Back in 2008 I wrote the following article for
Eremos magazine.
eremos.org.au
"Yaaltjikutu
ananyi" - Where are we going?
I have kept a "personal creed" for over twenty
years now. Every month or so I re-read and reflect on it, usually with some
notes in the margin. Every year I spend up to a day in reflection and revising
the document on my computer.
About six months ago I wrote,
"I believe that I
have reached a watershed in my life journey. After years of struggle with my
concept of God, I now accept that the argument from science for no God is
simpler, more consistent and more sustainable than the arguments from religion
for a god."
I also wrote about my sense of loss of the liturgy and
symbolism of my previous faith, my joy in human interaction, my awe at the
universe and my belief in the continuing relevance of the life and teachings of
Jesus (be they fact or myth).
I am unapologetically struggling with my personal need for
both the rationality of atheism and the inspiration of a philosophy of human
spirituality. While I can no longer subscribe to a spirituality that depends on
a god or religion, I treasure a sense of spirituality that I believe inspires
me as a caring, moral being. For some
years I have been attracted to the term Christian Humanist but wonder if that
is not an oxymoron.
I need to explain that my life journey has been greatly
influenced by indigenous Australian persons and culture. Until the age of ten I
was a "missionaries' kid" living with my parents and sisters in a
variety of Aboriginal missions, Aboriginal children's homes and bush towns in
South Australia. As a young couple, my wife and I taught at Nepabunna, one of
the missions where I had lived as a child. Later, we taught at Amata, a
Pitjantjatjara-Yankuntjatjara school in Central Australia. In recent years we
have worked in various short-term roles back in the Anangu
Pitjantjatjara-Yankunytjatjara Lands ("the
Lands" or "APY Lands").
Our experience with the Pitjantjatjara-Yankuntjatjara people (Anangu) has greatly shaped our
lives.
For some years, my creed has included three concepts that I
have borrowed, and treasure, from Anangu
culture:
tjukurpa - story/myth/ritual
kurunpa -
spirit/self
kanyini -
caring/responsibility/relatedness.
From time immemorial, kurunpa
has been maintained by the re-enacting and re-telling of tjukurpa. The relationship is symbiotic (not causative) and in
cyclical (not linear) time. Kanyini
is both outcome and indicator of a healthy tjukurpa
and kurunpa. Together they comprise a trinity
that has become vital to my personal spirituality.
Tjukurpa, as
foundational myth, belief or ritual, is crucial to the balance of my life. It
is a sadness to me that I no longer find this in a church. (I have not attended
church regularly for about five years.) I still reflect on Christian scripture,
especially the gospels, psalms and the creation stories. I still delight in
church music. I still keep a spiritual journal and spend time in meditation,
almost akin to reflective prayer. I seek tjukurpa
in all of these, but I also find it in the wonder of the universe and the
diversity of human experience and cultural expression. It is from a diversity
and richness of tjukurpa that my kurunpa (spirit/self) is sustained and
my kanyini
(caring/responsibility/relatedness) developed.
Over many years trends or connections in my life experience
have become part of my personal tjukurpa.
Our first experience at Nepabunna left us with serious doubts about missionary
activity as we had experienced it. Our experience in "the Lands" started a questioning of our Christian faith
that has continued to the present.
I am well aware that others have had similar experiences to
these and arrived at quite different positions of belief. Personal experience
can only be a part of the story, but I believe it must be acknowledged as a
legitimate part of religious/spiritual belief. Religious belief that fails to
respond to ever expanding knowledge and experience becomes dogmatic, eventually
moribund and sometimes dangerous.
We non-indigenous people (piranpa) tend to make generalisations about indigenous spirituality
that speak to us, but do not reflect the diversity of experience and belief of
indigenous people. Indigenous spirituality is confronted with enormous change.
Often it is not coping, as seen in the recent devastating reports about child
abuse in indigenous communities.
It is very Anangu
to think and talk in stories rather than arguments or ideas. I need to do the
same here. In telling each story, I
re-read and reflect, letting layer upon layer of understanding peel back. I
invite my readers to try the same technique.
A few years ago I was in an Anangu community during a football carnival.
People had gathered from hundreds of kilometres around. The
carnival had commenced with a Christian blessing by a local Pentecostal pastor
and an observance and prayers for those in the "sorry camp",
maintaining traditional mourning custom near the gates of the red dust oval. On
the Sunday morning I followed a whim, to visit the old mission church, right
next to the community store, which was busy coping with the greatly expanded
population. The church was derelict and vandalised, but the old Anangu Minister, who I knew from
earlier times, was there alone, ready for a service that no one but I attended.
