Rev’d Keri-Ann Hokianga is a Māori Evangelist with NZCMS, a position which carries a clear whakapapa. Her role of evangelist involves navigating the history of Christianity in Aotearoa, a process that is not always straightforward. 

Here, in this interview, Keri-Ann reflects on the ways in which she draws motivation and inspiration from Māori evangelists in the past; how aspects of the history of Christianity in this land hinder her ministry, and how to speak about this; and the ongoing need for evangelism amongst Māori. 

 

How are you inspired by Māori evan­gel­ists in the past?

It is part of Māori culture to be informed by the past, and to remem­ber those who have gone before us. In terms of evan­gel­ism by Māori, for Māori, I am blessed to know that there was this wrest­ling with the Gospel by my ancest­ors who were taught the Word of God in te reo Māori. They knew for them­selves and for their iwi, hapū—for their people—that the Word of God, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, was trans­form­at­ive in many good ways.

This was tested and tried by Māori in the past. That is what inspires me: that we are people of chal­lenge. We are people who will think not only of ourselves, but also those to come. When I think about the past, I am so encour­aged that some of my ancest­ors thought of me as they took on this faith of Chris­tian­ity, imple­men­ted it in their own ways, and allowed it to live and grow until I was formed today. And here I am, in 2024, being the bearer of the same good news that my ancest­ors in the past took on. So that is really inspiring—that I come from a people who made decisions for them­selves, because I do the same. It is actu­ally quite beautiful.

I am also inspired to know that part­ner­ship between some of those CMS mis­sion­ar­ies, along­side my ancest­ors, allowed for there to be a flour­ish­ing of Māori in our faith as Chris­ti­ans, a faith which brought about healing, peace, and recon­cili­ation. That is quite power­ful for me to know: that God’s intent was for Māori and Pākehā to walk together. God’s Word brings Shalom (peace) and beauty in and between them. I am not rein­vent­ing the wheel. I am just living into some­thing that has come before me.

Unpack your phrase “wrest­ling with the Gospel”, in a Māori context, for us.

When I use the word “wrestle”, I mean that some of my Māori ancest­ors would not have lain down easy and accep­ted from the get-go what the mis­sion­ar­ies were saying. They would have taken time to allow the Word of God to seep into their hearts, to test it: “is this for us?” I always think of the marae setting. When I step onto a marae, there is a process that takes place in order for there to be an open­ness from Māori to receive new people into our sacred meeting place, where you have our Tamariki—our chil­dren, and our kuia kaumatua—our old people. You have our history, our stories in the form of carvings. You have our live­li­hood there; it is where our com­munit­ies live and breathe.

So of course, we are not going to allow any person to waltz on in and help them­selves. Instead, there is this testing and wrest­ling, so to speak, in the pōwhiri setting. I love think­ing of a pōwhiri setting, when it comes to think­ing about the past, and about Māori ancest­ors who would have received the Word of God, and how they would have allowed that to slowly be part of their world as they knew it.

Describe some of your feel­ings around early CMS mis­sion­ar­ies, and their posture towards Māori.

When I think about my feel­ings towards CMS mis­sion­ar­ies and their posture towards Māori culture, there are a few examples that come to mind for me. Good and bad. We have to be honest. I remem­ber one story, of the Rev­er­end Samuel Marsden, who had come to bring the gospel to the shores of Oihi Bay. He had preached, and we know that there was a spon­tan­eous response from Māori in the form of a haka. But I have also been told that he went from that space of preach­ing to Māori, and went back on board his ship, and he had Holy Com­mu­nion on his own. And I thought, oh, I wonder why he with­held that from Māori. That’s a tan­gible symbol of receiv­ing the body and blood of Christ, and an oppor­tun­ity to share that beau­ti­ful message of Christ’s sac­ri­fice for all people. So there is a posture that I am still puzzled with. I wonder. I have ques­tion marks around that.

History tells us that there were so many years of no fruit, so to speak; years of Māori not con­vert­ing to Chris­tian­ity. And I think, well, perhaps if they had stopped long enough to look and learn about the culture, and about how we move as com­munal people… We do not hold back any­thing for ourselves—we give the gift, and we share, and perhaps that may have made a dif­fer­ence in the begin­ning of mission work.

I do also think of William Wil­li­ams, who helped to trans­late the Word of God into te reo Māori, and how many Māori ancest­ors were able to grasp the message of the Gospel a lot sooner because of that. That is quite a beau­ti­ful picture of the mis­sion­ar­ies’ posture that helped the Māori people to latch on to the Word of God, and the person of Christ. We are very blessed to know that someone like William Wil­li­ams had the patience to learn our lan­guage, and to learn our tikanga (customs), in order for my people to receive the Gospel in the way that they did, and to see the flour­ish­ing of Māori and Chris­tian­ity – because of the posture that he held.

Tell us about aspects of the history of Chris­tian­ity in Aotearoa that hinder your min­istry. How do you respond?

There are things in the history of Chris­tian­ity in this land that do hinder my min­istry. I think one ele­phant in the room for me, as I am ordained in the Māori Anglican Church, is the issue of land being confiscated—taken not only by the Crown, but by the Church. This has been one of the bar­ri­ers that hinder my ministry.

I have been able to speak into those spaces by being under the lead­er­ship of Bishop Te Kitohi Pikaahu, here in Te Tai Tokerau, where we have taken account­ab­il­ity for the wrongs of the Church. There are inter­views where Bishop Kito has said, yes, the Church must be account­able too for its wrongs to Māori.

What allows me to have hope, and to share that hope with Māori that I am called to min­is­ter to, is the fact that here in Te Tai Tokerau, where the Māori Church is con­cerned, we have given back the land in some areas that our churches are built on. One place that I can name in the far north is Peria. The Māori Anglican Church has worked along­side the local iwi in Peria to give back the land that right­fully belongs to them. This re-gifting has res­ul­ted in beau­ti­ful healing and bless­ing, and the people of Peria have decided to keep the church there. They worship there reg­u­larly. So that is what the gospel has looked like in Te Tai Tokerau, and that is how we have managed to speak into those things that hinder our min­istry in parts of Aotearoa.

When I think about sitting in that space of tension, what is big for me is whanaungatanga (rela­tion­ships). There are moments where I need to use dis­cern­ment and wisdom as to whether or not to walk in with my collar. Most times I have walked into spaces with my collar, and often they are spaces where the Gospel is con­tested. Those are the times where I learn the most, and where I grow the most, because it is so uncomfortable.

However, I welcome con­ver­sa­tion around these really tough, tough things, where we talk about reasons why Māori might not see the Gospel as good news.

I must say it is God’s grace, as it was in the past too, that helps me to speak with our people in 2024, to retell the nar­rat­ive of who Christ is. But also, it is import­ant not to sweep under the carpet those things that we have to speak about, like the loss of land and the Church’s part in it; col­on­isa­tion; and the Gospel—those are very real kaupapa (topics) for us to speak into.

What do you find most helpful in these spaces of tension?

I very care­fully sit with Māori who want to speak about col­on­isa­tion and the Gospel, to try to encour­age them, and I seek to retell the nar­rat­ive of the Gospel. The actions of the col­on­isers were never God’s inten­tion for our people. So weaving con­ver­sa­tion care­fully and with sens­it­iv­ity is important.

When I can sit there and build whanaungatanga—working on relationship-building—a trust grows. That leads to an open­ness to hear a dif­fer­ent per­spect­ive. It is not so much about forcing my ideas, my way of looking at things, on to anybody; but it is to say, “hey, I don’t know if you are aware of these stories where Māori are con­cerned, where we have ancest­ors in our own whakapapa who knew that Chris­tian­ity, the same Gospel power I believe in in 2024, was good for our people? These are the results of our ancest­ors making decisions to say ‘we’re going to lay down the old, and take up this new faith.’”

Tra­di­tional forms of utu and revenge in the Māori world shifted under Chris­tian­ity. There are many examples where Chris­tian­ity has helped us, because our ancest­ors had taken up the decision to follow Christ, and this brought about recon­cili­ation between two rival iwi (tribes). One of those stories I love to share is Tarore, the 12-year-old who wore a copy of Te Ron­go­pai a Ruka (The Gospel of Luke) around her neck. Her mur­derer Uita ended up coming to faith in Christ and learn­ing about recon­cili­ation. Uita went to face the music with Tarore’s father, Ngākuku, expect­ing to die—because that was the way of the Māori world once upon a time, pre-Chris­tian­ity. To Uita’s sur­prise, Ngākuku was trans­formed by the power of the Gospel, and he hugged his daughter’s mur­derer instead of killing him. Just retell­ing these stories, true stories for Māori to con­sider, helps us sit in those spaces where there is tension around Christianity.

As you look forward in your role, what would you love to see?

I believe that in my going out as a Māori evan­gel­ist, there is still so much work to be done. As Chris­ti­ans we have so much work to do in Aotearoa, and we have a respons­ib­il­ity, because we know how God’s Spirit has moved upon this land in past times. There has been a suf­foc­at­ing of God’s Spirit moving in this nation, for many dif­fer­ent reasons. I get to sit in spaces with people to hear some of those reasons, and to unpack those feel­ings, those bar­ri­ers that people may have toward the Gospel now – to give them a nar­rat­ive of hope.

But there are so many areas where I think Chris­tian­ity or Chris­ti­ans need to be in order to bring about recon­cili­ation, to bring about peace in Aotearoa. Why do I say that? Well, how many Māori evan­gel­ists are there in 2024? Once upon a time in this nation, there were many. If you look in the New Zealand prayer book on pages 154 to 156, there is a poi (song) com­posed by the late King Ihaka. It gives us the whakapapa and the names of those Māori ancest­ors who became evan­gel­ists and who spread the Gospel from the top of the North Island right through­out this country.

So I long to see a raising up of more Māori evan­gel­ists. I long to see it, because we are a diverse nation now. We are no longer just Māori and Pakeha. I would love to see the body of Christ working together, rolling our sleeves up, going into these places where the Gospel is not good news, and showing through our life­style, the way in which we walk side by side with others, the love of Christ and the power of the Gospel in Aotearoa.

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This article was ori­gin­ally included in the Anglican Journal of Theo­logy in Aotearoa and Oceania, pub­lished by St John’s Theo­lo­gical College, and was used with per­mis­sion in NZCMS’ 2025 Annual Report. Read the full report here.