We’re a people who need to pray

Karakia is big in the Māori world. And for good reason, as Tainui Stephens explains here.

 

We all know what it’s like. We see it time and time again.

A bunch of Māori get together for a meeting. They can’t do anything until someone kicks off with a karakia. They wait. Someone will look at someone and raise an eyebrow, then that person nods at someone else who’s determined not to look at anyone. Soon enough, someone starts: “Kia karakia tātou.” Let us pray.

And at the end of the meeting, no one can get back to their lives until it’s finished with a karakia. There’ll be a hearty “Āmine” or “Tāiki e!” to wrap it up.

We’re a people who like to pray. Actually, we’re a people who need to. As human beings, we’re doomed to stuff things up, or to need help or company. One way to lighten the baggage we all carry on our journey through life is to slow down, think about it, and deal to it. A prayerful moment can do that quite nicely.

I went to a school where everyone learned the Lord’s Prayer in English. We had regular services in the chapel, we had a weekly class on the scriptures, and I was in the choir. At home, my mother was proudly agnostic and said I should investigate my own interest in faith. No problem. I didn’t have any.

Until I started to learn Māori.

My first reo teacher was Bill Nepia who told me that I should learn the Lord’s Prayer in Māori for three reasons. First, it’s a great way to learn correct pronunciation, because its words contain every possible sound in the Māori language. Second, it’s a vivid example of the classical reo of the early 19th century. And third, it’s a very useful prayer to know, to participate in the Māori world.

I started to learn Te Inoi a te Ariki at nights while I was working as a barman in the lounge bar at the Russley Hotel in Christchurch. I memorised the words of the good Lord in between serving up jugs, Screwdrivers and Brandy Alexanders.

Bill was right on all counts.

Te Inoi a te Ariki is truly a delicious piece of Māori. The words are a beautiful expression of humble faith. Its vocabulary and grammar offer insight into the Māori mind. To know it well is to feel it roll trippingly off the tongue. It is far and away the most frequently uttered karakia I’ve encountered over the decades.

But it’s also the best tool to ensure that the default religious position of the west is Christian. Many centuries have passed and whole empires have risen and gone down the gurgler. Yet, still, the words of Jesus Christ — through the power of this prayer — attract countless millions. Believers accept the idea that prayer is an act of recognition, repentance, and request. Christian prayers are the worship of a supreme God way up high, but also a means to give simple thanks for the hard-won blessings of a life.

We are a spiritual people. It’s deep in our DNA. Behaviours can be inherited and passed on from generation to generation. For a very long time, well before Christmas Day 1814 and the first church service in Aotearoa, we had our own pantheon of gods to pray to.

Ranginui the sky father and Papatūānuku the earth mother gave birth to a typical range of clever, stroppy children. They were the major gods of our world: winds, oceans, forests, certain foods, war and peace. Beyond this divine A-Team, there was a vast array of deities that existed in various shapes and in various places. To connect with these gods was an ordinary part of life.

As Te Rangihīroa wrote in 1949:

A karakia may be defined as a formula of words which was chanted to obtain benefit or avert trouble. A vast number have been composed by all tribes to meet every possible contingency in human life and they cover a range which exceeds the bounds of religion.

Whether it was a desire for good health, plenty of food, or victory in battle, there was a karakia for every occasion. Experts like tohunga would deal to karakia in the most tapu rituals. But all adults and children had a repertoire of karakia they could use to get through their day. One of the shortest karakia that anyone could utter to ward off danger or trouble was “Kuruki whakataha” (I refute your power. It passes me by).

Over the past few decades, there’s been a revival of traditional Māori karakia. For many people, this has been a chance to redefine their sense of spirituality in Indigenous terms. It’s not a spirituality that worships a god, but rather recognises their existence. The prayers are not an appeal to that god but a statement of your expectations. I now believe that the point of karakia or prayer is to get in harmony with the energies that are around us at any time. It may be a collective energy, or an individual one. Karakia can be most effective when you’re by yourself.

I’ve ridden motorcycles most of my life. I don’t have grey hair, I have chrome.

When I was a kid, I saw the film Easy Rider and wanted a Harley Davidson just like the one ridden by Peter Fonda. I was middle-aged by the time I could afford a Harley. I named him Luther, because, like Luther Vandross, he was big and black and had a beautiful voice. When I hit the road and stepped through the gears, I had Steppenwolf on my mind, and knew I was born to be mild.

I also knew I was born to live. Bike riding might be fun, but it’s a dangerous activity. I felt I had to say a karakia before every ride. I’d recently been to a hui where the wonderful Rangimārie Rose Pere had talked about the vibrations of certain vowels and the meaning behind them. I wrote a karakia that I decided to use whenever I went for a blat with my boy. I wanted something short that would help me get in sync with Luther’s voice.

Astride my bike, I’d flick the switch and Luther would start rumbling quietly. As I said the karakia, I’d use the long vowels to get in tune with Luther’s low growl. We became one.

Tērā rā ngā ihi kārangaranga                     I acknowledge the energies

Ā Ī Ō                                                               That are male, female, and peaceful

Hau ki runga                                                 The vitality that is above

Hau ki raro                                                     And below me

ĀĪŌ                                                                 That are male, female, and peaceful

Au ka whakatau                                            I am in charge

Au ka mauritau                                             I am settled

ĀĪŌ                                                                 At peace

Hau!                                                                Let’s do this!

The words recognise the energies around me when I ride. They keep me cautious and alive. This is now my personal go-to karakia when I’m driving any vehicle, or even just starting a new day. Wherever I happen to be, I listen out for the sounds and harmonies of that place so I can get in tune with it. Even the throb and hum of a big city anywhere in the world can affect my delivery of the words.

Prayers and karakia are not a matter of religion. They’re a matter of faith: of placing your trust and confidence in something you can’t see. To get in touch with the companions of your heart and soul. After a few decades of receiving karakia or giving them, I’m at a point in my life where I place my faith in energy, whether it’s positive or negative. I’ve seen the results of karakia. And the best karakia are those with the best motivations.

As a Māori, one of the most stressful things I feel is not being able to go to a tangi — to farewell the deceased properly, and to offer my love to those who are grieving. I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of love and understand its importance to help you carry on. Our tūpuna knew of this stress as well. But being more spiritual than we could ever hope to be, they were able to use karakia to send their love from a distance.

Hurihia mai tō aro                                       Turn towards me

Mihi mamao ahau                                        So I can greet you from afar

If I can’t get to a tangi, the very least I can do is to pray alone. I try to find my way into the energies that will transport my feelings to wherever they need to go.

To find your own quiet space, and to send out your vibrations to the world beyond — even if it’s just with Te Inoi a te Ariki — is to participate fully in the Māori world by simply being in sync with the gods of our understanding.

E-Tangata, 2024