked away from that and totally ignored it. Yet I remembered that God does not abandon His children, no matter how far we have strayed. Though it was raining hailstones, I walked to Church that morning. As I put one foot in front of the other, I thought to myself, “What am I doing? Where am I going?” Yet God kept moving me forward, and I arrived at the church for the eight o’clock Mass on that cold, wintry day. For the first time since I was about 15 or 16, I let the words of the Mass wash over me. I heard the Sanctus— “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of hosts.” Just before that, the priest said, “Joining with the choirs of the angels and the saints…” I put my heart into it and focused. I sensed angels descending on the altar to the real presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. I remember receiving the Holy Eucharist and thinking, “Where have I been, and what has all of this been about if not for Him?” As I received the Eucharist, a flood of tears overcame me. I realized that I was receiving the body of Christ. He was there within me, and I was His tabernacle—His resting place. From then on, I began to attend student Mass regularly. I met many Catholics who loved their faith. I often remember the quote by Saint Catherine of Siena, “Be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.” That’s what I saw in these students. I saw the Lord letting these people be who they were meant to be. God guided them gently like a Father. They were setting the world on fire—they were evangelizing by making their faith known to others on campus, sharing the Good News. I wanted to get involved, so I became part of the university chaplaincy. During this time, I learned to love my faith and to express it to others in a way that wasn’t overbearing but Christ-like. A few years later, I became the president of the Catholic Society. I had the privilege of leading a group of students in their faith development. During this time, my faith grew. I became an altar server. That’s when I got to know Christ—being up close to the altar. The priest says the words of transubstantiation, and the bread and wine turn into the true Body and Blood of Christ. As an altar server, all of this was right there in front of me. My eyes were opened to the absolute miracle that happens everywhere, at every Mass, on every altar. God respects our free will and the journey of life we take. However, to reach the right destination, we have to choose Him. Remember that no matter how far we have strayed away from God, He is always there with us, walking right beside us and guiding us to the right place. We are nothing but pilgrims on a journey to Heaven.
Born with non-verbal autism and diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa, a condition in which sight is gradually lost, he felt trapped in a silent prison of despair. Not able to communicate and hardly able to see…what would Colum’s life be? But God had other plans for him… My name is Colum, but in all my 24 years, I have never spoken my own name because I have been non-verbal since birth. As a child, I was assessed and identified with moderate autism and a severe learning disability. My life was very boring. My parents fought for my right to an education, setting up a school with other parents of autistic children and battling for funding to continue it. But because I couldn’t communicate, they didn’t know what my brain was capable of, and I found the material dull. People thought I was happier at home watching DVDs. I did not even go on holiday after I turned 8. I did not believe that I would ever break free of my silent prison of hopelessness and despair. Watching Others Live I always felt that Jesus was close to me. From my earliest days, He became my closest friend and remains so, to this day. In my darkest moments, He was there to give me hope and comfort. It was very trying to have everyone treat me like a baby when I was intelligent inside. My life felt unbearable. I seemed to be living a half-life as an onlooker, watching others living life while I was excluded. How often I wished I could take part and show my true ability. By the time I was 13, my eyesight was failing, so I was taken to Temple Street Children’s Hospital for an eye test called an electroretinogram(ERG). God had given me another challenge. I was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), a condition where the cells of the retina at the back of the eye die off and are not replaced, so the sight is gradually lost. There is no medical cure to fix this. I was devastated. It was such an awful blow to me, and I felt overwhelmed by sadness. For a while, my vision stabilized, giving me hope that I would retain some sight, but as I got older, my sight got worse and worse. I became so blind that I couldn’t tell the difference between different colors anymore. My future looked black. I couldn’t communicate, and now I could hardly see. My life continued in grey despair with even less inclusion and interaction. My mother now believed that I would have to be institutionalized when I got older. I felt like I was teetering on the edge of insanity. Only God stood between me and madness. The love of Jesus was the only thing keeping me sane. My family knew nothing of my struggle because I couldn’t communicate with them, but in my heart, I felt Jesus telling me that I would be healed in time. Whirling Inside In April 2014, something amazing happened. My Mum took me to my first RPM (Rapid Prompt Method) workshop. I could hardly believe it. I finally met someone who believed in me, who believed that I could communicate, and who would help me put the hard work into learning how to. Can you imagine my delight? For an instant, my heart began to hope—hope, not fear, that the real me might emerge. Help had finally arrived. Joy whirled inside me at the thought that someone finally saw my potential. So began my life-changing journey into communication. It was very hard work at first, taking weeks of