ICCI Conference Continued: ‘Nga Tapuwae Sacred Footsteps Pilgrimage’ into the Mid and Far North Island

Part 2

I have no qualms in saying I am not as familiar with some of the aspects of my ‘homeland’ as I would like to be. Fate, circumstance, and means had not shined favourably on my travels, and my pathway to visiting up North was often rushed (usually to attend tangihanga), direct, and unwavering. Attending ‘Nga Tapuwae Sacred Footsteps Pilgrimage’ was the perfect opportunity to meander and amble (two words my American friend whispered in my ear for definition, as they had never heard the words in use before), to take time to inhale the landscape, exhale our urban stressors, and reflect on the lives of those who came before us, who lived and breathed our Catholic faith into existence in Aotearoa New Zealand.

Being my first time making this pilgrimage, I was lucky enough to view our journey with the fresh eyes of wonder that my international companions, many of whom had never set foot in Aotearoa New Zealand, were also experiencing alongside me. The repeated comment was “this is just beautiful”, “you have such a pretty city / country / town”, “do we have to go home after this, do you think anyone would notice if we just stayed?” Which does a lot of good for the heart and self-worth. It was an unusual shock to find we had become desensitised to the natural beauty that surrounds us.

Paradoxically, we began at the end, with our first stop at O’Neill’s Point Cemetery to the graves of our Catholic forefather and foremother, Thomas and Mary Poynton. We heard of their story of love, faith, resilience, relationship and responsibility. Where two people, through their unswerving devotion and desire for religion forged the path, and sent the invitation, that led to the heralding of Bishop Jean-Baptiste François Pompallier to our shores. Not ancestors by blood, but certainly ancestors by faith.

Without pause, and in convoy behind the ‘Bishop’s bus’, we later nicknamed ‘The Flying Bishop’ for more than one reason, we lunched under the trees at the Paihia ferry terminal. Where a young busker, some friendly locals, and a gaggle of “bin-chicken” seagulls made us feel at home. We then boarded the ‘right blue ferry’ to Kororareka Russell across the tranquil and sparkling bays. My Australian, American and Canadian companions and I, minced words and jokes about the pronunciation of the word “buoy” and we laughed our way into the horizon mirage that developed into the origin of Catholicism in Aotearoa – Pompallier Mission, Kororareka. Which we later discovered on our grand guided tour to be the meticulously restored historical house, storehouse, chapel and village headquarters of Bishop Pompallier’s Western Oceania Vicarate, contentiously situated on the opposite side of the bay from the ‘rival Anglican mission’ in Paihia. If history can be felt, it certainly lives on in the over 15-inch thick, rammed earth and clay walls, built by missionary hands (and feet) that constitute the original 1800’s French-style printery, and later tannery, of Pompallier Mission. It’s mission? The first printery in Aotearoa to print and bind (with leather also tanned on site) the first Māori translations of religious textbooks. With a print from the original press in hand and a heart and soul full of religious history, we walked through the village to St. Peter Chanel Shrine where Bishop Pierre-Olivier Tremblay (OMI), Bishop of Hearst-Moosonee in Ontario, Canada led us in prayer, veneration of the relic of St. Peter Chanel, and the history and life of the missionary, martyr and saint.

We floated back to the ferry terminal, and crossed to the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, where with great persuasion by Matua Manuel we were admitted just before closing, but long enough to breathe the air on the hill under the Waitangi flagpole and touch the whare waikairo of Te Whare Rūnanga where both Māori and Pakeha converge as equals. The first day ended at Kerikeri where we shared dinner, and the night quickly broke into the dawn of the second and final day of pilgrimage.

The kohu (fog) and visible name of our ‘land of the long white cloud’ came to greet the dawn of our second day as we travelled early to Totara Point, Kohukohu again marking the start of the second day in the name and memory of Thomas and Mary Poynton whose house, now marked by the plinth of Totora Point, was the site of the first Catholic Mass said on Aotearoa soil on 13 January, 1838 by the first Catholic Bishop of New Zealand, Bishop Jean-Baptiste François Pompallier. With the sandbars of the Mangamuka River fully exposed at low tide that morning, it was clear to see why many believed Bishop Pompallier’s safe arrival into Hokianga Harbour by Schooner in the 1800’s was a miracle in itself.

Totara Point was one of five pilgrimage sites for the day, and the perfect way to commence our second leg of our spiritual journey.

