Māori Before English: Religious Education in Aotearoa NZ Ko tōku reo tōku ohooho, ko tōku reo tōku māpihi maurea—My Language Is My Awakening, My Language Is the Window to My Soul

Abstract

In 2021, the National Centre for Religious Studies in New Zealand published the new religious education curriculum for Catholic schools in Aotearoa New Zealand. While in many ways, very like other religious education curricula, from its naming in Māori before English, Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith shines a light on the role of culture and language in the transmission and expression of faith. This paper is written in two parts. Part 1 of this paper provides an examination of the key curriculum documents and website to find that Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith is unique in three ways. First, it enjoys a level of security in the dominant presence of Catholics in the Catholic school, guaranteed by the Integration Act of 1975. Second, it offers flexibility in approach, necessary for a curriculum with national status, and finally, it demonstrates an extraordinary commitment to the inclusion of Māori culture and language. Part 2 of this paper takes up the inclusion of Māori culture and language to offer a response to the call that Māori need to be allowed to develop a theology from within their own culture and language. It proposes that the introduction of a new hermeneutical lens in the study of scripture, one that would replicate the practice of the Bible authors who drew freely on their own experience and language to speak of God, could provide a simple but effective way of developing such a theology. It is in Part 2 that the significance of the subtitle of this paper will become apparent.

1. Part 1: Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith

1.1. Introduction

I must have been in my teens in the 1960s when somebody, I presume my parents, gave me a book titled Te rongopai ma te ao hou Good News for Modern Man. The red, black, and white cover, embellished with koru symbols, gave away its origins, which the small print at the bottom of the cover confirmed: Māori Bible Centenary Edition. I do not remember being at all surprised at receiving this gift. Growing up in the heart of the Waikato, 100 km south of Auckland, Māori were all around me: my friends, my teachers, my Church mates, and my neighbours. What would be more natural than having a copy of the Gospels in their own language? As an adult, I now realise how profoundly naïve my acceptance was, that the link between what we say and what we believe is much more complex than I could ever have imagined.

This paper begins with a description of the new religious education curriculum for Catholic schools in Aotearoa New Zealand, Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith. This description is informed by the core document, the website which supports it, and conversations with staff of the National Council for Religious Studies, Colin MacLeod (Director), and Dr Laurel Lanner. It culminates in a discussion of three features that mark it as unique. Immediately apparent is the extensive use of Te Reo Māori language, which runs through the document from the Mihi Welcome and Karakia Blessing to the Karakia Whakamutunga Closing Prayer. To highlight this feature of the document and the curriculum that supports it, this paper will follow its practice of using Te Reo Māori before its English translation in italics, for example, Te Reo Māori Māori language.

1.2. Context

1.2.1. Beginnings

Unlike Australia, the colonisation of Aotearoa New Zealand (hereafter Aotearoa NZ) was not as a penal colony. Catholics who found their way to ‘the land of the long white cloud’ did so because they wanted to, bringing their religious traditions with them. Thomas and Mary Poynton are remembered as the first permanent Catholic settlers in Aotearoa NZ: the first Mass was celebrated in the Poynton’s house on 13 January 1838 (New Zealand Catholic Bishops Conference n.d.a). Two years later, the first Catholic school in New Zealand opened in Kororareka Russell, dedicated to St Peter (New Zealand Catholic Education Office 2020).

On 6th February 1840, the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi the Treaty of Waitangi with Māori, at which Catholic Bishop Pompallier was present, established a binding agreement between Māori and the British Crown. Although still deeply unsatisfying to many New Zealanders, Pākehā people with European ancestry and Māori alike, Te Tiriti o Waitangi the Treaty of Waitangi did acknowledge the Māori people as custodians of the land, with their own culture, heritage, and beliefs. The land was never ‘Terra Nullius’. Controversy over land was not avoided, however. Two versions of the treaty were signed, one in Māori, one in English. ‘Most Māori signed the Māori version—which, for example, nuanced a sense of them retaining much more control than the translated terms ‘sovereignty’ and ‘governorship’ indicate in the English. The bottom line being, Te Tiriti o Waitangi is considered a separate document from The Treaty of Waitangi, especially by Māori’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025). Disputes over land erupted into wars between British and colonial troops and local Māori between 1845 and 1872. In response, the government established the New Zealand Settlements Act, allowing the Crown to confiscate the land of any tribe ‘engaged in rebellion’ against the government (New Zealand Government n.d.). Some land confiscated under the act still remains in the hands of the government today.

