The Death of a King | By Adrienne Thompson
BY ADRIENNE THOMPSON
This spring I was riveted by events pertaining to Kiingi Tuheitia Pootatau Te Wherowhero VII.
On the first Sunday after his death, I thought someone should mention that the Māori king had passed away. As often happens in churches, the response was, ‘Good idea, you do it.’
So, I had the honour of leading our congregation in a brief prayer for his family and iwi, with the grief of losing a beloved one and the responsibility of choosing his successor.
Afterwards a person mentioned to me that she knew almost nothing about the Māori king. I couldn’t scoff, because up to a very few years ago I didn’t either.
Kiingi Tuheitia Pootatau Te Wherowhero VII
Yet it’s a powerful New Zealand story of persistent courage, faith and hope, undefeated by greed, self-interest and willed forgetfulness.
I began to learn and to understand about this significant movement, the Kiingitanga, as I studied te reo Māori. At first, I was mystified that every time I attended a hui, people would include an acknowledgement of Kiingi Tuheitia in their general greetings. To me in my shameful ignorance it seemed almost quaint.
Gradually I learned more, piecing together the history of how the first Māori king was raised up in the context of more and more British settlers arriving with their hunger for land.
I learned something about the invasion of Waikato by Governor Grey. I was profoundly moved by a visit to Rangiaowhia, near Te Awamutu, where colonial troops murdered women, children and elderly people who were taking refuge in a church. This story was told to us by direct descendants of some of those involved.
The story of the Kiingitanga includes exile, huge confiscations of land and loss of resources; and yet there’s been an unbroken succession of monarchs and other leaders who have held fast to their rangatiratanga.[1]
In January 2024, some of us non-Māori, may have been surprised at the strength and widespread influence of Kiingi Tuheitia, as he summoned his own people and all Māori to a hui-a-motu, a national assembly.
Two weeks before his death, the Kiingi called for unity:
‘Growing together is crucial. We’ve come a long way as a country, and we can go even further – let’s not give up now! Te Tiriti o Waitangi is between Māori and the Crown, mana to mana. The Treaty provides a foundation for us all to work together. Let’s not change it; that would harm us.’
And then, unexpectedly, aged only 69, Kiingi Tuheitia passed away. As I followed the accounts of his tangi, I was simply in awe. The enormous, complex and supremely well-oiled machine of the Kiingitanga switched into action. There was work to be done. People showed up.
I’ve seen it in small scale on every marae I have stayed at. When you are a part of a community, and know you belong, you take it for granted that you contribute. The whānau, the hapū and the iwi showed up at Ngāruawāhia, to grieve, yes, but also to make space for everyone else to grieve.
Manaakitanga means everything: from the waiata at the gate, to the scones baked for afternoon tea, to the toilets staying clean. Thousands of people were gathered outside Tūrangawaewae marae, unable to enter it. They too needed care; and were cared for.
An interview on Radio NZ summed it up for me. As the interviewer marvelled at the dedication, efficiency and sheer hard grind of the kaimahi (workers, paid and unpaid) the interviewee said simply,
“We are servants of the King. No-one should go home hungry.”
What does that remind me of?
And then came the anointment and Te Whakawahinga (raising up) of the new monarch, Ngā Wai Hono i te Pō. He Kuini – a queen.
Not a crown, but a bible, was placed on her head, the same bible placed on the head of her ancestor Pōtatau Te Wherowero.
Humility – whakaiti – is the first of the principles of the Kiingitanga.[2] They describe it as ‘caring for the concerns of others.’ It doesn’t mean belittling oneself, but responding from a secure place of belonging.
As I watched these extraordinary events, I reflected on the words in Philippians 2:3-4:
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.
This was the spirit shown by the Tainui community as they welcomed thousands of people into Tūrangawaewae over the seven days of the king’s tangihanga.
Te Paipera Tapu (the Māori Bible) uses a different word for humility in the Philippians passage: ngākau pāpaku – a lowly heart. The word makes me think of Papatuānuku, Mother Earth, as ‘humility’ reminds me of ‘humus’, dark organic matter in soil formed by decomposition.
Jesus in his self-emptying humbled himself, took organic life and suffered organic death. ‘Ka whakapāpaku ia i a ia’ – the deliberateness of that action is emphasised in the Māori sentence. This is humility.
Following this thread of humility has now brought me to my own context and the context of our national discourse. The voices of fear, anger and conviction are very loud, my own among them.
The ‘Treaty Principles’ Bill is constantly in the news with thoughtful arguments, honest confusion, misinformation, willed ignorance, anxiety about what may be lost, and exhaustion, turning away from it all. I cycle through the lot.
The word used over and over again at the tangihanga of the Kiingi was not humility but unity. ‘Kotahitanga’. This was King Tuheitia’s vision for Aotearoa; but humility is the soil from which it grows.
I’m a contemplative, a lover of quiet and solitude, a spiritual director. A Pākehā New Zealander. A follower of Jesus. I am commanded to cultivate humility.
So – what does it mean for me ‘to look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others’ in my community, city and country?
What rights and privileges are mine, not to wield, but to hold lightly or even to relinquish?
These questions make me extremely uncomfortable and there are no easy answers.
But humility was possible for Jesus, because he knew he was the Beloved.
I remember that simple explanation: ‘We are servants of the king’. That secure identity of knowing where and with whom I belong, is my Tūrangawaewae, a standing place for my feet.
Humility, whakaiti, he ngākau pāpaku becomes possible. And right in front of me, at the funeral of the king and the election of the queen, is the model of how beautiful, costly, empowering and life-giving that can be.
[1] Originally meant chieftainship; right to exercise chiefly authority, autonomy, ownership and leadership. Later extended to include kingdom, sovereignty, self-determination, self-management – connotations resulting from Bible and Treaty of Waitangi translations. (Te Aka Māori Dictionary)
Adrienne Thompson offers spiritual direction and supervision from Wellington. A lifelong contemplative, and a late and reluctant activist, she is learning to be Tangata Tiriti, learning to weave, and becoming immersed in Ignatian spirituality through Te Mahi Wairua.
This article was included in the December 2024 issue of Refresh.
Refresh is SGM’s journal of contemplative spirituality in Aotearoa, New Zealand. You can view the current issue of Refresh or browse the archives in the Refresh section of this website.