He shared the lectionary readings for the day, some thoughts and a prayer with
me. We two old men then walked out into the sunshine and bustle of the football
carnival that I hope was the cause for the total absence of a congregation. It
was Ascension Sunday.
That evening I witnessed a large Pentecostal open air
gathering in the same township. A public address system ensured that the whole
community heard, whether participating or not.
A small choir was accompanied by keyboard and guitars. Some songs were
local compositions, others were translations of those being sung in the mega-churches
of the capital cities. "Halelujah"s and "Praise God"s were
all in English amidst mostly Anangu
language. Singing was interspersed with high volume gospel shots and
testimonies ("I was a brumby until I found Jesus..."). Returning to
my quarters, but still within earshot of the gathering, I was disturbed by a
fracas outside. A man was beating and dragging by the hair his screaming
partner.
I was not in a position to intervene personally and referred
the matter on to the local police. However, had I intervened, I would
anticipate a response that it was Anangu
way to discipline one's wife with a beating.
The same response has been made to sexual abuse of pubescent girls
"promised" to older men or by a visiting "uncle". Not all Anangu accept this, especially
senior women.
Last year, I was in "the Lands" at the time of an
inquiry into child sexual abuse. I had just purchased a painting of the
"Seven sisters" dreaming. In a magnificent night sky the sisters are
pursued by "wati nyiru". An indigenous colleague heard of my purchase
and responded, "You know, he was a perpetrator". You can imagine the discussion that followed.
In bed that night, I found myself wondering about the struggle that the
Christian church is having with sexist, homophobic and sometimes abusive
beliefs or practices defended by outdated scriptural arguments and stories.
All of the inquiries into child abuse in indigenous
communities have found great difficulty in getting first hand allegations from
victims. The issue of providing safety for informants has proved virtually
insurmountable. Protective police presence and removal have been considered to
provide protection from bullying and further abuse. However, one wonders how a
person can be safe anywhere, when they believe that they will be subjected to
malign spiritual forces by their abuser? Such is the current confusion and
complexity of Anangu
spirituality. Tjukurpa has not been
consciously adapted by current life experience or new knowledge, and is
becoming obsolete or dangerous.
I often wonder how much this applies to my friends of the
"stolen generation", many of whom are of Anangu descent. Most feel torn between the upbringing that
they had and the upbringing that they might have had. Some are critical of the
missionaries, some supportive and grateful. Some still practise the type of
fundamentalist Christianity that we grew up with together. Some remember
physical and sexual abuse that has left them so scarred that they have rejected
religion altogether while hankering for some relevant form of spirituality.
On a busy road at Eden Hills in Adelaide is the Colebrook
Reconciliation Park. Occupying the site of the former Colebrook Aboriginal
Children's Home, it is a place rich in memories, good and bad, for
"Colebrook" members of the stolen generation and their families. It
is also a special place for others who seek to remember and understand.
Included in the park is the statue of a "Grieving Mother". She is
almost never without a garland around her neck or maybe some dried bush flowers
in her hand. For many, this is a sacred place representing a significant tjukurpa.
Often, at the funeral of one of the "Colebrook"
family, we sing "God be with you til we meet again". It is always
sung with a dignity and fervour that takes over from the musical accompaniment.
Somehow it seems more a memorial than an affirmation of belief. It used to be
sung as young people left the home for work placements, often as unpaid maids
(servants?) in private homes.
I titled this article "Yaaltjikutu ananyi - Where are we going?" I finish it with a
typical but very appropriate Anangu
response "Wampanti - palya?
(I don't know, maybe - but that's OK?)". For me the journey is more
important than the destination. We journey in the spirit of palya, for we don't know where it will
lead.
I now have a tjukurpa
(story/myth/ritual) that sustains my kurunpa
(spirit/self) and enhances my kanyini
(caring/responsibility/relatedness). - a balanced trinity. For my Anangu
friends, and for our Australian society, the end is not in sight - it is not palya yet. We are still denying parts of
our shared tjukurpa. Our kanyini
is still fraught with injustice and inequity. As a result too many in our
society feel that they have lost
their kurunpa and are powerless.
John Wiley is a
retired South Australian school principal and educational administrator. He
joined Eremos while working in Sydney almost ten years ago as CEO of Family
Life - Interrelate.
Published in Eremos - August 2008