1.2.2. Catholic Education

The treaty brought a flood of settlers to the country, so that by 1842, Rome had made Aotearoa NZ an independent vicariate (New Zealand Catholic Bishops Conference n.d.b). In 1877, the Education Act introduced free, secular, and compulsory primary education. However, committed to Catholic education, the Church established its own schools, staffed primarily by immigrants and those from religious orders, mostly from Ireland. While the battle to build, staff, and fund these schools gave the Catholic community a focus for its energy, donations by the faithful and the unpaid labour of hundreds of devoted men and women were not enough to sustain Catholic education. In 1975, Catholic schools were included under the wing of the government in the Private Schools Conditional Integration Act (New Zealand Government Parliamentary Office n.d.), a victory still hailed today (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025).

The Integration Act allows schools that claim a special religious or philosophical character to enter a partnership with the government (New Zealand Catholic Education Office 2020). Under the Act, schools are governed by their Board of Trustees, onto which the Proprietor of the school, usually the Bishop, a religious institute, or Trust Board, has the right to appoint up to four members. Each school has its own Integration Agreement, which, among other things, stipulates the positions ‘tagged’ for Catholics, normally, 60% of the staff in a Primary school and 40% in a secondary school, excluding the Principal and the Religious Education coordinator. Also stipulated is the number of non-Catholics that the school can enrol, generally 5% of the total school population, although some exceptions are evident (Catholic Diocese of Auckland n.d.). This operational structure means that while the day-to-day running of the school, including the payment of staff salaries and the maintenance of the school’s integrated buildings and grounds, is funded by the government through the Ministry of Education, the school is able to preserve and govern its Catholic character (New Zealand Catholic Education Office 2025). Catholic schools in Aotearoa NZ are still largely served by, and serving of, Catholics.

While for the most part, Pākehā white people and Māori live harmoniously alongside one another, the scars of colonisation and its view that the dominant, preferred culture was white and Christian remain. Indeed, the role of the Catholic Church in assimilation means that the intention of the Church, even within its schools, remains an area of careful watching for some. It is in this context that Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith comes.

1.3. Curriculum Overview

1.3.1. The Name: Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith

In Jewish tradition, to name something is to call it into being, to announce and proclaim its existence. We see this pattern in Genesis 2, when the Yahwist describes YHWH bringing the newly created animals to the human for them to name. In reverse, we also see it in the Jewish avoidance, and, indeed, refusal, to speak God’s name out loud, lest it suggest that God did not and does not exist above all. The naming of this curriculum, Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith, in Māori before English, ‘declares its intention to honour bi-cultural Aotearoa NZ’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025). The main document, of just over 100 pages, contains all of what you would expect in a foundational document for a Catholic religious education curriculum: the purpose of religious education, approaches used in the past, the relationship of this curriculum to the wider Aotearoa NZ curriculum, the current context of religious education, and the nature of the Catholic school as a bicultural community. Immediately apparent is the extensive use of Te Reo Māori language, which runs through the document from the Mihi Welcome and Karakia Blessing to the Karakia Whakamutunga Closing Prayer. The core document is supported by a website, www.ourfaith.nz (accessed on 19 June 2025).

This overview limits its consideration to the elements that directly inform classroom practice: the stated purpose of religious education, the pedagogy or method to be employed, and the structural elements that provide the framework for the curriculum, including assessment. It then explores the teaching material provided for the first broad theme, Te Atua, God.