practice to gain the motor memory to be able to spell accurately. It was worth every minute. Feelings of freedom began to grow as I found my voice at last. As God started this new chapter in my story, it felt like my life had finally begun. At last, I could tell my family about how I was feeling, and I felt so grateful to God. Lashing & Biting Jumping forward to May 2017. My granny told us she had a very vivid dream a few years ago about Pope John Paul II. In the dream, she was asking him to pray for her grandchildren, and it was so powerful that she wrote it down. She had forgotten about it until she came across the copybook, and it inspired her to start a novena to Pope Saint John Paul II for my siblings and me. She asked a group of people to pray the novena with us beginning on Monday, 22nd May. On Tuesday, the 23rd, at about 9 am, I was watching a DVD in my room off the kitchen. Dad had gone to work, and Mum was in the kitchen cleaning. Suddenly, our dog, Bailey, started barking at the door of my room. She had never done anything like that before, so Mum knew something was wrong. She rushed in and found me in the throes of a fit. It was very frightening for her. I was lashing about and had bitten my tongue so there was blood on my face. In her distress, Mum got a sense of someone saying, “Just trust. Sometimes things get worse before they get better”. She called Dad, who promised to come home. He asked her to take a video of me which was very useful when we got to the hospital. When I stopped jerking, I was in a stupor for over two minutes. I had lost consciousness during this ordeal, and I don’t remember anything about it, but Mum had been praying for me and watching over me to keep me safe. A Moment of Illumination When I finally came to and staggered to my feet, I was very unsteady. Mum and Dad helped me into the car for the drive to the hospital (UCHG). At the hospital, the doctors examined me and admitted me to the hospital for further investigation. The porter came with the wheelchair to move me to the Acute Medical Ward. While I was being wheeled along the corridor, I suddenly got a very dramatic improvement in my eyesight. How can I describe my feelings at that moment? I felt mesmerized by the beauty of the sights around me. Everything looked so different and so clear. It was amazing! It is impossible to explain how I felt in that moment of illumination. I can’t express the degree of my wonder at returning to a world of color and shape. It was the best moment of my life so far! When Mum asked me if I had something to say, I spelled out, “My eyes are better.” Mum was astounded. She asked if I could see a sticker on a machine outside my cubicle. I said, “Yes.” She asked if I could see what was written on the top of the sticker. I spelled out, “I am clean.” She was so astonished that she didn’t know what to think or how to react. I didn’t know how to feel at this moment myself! When Dad and my aunt came in, Mum told them what had happened. Dad said, “We will have to test this.” He went to the curtain at the end of my bed and held up a small bag of dairy-free chocolate buttons. I spelled out what was written on the bag. Then it was rapid fire for a while as he gave me lots of words to spell in the next few minutes. I got all the words right. My aunt and parents were amazed. How was this possible? How could a blind man write all the words correctly? It was medically impossible. No amount of medical treatment can help with Retinitis Pigmentosa. There is no cure in medical science. It had to be God miraculously healing me through the intercession of Saint John Paul II. It cannot be explained any other way. I’m so grateful to God for restoring my sight. It is an act of true Divine Mercy. I am now able to use a keyboard for independent communication with speech, which is much faster. My Praying Mom Let me tell you about how I kept the faith. I had many times of doubts when I felt hopeless. It was only Jesus who kept me sane. I got my faith from my mother. Her faith is very strong. She inspired me to keep going when times were tough. Now I know our prayers are answered. It took me a while to get used to having my eyesight back. My brain/body disconnect was so great, and my brain was not wired to use vision in a functional way. It was fine for scanning, but it was difficult to get my brain to use information from my vision. For instance, although I could see, I still found it hard to identify what I was looking for. I got frustrated sometimes when I stumbled because I didn’t see where I was going even though I had a vision. In September, I went back to the hospital for testing. I got a 20:20 score for my sight and color vision, so my vision is normal now. However, the retinal photograph still shows degeneration. It hasn’t improved. According to medical science, it is impossible for me to see clearly. I should still be stuck in a murky, grey world. But God, in His mercy, has released me from that dull prison and plunged me into a beautiful world of color and light. The doctors are baffled. They are still baffled, but I rejoice because I can still see. Now, I can do many things much better than before. I can tell Mum things much faster now that I can use the laminated alphabet sheet. It is so much quicker than the stencil. I am so grateful to my talented Mum for persisting with my education despite the difficulties and for praying so faithfully for my healing. In the Gospels, we hear about Jesus restoring the sight of many blind people, just as he had restored mine. In these modern times, many people have forgotten about miracles. They scoff and think that science has all the answers. God is left out of their considerations. When a miracle like my healing occurs, He is revealing that He is still very much alive and powerful. I hope that my story of healing will inspire you to open your heart to the God who loves you so much. The Father of Mercy awaits your response.
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