Mourning Sunday: The People who Walk in Darkness

Please note this reflection contains refernece to First Nations people who are now deceased.

Isaiah 9:1-4

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

How does it change us when the kingdom of heaven comes close? What does it mean to repent? And how do we demonstrate repentance through our decisions and our actions?

In the first week of January, I met with Austin and Malcolm to discuss the directions that we might take in sharing a message together on Mourning Sunday.

We were collectively drawn to the passage from Isaiah. It is often also used in Advent. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” As Christian people we hear the words of Isaiah’s prophecy as one’s which point to the coming of the light of life, the eternal Word, Jesus coming into the world.

But as we discussed the passage we also struggled with the idea that the people had walked in darkness. This is what stood out and was poignant in Austin’s ears. For many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people this has been and continues to be their experience. They have walked in darkness and continue to do so.

The journey of reconciliation in our country is a journey that we believe should lead us to celebrate the prophet’s words “there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish”.

But how do we get there? In the early 1990s when I was teaching in Eidsvold, we visited Cherbourg and an Elder shared a piece of wisdom that has stuck with me since. “We have two ears and one mouth. We should listen twice and speak once.” As people who share the burden of a common history, the packs we carry as Australians, repenting means listening and listening deeply for the stories around us.

In his book Disarming Scripture Derek Flood he reminds us that “history is normally told from the perspective of the victors, demonizing and dehumanizing the vanquished. In that narrative, those who suffer are evil and deserving of their suffering.” Disarming Scripture 45 I find these as confronting and difficult words given my knowledge of Australian history and the angst that I hear at this time of year as we approach Australia Day.

Flood goes on to describe how Jesus interpreted scripture favouring people over the text. He goes on to say, “If we wish to read our Bibles like Jesus, then we will need to learn to hear the minority voices, and adopt his way of reading from the margins.” Disarming Scripture 53

In recent years I have been engaging with listening to the voice of Aboriginal people as we have approached Australia Day. This year I have been reading the biography of Dr Lowitja O’Donoughue. She has been one of the most prominent Aboriginal voices in our history and was intimately involved in the processes that led to the apology on the 13^th of February in 2008.

There are many stories which I could share from her biography, but I will share just two stories for the moment. The first story is not of Dr O’Donoughue but of the re-enactment of the raising of the British flag on January 26 in 1938. The book relays how local Aboriginal people in Sydney refused to take part.

The people arranging the re-enactment went to Menindee 1000 km to the west of Syndney and forced a group of Aboriginal men to come to Syndey on a mission truck. They were locked in police barracks during their stay in Syndey and when they found out what they were being forced to do and refused were threatened that their rations and those of their families would be cut off. The men performed as required in fear for themselves and their families.

 As this was all unfolding The Aborigines Progressive Association published a pamphlet highlighting 150 years of callous treatment and appealing to raise Aboriginal people to full citizenship. For 88 years now Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people have been challenging the use of January 26 as day of National celebration, which incidentally was only formally approved in 1994. For many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, January 26 marks the beginning of invasion, violence and dispossession.

“We have two ears and one mouth.” What does it mean to repent? What does it mean for Aboriginal people to say that there will be no gloom?

For those who do not know Dr O’Donoughue’s story she was stolen from her mother when she was 2 years old.  In the biography there is a recount of the reunion with her mother which takes places 33 years after she was taken. As she recounts Lowtija says, “My mother was a broken woman living in appalling conditions and it was obvious the hurt which she suffered from the removal of five of her children.” P.146

In these moments Dr O’Donoghue recognised the importance of family and kinship for her people and the deep impact that the policies of removing children had in her mother and on some many First Nations families.

Let us hear a personal story from a member of our Night Church congregation, Austin about his experience as an Aboriginal man.

“Forgiving and Forgetting”

Many of you will notice that Austin was out of focus in the video. After seeing that this had occurred in the filming process Austin and I chose to leave the video this way. The blurred image is a reminder of how parts of Australia's story, and the people and histories that story contains, can remain blurred or kept at a distance.