1.3.2. Purpose of Religious Education

In their forward, the Bishops state that the curriculum provides ‘a framework for the purpose, content and journey of Religious Education in all Catholic schools’ (National Centre for Religious Studies, hereafter, NCRS 2024, p. 8). Te Pūtake The Purpose of Religious Education begins by affirming the role of the Catholic school ‘in the mission of the Church to spread the Good News of Jesus Christ throughout the world’ (NCRS 2024, p. 8). The formal teaching of religious education is called to have a specific role within this task of proclamation, that is, to provide ‘a foundation of knowledge which works alongside the whole school’s Catholic Special Character’ (NCRS 2024, p. 8). Together, these complementary elements of proclamation and education help tamariki children form ‘their understanding of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus and a member of the Catholic Church’ (NCRS 2024, p. 8). While a personal faith commitment is neither required nor expected, the title of the document is a deliberate nod to its catechetical intention: that ‘our faith, might become their faith too.’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025).

1.3.3. Method or Pedagogy Employed

The document avoids prescribing any particular pedagogy or method. Rather, it lays out a set of pedagogical principles, which ground and inform teaching (NCRS 2024).

• God, the Church, and the environment are in a relationship. ‘It is as community that we engage in the learning process, and this principle underlies all pedagogical decisions’ (NCRS 2024, p. 16).
• Both teacher and learner invest in the learning process, each with their own responsibilities. For teachers, it begins with knowing their learners who have agency in the acquisition and interpretation of knowledge.
• There is a transformative dimension to RE as a cycle of reflection, action, and reflection as children integrate ‘a Catholic worldview into their understandings’ (NCRS 2024, p. 16).
• ‘In a complex world and in challenging times, it is important to encourage anticipation, joy and hope through learning experiences’ (NCRS 2024, p. 16).

In preferring the use of principles rather than a singular pedagogy or method, the curriculum allows for a range of approaches, accepting the risks involved in the lack of a formulaic method. This openness to pedagogical diversity is both pragmatic and philosophical. As a national curriculum, the document needs to be useful in and for all six Catholic Diocese that cover the North and South Islands. Schools, wherever they are situated, are to choose from the ‘vast array of guidance and models on which to base their pedagogical choices’, mindful, however, that the particular body of knowledge necessary for sharing the Gospel ‘is not lost in the wake of more flexible pedagogies which require little specific knowledge or understanding to be gained (NCRS 2024, p. 15).’ However religious education is taught, learning is to be ‘grounded, engaging and informative. When the knowledge is strong it will support and strengthen faith that is gifted from God. This is the place of RE in our Catholic schools’ (NCRS 2024, p. 17).

1.3.4. Structural Elements

The structure of the curriculum is most easily expressed with reference to the diagram found in the document, Figure 1 (NCRS 2024, p. 34).

Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith Themes

Four Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith themes provide a vertical structure ‘for broad categories of the knowledge and learning’, drawn from Theology, Scripture, History, and Pastoral Application (NCRS 2024, p. 33). The four themes, Te Atua God, Te Rongopai Good News, A Tatou Whakapapa Our Story, and Kia Noho Hahi Being Church ‘represent well established contexts for teaching Religious Education… morphed and reinterpreted in the RE curriculum to resonate with the lives of children’ (NCRS 2024, p. 35).

Te Rama Aroha Light of Love Themes

Threading through these four themes are five Te Rama Aroha Light of Love cross-themes. Different from the Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith themes, these concept themes, namely, Mana Tapu Grace, Aroha pūmau Holiness, Tika Justice, Whakaaronui Wisdom, and Inoi Prayer, weave their way through the content at each phase. Like a lens through which content is explored, the Te Rama Aroha Light of Love themes travel with tamariki children as they move through each phase of schooling (years 1 and 2, 3 and 4, 5 and 6, 7 and 8, 9 and 10, and 11, 12, and 13) so that they ‘develop a deep understanding of their interconnectedness, complexity and significance…[forming a] recognisable and distinctive guiding light to support the young person’s hīkoi wairua spiritual journey at school, at home and throughout their lives’ (NCRS 2024, p. 37).

