The Passion of Fr. Hurley

© James C. Clàr

The events of this story took place many years ago now in a strange and exotic part of the world; a part of the world that, even today, is only somewhat less remote in time and geography. Like all real stories this one, too, began and ended with a book …

Fr. Matthew Hurley was a member of a powerful and prestigious Catholic religious order noted for, among other things, its zealous missionary work and a profound commitment to education. The young priest's brethren were also somewhat unique – at least in the culture of Roman Catholicism of that time – in that most distinguished themselves as scholars in diverse secular fields. Hurley, for his part, was both a gifted anthropologist as well as an accomplished linguist. Unlike many of his confrères, however, whose faith was challenged by their various scientific and academic pursuits, the more Fr. Hurley learned about the natural world, the structure and organization of human societies and the development and acquisition of language, the more convinced he became that the design so apparent in the world around him was the result of a divine plan and that all things proceeded in accord with the Will of the Creator. Matthew Hurley took his religious vows quite seriously. His faith was a genuine, lived reality as opposed to merely a habit, a discipline or an unreflective adherence to organizational convention.

Inevitably, Hurley's intellectual abilities, no less than his piety and commitment, attracted the attention of his superiors. The corporate identity of this group was highly developed and it was believed – largely because it was generally true – that the accomplishments of any one of its members became in effect the accomplishments of the collectivity. At some point, and here many of the details are lost to time, memory and the somewhat arcane machinations of the order itself, Fr. Hurley was dispatched to an island somewhere in the vast expanse of the South Pacific. Although there was at that time a small European settlement on the coast of that island, its mountainous interior had been penetrated only barely.

Rumors abounded concerning the primitive and savage state of the tribes indigenous to that forbidding region. If those reports were true, the natives were but one, maybe two, generations removed from the practices of head-hunting and cannibalism. To begin the process of evangelization among such a people was a task as well as an obligation that, rightfully, belonged only to an order whose initiates styled themselves the Foot Soldiers of Christ . It was also believed that Matthew Hurley's background, training and personality uniquely qualified him to undertake this bold venture ad majorem Dei gloriam and, of course, to the greater glory of his order.

Hurley arrived at his destination in due course after an arduous journey by air and sea. The modern reader, accustomed to the speed and comfort of travel in the jet age needs to recall the rigors endured by those journeying great distances in the period “between the wars.” After one night in the aforementioned coastal metropolis – hardly more than the vestige of a 19 th century colonial outpost – he was escorted to the interior where, for all intents and purposes, he was left to fend for himself amid a scattered population that, if not overtly hostile, was at best wholly indifferent to his presence.

Slowly, however, and owing largely to his natural affability and genuine sincerity, Fr. Hurley earned the trust of the small cadre of tribal leaders whose every whim shaped the fabric of life in the villages and, with it, the opinion of the general population. He thus moved freely among the people and, following the example of the ancient and venerable founder of his order, began his ministry not so much by preaching the gospel by word but rather by means of modeling it through his attitude and actions. The data he was able to collect during this period concerning the history, culture and beliefs of the people, he believed, would prove an invaluable boon to the field of anthropology in addition to enhancing even further the reputation of his vaunted order.

Part of the reason for Hurley's initial success, of course, lay in his linguistic ability. He very quickly picked up the rudiments of the main local language as well as becoming more or less fluent in a number of the more prevalent and expressive dialects. Aware of the universal appeal and unquestioned power of narrative, his first major undertaking was to translate the Gospels into a series of texts which he could then read to the various groups with whom he came into contact.

Not even Fr. Hurley, however, could have anticipated the extent to which his efforts were to bear fruit. Dusky evening after dusky evening by the light of fires lit in the center of the main village, the natives would gather after the communal meal to listen to the stories the ashen-faced man in the robes of black would weave for them in his strange but mesmerizing imitation of their language. The story of one person sacrificing himself for the good of everyone resonated deeply in the collective psyche of the people – a people who, like the individuals in Fr, Hurley's own order, also possessed a sophisticated sense of collective identity.

Remarkably, and without being entirely conscious of having done so, Fr. Hurley worked his way through the texts of Matthew, Mark and Luke. The morning after completing a reading of the Fourth Gospel, he awoke to the unaccustomed sounds of hammering heard through the mud and grass walls of his hut. Just as he was rising, three tribal elders arrived and led him roughly out into the main compound. An X-shaped scaffold cast an eerie shadow in the tropical sun. He noticed that the morning was unusually hot and humid. He was also aware of what Divine Providence had decreed for him even before the assembled villagers began slapping his face and spitting on him as he stumbled past.