The Return

They say, ‘that moments of great adventure come slowly but suddenly’, there’s a good deal of truth to this small but byway encountering observation. We’re making our way back to Whanganui city finally, at pace. As we pass through Hiruharama (Jerusalem), I gaze up at the driveway that leads to St Joseph’s Church.

I’m reminded of how after 118 years, the work of the Sisters of Compassion is still woven together in service to locals and visitors alike by the muka (strong fibre) of Aubert’s words, “Never forget, a Maori village was the cradle of our Institute.” Among Maori along the awa, the Sisters there are considered tangata whenua or people of the land.

The squat, chunky white mail box with its clearly marked number 5050 gives little away of the lasting legacy that is hers. You have to leave the road, climb the hill and enter that place to truly know how she meant those words and why they still have resonance today.

In that fleeting moment too, I recall moving with Craig through the Stations of the Cross Walk beside the old convent building. There, we saw depicted the final hours of Christ. The Stations of the Cross was a chapel devotion begun by St. Francis of Assisi and extended throughout the Roman Catholic Church in the medieval period.

The Stations themselves depict how Jesus is condemned to death l Jesus is given his cross l Jesus falls the first time l Jesus meets His Mother l Simon of Cyrene carries the cross l Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.

Then, Jesus falls the second time l Jesus meets the daughters of Jerusalem l Jesus falls the third time l Jesus is stripped of His garments l Crucifixion: Jesus is nailed to the cross l Jesus dies on the cross l Jesus’ body is removed from the cross –Deposition or Lamentation — l Jesus is laid in the tomb and covered in incense.

Although not traditionally part of the Stations, the resurrection of Jesus is sometimes included as a fifteenth station. There is an architecture of suffering in this depiction that is somehow in stark contrast, to me, to that tranquil setting there at Hiruharama. And I wonder if sojourners along that Garden walk ever think about that. The architecture of His suffering.

One of New Zealand’s most iconic painters, Colin McCahon in his ‘The Fourteen Stations of the Cross 1966’ did I believe, and painted an abstracted landscape vision that was, at the time, considered quite sparse. Myself, I think suffering is a sparse experience, so conceptually, I feel a close affinity then with McCahon’s interpretation.

McCahon was “no longer dependent on the curved hill line, each of the Station’s landscapes had been simplified to a banded motif of sky, hill and plain, with, in each, a simple line hinting at a cleft, road, fold or waterfall. They were all concerned with Man’s fall and his resurrection.”

In the context of Hiruharama I had a better appreciation of these Stations because I knew McCahon’s work. Conceptually and contextually at least, they were both New Zealand in origin. I couldn’t help thinking at the time that the meaningfully-intended Medieval art on poles stood out like Cabbage trees on Rodeo Drive would have. Strange no, but you get my point!

We stop by the side of the road just a couple of kilometres up from Hiruharama. I can just see St Joseph’s Church steeple above the tangled tussle of trees. A car we passed back at Hiruharama passes us now, we wave as if we knew each other, it’s what happens when you start on a journey. From time to time you see some of the same faces.

I send my silent karanga across the valley of time to thank her, the old lady Aubert, for joining her voice with the river. For her ‘healing’ gift that, like the awa below still flows in and around St Joseph’s Church. Once more in the car, we are returning. Back from moments of great adventure, back to suddenly who knows what …