The language of light in describing these two themes is deliberate: ‘it captures the sense that religious education is vibrant because it is illuminated by Christ…. [drawing] to mind rich experiences of joy, security and wonder. RE learning, reflection and experiences should enlighten us; this light is sourced in God, God’s Word and God’s Church and may be seen in our own lives as gift to one another and self—we are invited to shine this light into the world’ (NCRS 2024, p. 32).

Ngā Kaupapa Content Areas and Ngā Whāinga Paetae Achievement Objectives

Each of these themes and cross-themes is then worked into more specific Ngā Kaupapa content areas, which find expression as Ngā Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives for all phases of learning. Again, the flexibility of the curriculum is evident. ‘Early feedback from teachers and principals was that they needed the themes and cross-themes at each level to be contextualised into ‘topics’. We didn’t want to be that prescriptive, but we did respond by providing richer contextualisation in ‘Content Areas’. The phrase I used when going around groups across the country was that we would “create the learning contexts and knowledge within a sort of waratah fence. You will need to cover all the AOs, but you’ll be able to move the waratah posts to suit your children. So, we want you to be creative within the flexible boundaries, but you will need to be within the AO area not in another paddock or heading down the motorway”’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 10 May 2025).

Notable among the Ngā Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives is a single outcome for each phase group intended to ensure cohesion between the formal teaching of religious education and the wider life of the school. Each ‘bridging outcome’ integrates learning about the phase touchstone concept (below) with its application in practice. They thus reflect the living of an understanding. Examples include students developing ‘connections with parish and diocese to increase [their] sense of being part of the Catholic Church’ (NCRS 2024, p. 77), ‘demonstrating the fruits of the spirit in [their] everyday interactions in [their] classroom and in [their] school (NCRS 2024, p. 74) and that [a] Catholic worldview supports us to build a culture of aroha, respect and service, based on the teachings of Jesus’ (NCRS 2024, p. 80).

The production of an objective that brings learning and its demonstration within school and Church reinforces the catechetical nature of the programme and its unique context as one for ‘mostly Catholics’. It emphasises the desire for a close association between formal teaching and the wider life of the Catholic school.

Assessment of the Te Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives is expected; however, the commitment to local practices is again evident. ‘Teachers have skills and knowledge about assessment in the learning process which they apply across the whole curriculum including Religious Education (RE)’ (NCRS 2024, p. 28). Given the ‘significant body of religious knowledge which is offered to children’, assessment in religious education is particularly important; it should be used to inform both teaching and learning (NCRS 2024, p. 28).

Ngā Kōhatu Touchstone

Finally, each phase group has a Ngā Kōhatu touchstone. Ngā Kōhatu touchstones are neither directly linked to the content areas nor are they alternative achievement objectives. Rather, they ‘sit alongside’ these other elements, providing a ‘light touch of distinction between year levels’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025). Their wording suggests a natural developmental and strongly experiential tone, which develops across the school: I am welcome/I have welcomed; I am loved/I have loved; I am inspired/I have inspired; I am called/I have called; I am connected/I have connected; I am trusted/I have trusted; I am challenged/I have challenged; I am sent/I have sent.

At a Glance

Figure 2 contains all this information brought together at a glance, namely, the phase Ngā Kōhatu touchstone, the Ngā Kaupapa content area, and the Ngā Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives, for the four Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith themes and the five Te Rama Aroha Light of Love cross-themes.

The broad design of Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith is activated by teaching resources on the website www.ourfaith.nz (accessed on 19 June 2025). We now turn to this site to review the theme Te Atua, God.