Our next two stops on the journey, I can only write from the essence of my being, as they are in my blood and stem from my earliest memories. From Totara Point we drove down to Our Lady of the Assumption Church, Motukaraka. It is the red Church roof that shines across the Northern Rawene shore of the Hokianga Harbour, and the Church of my heart, that my iwi and hapū funded and built in the early 1900’s. It is also the resting place of one of the founding Mill Hill priests Fr. John Baptist Becker (1856-1941), alongside my Grandparents Sydney and Kathleen Hoani, and many of my whanau and tipuna at the Matai Urupa. I have shared in this blog space the deep connection of my Grandfather to Pa Becker, and I was able to reshare that sacred connection during the ICCI Conference and pilgrimage.

We then journeyed inland into the hills to Hāta Maria, Motuti to celebrate Miha. We are known for our voices in the North, spoken and sung. Some translate my hapu ingoa (name) Ngāti Tuputo in two ways to mean the transliteral ‘the people who stand short or small’ and the other ancestral pre-contact conception ‘people of precise speech’. Either way, in the 21^st Century, the Māori of the North are known for praying the Miha fast and singing the hīmene and waiata almost unbearably slow, to the irritation and amusement of returning whanau and visitors. Therefore, when we arrived at Hāta Maria, I knew I would have time to visit my brother before Miha, because Northern time is never a strict adherence.

During our 6 hour journey the day before, we had introduced and established the ‘toot-toot custom’ to our international guests, that has replaced the customary hand wave to whanau urupa (cemetery) and whare (homesteads), acknowledging our living and dead when we cannot stop whichever modern convenience of transport we are in to physically ‘call-in’ – imagine how much longer the pilgrimage would have been if we had kept the call-in custom throughout. Motuti is the final resting place of my eldest brother who died just before his 21st birthday in Melbourne when I was eight, he was brought back to rest next to his Great-Grandmother long before the return and internment of Bishop Pompallier. We joke that it was just like Billy to find spiritual fame in death.

I have never seen the tiny, sky blue and white, missionary Church of Hāta Maria so animated or full of prestige before. It really was the pinnacle of our pilgrimage with Miha celebrated by the 12th Bishop of Auckland, our Bishop Steve, and concelebrated by the Archbishop of Vancouver Richard Smith, Bishop of Fargo John Folda, Bishop of Hearst-Moosonee Ontario Pierre-Olivier Tremblay, Native American Deacon Andy Orosco, Māori Deacon Ben Pomare, and the Vicar for Māori (and our guiding Matua) Manuel Beazley. The only thing left was to raise and venerate the tūpāpaku of our Katorika tupuna and first Bishop of Aotearoa New Zealand, Bishop Pompallier.

Hakari at Motuti was a glorious feast of smoked tuna (eel), kai-moana (seafood) and sweet treats before we made a speedy trip to give thanks and farewell to the Mid and Far North first by stopping at the Hokianga Harbour Entrance in Ōmāpere to hear how the legend of Kupe and the double Taniwha guardians at the Hokianga Harbour entrance, played their part in the acceptance of Bishop Pompallier by early Māori as a sign of reverent good fortune, that the guardians should allow Pompallier to enter the harbour safely. It was, and is, known as a treacherous and unforgiving crossing.

Our final stop to Tāne Mahuta, and as luck would have it, another quick guided korero and waiata from Manu Whenua. Again, this was my first encounter with the respective son of the Earth Mother (Papatuanuku) and Sky Father (Ranginui) and my expectations did not align with the reality of the tree that has shared space and time with that of Our Lord, Jesus Christ. The hush that silently enfolded and held us in hypnotised fascination far exceeded any possible expectations. It was mesmerising. An Aboriginal companion turned, and without removing their eyes from the tree in a whisper said, ‘I didn’t expect to see this here’ before a leaf lightly fell on their shoulder, almost in response to a silent prayer or blessing of ancestors recognising ancestors. Photos and memory do not do justice to Tāne Mahuta, the tree that physically embodies the God of All Creation.

And with the final foot disinfected and scrubbed on our way out of the sanctuary, we bid each other a fond and emotional farewell. The pilgrimage was at its end, and we would once again return to the winds that brought us together.

Memories were made, friendships forged, and spiritual and religious alliances fortified.

It was a truly humbling and replenishing experience as a fourth generation Hāhi Katorika Māori, to share in the Catholic Indigenous experiences of others, to pray, laugh and cry with newfound brothers and sisters. It is a time I will look back on with fondness, and I believe, I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life.

-Kathleen

Some memories from the journey: