The last newsletter carried an account of the launch of the nine volumes (in French) of Lettres reçues d’Océanie edited by Charles Girard. I suspect that, while admiring the dedication involved, such scholarship can seem without great relevance to us in our work. I want to demonstrate that the opposite is the case, that these voices of our tradition have much to say to us.
There are 1,365 documents in Charlie’s collection, my not-very-random sample is part of one long paragraph from one letter. It was written in Whangaroa on 7 March 1841 by Fr Jean-Baptiste Petit-Jean (then 29). The translation has been done by a Waikato University student, Ronja Skandera.
“I have some rather rancid fat left over at the bottom of a jar that I carefully save in case I must welcome a stranger or an important chief. In this case our dear brother will quickly improvise some fritters. Wine is not a necessity. I have just enough for the Holy Mass. I am quite happy to go without tea, which is the usual beverage for the white people, finding more pleasure drinking water. Later, things will be much better for us; as our dear brother, called Brother Elie, manages to farm a small piece of land with the poor means at his disposal. He is quite happy with the good results from the first year and he now has melons and some vegetable plants. In his garden he is beginning to have quite a good number of poultry. Out in the tribes my meals consist of ordinary potatoes or sweet potatoes, called koumara, and sometimes fish. Yet our natives do not have much of this food in abundance; they sell a large portion of their harvest to buy clothes. They have never served me pork. With these people the ground acts as chair and table. We very rarely eat inside the house. One must fend off dogs and pigs. Sometimes the natives have given me a little stick to hold; so in one hand I would take pieces of food, the other would be continually armed to push away the 3 troublesome pests. Dishes or plates are little baskets or simply leaves. The house in Wangaroa where I live is made of wood. The walls are a few pieces of coarse wood (which we call trimmed logs), joined and erected together. I myself cut down some of the trees that would serve as beams. I even carried them on my own shoulders. Half of this house, that must measure about 30 feet by 15, is clad inside with planks. This is the half I destine as a provisional chapel. For the moment this job has been put aside as we are in great need; the planks are sold for up to 25 shillings per 100 feet. Even though my living quarters are humble, I like them, and I think I will be making a great sacrifice when my superiors call me to other areas. At least this will be of benefit for eternity to come. Therefore, my dear brother, the apostolic and the religious life united together strip a man in an instant and teach him to die well when his last hour tolls, when our eternal father calls us for judgment. My kitchen is a roof of thatch or marsh plant on four posts. My poor chapel has been until now nothing more than a humble thatched cottage, however
Jesus often descends on hearing the voices of his priests as this image reminds him of his dear Bethlehem. After my meals my free time is spent in a school that I started for the people of the tribe in which I live. Here there are many tasks for the priest; household chores, attending to the laundry, the sacristy and above all the spiritual care of the souls. There is little to expect from the New Zealanders, as interesting as they are. Oh, when will our dear brothers come to us in a greater number from France! What a powerful help for the mission dear brothers would be, and what a relief for the priest. A continuous torment for my heart is having to constantly hear the New Zealanders’ requests without being able to satisfy them. However, it seems to me that after all the sacrifices we have made, I would still tear my two eyes out for the salvation of these poor people.”