It invites us to think about what we haven't been seeing clearly, and to take seriously the different packs we carry as Australians. Packs that are shaped by our history, packs that are carried unequally, and packs we're called to notice and help carry, rather than ignore them.

Austin invites us tor reconciliation with honesty and forgiveness without forgetting. What does repentance and reconciliation look like? What does it sound like? What does it feel like?

This morning, we have heard Malcolm playing the Yidaki or digeridoo. Mal is going to share some his experience of reconciliation.  

Malcolm

“While I have a very small trace of First Nation heritage from an ancestor going back about 7 generations I stand here today more as an ally. Someone who supports reconciliation and has been invited into relationship.

The person who made this instrument, the Yidaki, a “custodian” of the Yidaki, was a senior elder and Christian leader of the Yolnu people of North East Arnhem Land.

He knew the long and sometimes painful history between First Nation peoples and other nations who came to live here. But he also believed that reconciliation wasn’t just an idea. It was something that had to be lived, practiced, and heard.

He encouraged me to learn to play and if I ever played in public, to do so in a spirit of reconciliation and thankfulness for the gift of this instrument and the culture First Nation people have given the world.

It’s become clear to me that this isn’t about me borrowing something interesting from another culture. It is about connection. About breath. About spirit. About a small but real joining between peoples who share this land, even while carrying very different histories.

The sound of the yidaki can speak in many ways, and people hear it differently.

For some, it carries a sense of awe. It reminds us that Aboriginal culture is ancient, deep, and enduring. For others, it carries lament. A low, honest sound that seems to hold grief and injustice.

But the meaning that has stayed with me most strongly is this: the yidaki is a calling sound. It gathers people. It invites attention. It asks us to stop talking for a moment and simply listen.

For me personally, the yidaki has changed the way I think about breath and spirit. Sound only happens when breath moves through the instrument. Without breath, there is nothing.

Across cultures and languages, breath has always carried meaning. Breath as life. Breath as connection. Breath as something shared. I’ve come to love the idea that when the yidaki sounds, breath is moving through something that once lived, something shaped by human hands, something offered freely. It feels like a reminder that we are more connected than we often remember.

Reconciliation, as I’ve come to understand it, isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s not about smoothing over difference. It’s about learning to value one another. About holding both what we share and what makes us different. About listening carefully, especially when it’s uncomfortable or unfamiliar.

Playing the yidaki has taught me that in a very unexpected way. It has slowed me down. It has made me more attentive. It has reminded me that sometimes the most faithful response is not to speak, but to listen.

Today is called Mourning Sunday. And mourning matters. We don’t honour the past by rushing past it. This land carries deep beauty, but it also carries deep pain. Both are real.

But mourning, in the Christian tradition, is never empty. It makes space for hope. Not a shallow hope, but a patient one. A hope that grows through honesty, humility, and relationships.

When the yidaki is played today, my hope is not that it opens a space for quiet attention. A space for respect. A space where we can listen more deeply to First Nations voices and allow those voices to shape how we walk together into the future.

I’m grateful for the trust that was placed in me by the custodian of the Yidaki, and for the permission I’ve been given to share this sound in public. I offer it today with respect, with gratitude, and with a genuine desire for reconciliation that is lived and not just spoken.”

Peter

I want to thank both Austin and Malcolm for their input into today’s message. In reading Dr O’Donoghue’s biography, the book shared again the words of the apology read by Kevin Rudd. It begins with words of recognition for the wrongs done, an act of confession and then looks to a “a future that embraces all Australians … A future based on mutual respect, mutual resolve and mutual responsibility.”

Whenever I hear a Welcome to Country shared, I am humbled by what a generous and inclusive act this is given our history as a nation. Despite all that has occurred - the dispossession, the massacres, the taking of children from their families, the policies that discriminated against Aboriginal and Islander Peoples - we are extended a word of welcome. Here are an act and example of grace which might teach us something about reconciliation. The words come to us as Jesus words came from the cross, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.

We have two ears and one mouth. Listen twice, speak once. And live your life from this invitation, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” So that the people who walk in darkness will see the great light of love.