The wild, complex history of the Church in Fiji

By Eamonn Clark, STL ( bio - articles - email ) | Sep 30, 2026

When you think of Fiji, you think of palm trees and coconuts. You think of white sandy beaches. You think of daiquiris by the pool.

I think of Tongan Methodists being defeated in battle by Catholics at Taveuni. We are not the same.

Fiji is a pretty peaceful place overall, and certainly does not lack for stunning landscapes, but the country is not summarized by its famous resorts. There are normal people doing normal things. It is a developing country, with agriculture being the dominant kind of work.

The first missionaries only arrived in Fiji in the mid-1800’s, beginning with Methodists from Tahiti and England. The first Catholics came from France—the Marist Fathers, from Lyon. This was not long after their own confrere Fr. Peter Chanel, now canonized, was martyred in nearby Wallis and Futuna after converting the son of the local chieftain, eventually leading to the conversion of the whole population. The Methodist-Catholic competition for the souls of Fijians was not always polite.

Pope Pius IX had given this side of the Pacific to the Marists, and the other side to the Picpus Fathers, to whom St. Damien of Molokai belonged. In those days, there was only vague knowledge of the map of the islands. Fr. Chanel received advice from locals during a short stay in Chile before sailing off into the unknown expanse of blue.

Today the Marist Fathers are still the most relevant congregation across this part of the Pacific. I would struggle to name many other regions so dominated by a single missionary order.

The history of the mission in Fiji is wild and complex. Thankfully, during my recent visit, a long-time personal friend and local expert was able to guide me. One of the things which stuck out to me the most was the Church’s sensitivity to local religious history. This is a young Church—older Fijians had grandparents who were encountering Christianity for the first time, being pulled away from paganism.

The Church has appropriated or “baptized” some of the indigenous religion’s symbols to help the transition away from superstition into the Faith. The most conspicuous image is the odd shape of many tabernacles, something like a small tower made of grass. The explanation is that in the Fijian indigenous religion these towers were where the pagan priests would go up to communicate with the gods. And so, to communicate with God, one goes to the tabernacle. It makes sense.

In the towers, the priests would drink a strange substance called cava. It is like an anesthetic and mild stimulant, made from a root which grows in the area. The taste would not appeal to most people—something like mud mixed with a dentist’s office—but the taste was never the point. The priests would drink the cava, and this was the way they channeled messages from the gods. It was a kind of sacramental ritual.

One sees the cava bowl in Catholic imagery in Fiji for this reason, such as on altar cloths. The point is that if you want to communicate with the true God, look here, to the Church. We have priests who will tell you what He says!

Cava is still a ritual drink, but it is for social ceremonies, not religious ones. I think it’s an example of something which could be very easily misunderstood by a zealous western Catholic. “Because the pagans did this, it’s pagan!” This is not correct. The context and intention matter.

The heroic witness of the early missionaries, including those who died in spreading the Gospel, has borne fruit. Not only is there a very well-established Church in Fiji and throughout Melanesia, but there are local priestly vocations in good numbers. I stayed at the major seminary in Suva, the capital. It is a relatively large community, around 80 or so seminarians. Did you realize that there are seminaries in the Pacific? I discovered that a lot of the vocations energy is in Kiribati right now, a country most people could neither locate on a map nor pronounce correctly (KEER-ih-BAHSS). I also learned that the real story that needs to be told—and some of it still needs to be discovered—is in Vanuatu, and the history of the mission to the skull-worshippers who once lived there.

I have known Pacifican priests and seminarians for some ten years, but this was my first in-person encounter with the Church in the Pacific. Despite my extensive indirect familiarity, I found myself continually surprised. Anyone who has never been to a “fresh mission” should take the opportunity to do so, and find a way to get a local priest to show you around. Your perspective on the Church as “universal” will almost certainly change. Maybe it’s worth it even if you can’t afford to stay at a fancy resort!