1.3.5. The Curriculum at Work: Te Atua God

The Te Atua God tile opens to the overview, aim, and key content of this theme, taken from the main document. Te Atua God, ‘focuses on the nature of God as revealed in the scriptures and the Tradition of the Church. It addresses such questions as who, where, what is God and what does God do? It considers each person of the Trinity: God the Father, Jesus and Holy Spirit. It addresses God’s relationship with us—individually and collectively, and our relationship with God’ (NCRS 2024, p. 35). The aim of this theme is for tamariki children to ‘develop an understanding of what the Church teaches about God in terms of the nature and persons of the Trinity, and God’s relationship with humanity and all of creation’ (NCRS 2024, p. 41). The key content of the theme is limited to the three persons of the Trinity, again emphasising the importance of the trinitarian nature of God for the document. This is reiterated, visually, in a triangular diagram (NCRS 2024, p. 42).

The Year 1–2 phase tile opens to the touchstone focus of the phase and to the four Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith themes.

Each Te Rama Whakapono Light of Faith theme opens to three links.

The first link repeats the Ngā Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives for this theme, the second opens to a Whanau family page, and the third opens to the Learning Packs.

The Whānau Family Page

The whānau family page is styled as a brochure or handout with colour and graphics. It outlines the key content for the Te Atua God theme in more formal language and then breaks this into a series of ‘we are learning that…’ statements. It then moves to make suggestions about how children’s learning could be supported at home through discussion, activity, and prayer.

The Learning Packs

It is in the Learning Packs that the vision of Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith finds the classroom. It is also at this level that the vision of flexibility, expressed in the imagery of a ‘waratah fence’ is made obvious, even a little confusing. What is offered is not a set of fixed or finalised units. Rather, ongoing conversations with teachers, as well as more formal surveys, both direct and inform the material that is provided (MacLeod C. personal communication, 10 April 2025). ‘It was envisaged that the same resources would be provided for all phases but the difference in needs between the 2 sectors [primary and secondary] has meant an adjustment in expectations’ (Lanner L. personal communication, 16 May 2025). In spite of this, there is a sense of commonality between the two sectors in the provision of background notes, suggestions for teachers, and a folder of resources. There is also a clear recognition that this section is, and always will be, a work in progress, as folder after folder reveals new material, more ideas, and further suggestions. ‘Being digital, our resources are able grow and be built upon as NCRS completes different stages and comes back to each level to revise it, taking into consideration any feedback and requests we get from our REAs [Religious Education Advisers] and teachers. This is a longterm, on-going project for our team’ (NCRS 2024, Teacher information page).

• Background Notes.

The Background Notes for Phase 1-2 Te Atua God, Learning Pack 1, God: Father Son and Holy Spirit, begin by breaking each of the Ngā Whāinga Paetae achievement objectives into individual Learning Intentions, framed as ‘we are learning…’ statements. These are not the same statements as provided on the whãnau family page, although the content is clearly similar. The document then becomes what it promises, providing information and explanatory notes on the content: God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, Holiness, Names, and images for God from the Old and New Testament, the Glory Be, for example. Notes are not explicitly referenced to either the learning intentions or the achievement objectives, but they draw on the content they name.

• Suggestions for Teachers.

The most substantive document in the Learning Pack for this theme and phase is the Suggested Learning Sequence, which provides a sequence of lessons to describe how the achievement objectives and learning intentions might be achieved. In other curricula, this might be described more prescriptively as a unit of work. Directional verbs, such as unpack, set up, choose, use, explore, and print, as well as the provision of power-points, videos, posters, songs, activities, and prayers, make very concrete suggestions for teachers. In keeping with the decision to not advocate for one type or style of assessment, opportunities to assess or monitor the extent to which tamariki children have learned are not yet identified. This delay is an intentional one, designed to allow teachers time to focus on refining their teaching without the pressure of assessment (MacLeod C. personal communication, 10 April 2025).

• Learning Resources.

The final piece of the planning puzzle is a folder that contains in excess of 50 files useful for teaching the achievement objectives and learning intentions. Among these are those named in the Suggested Learning Sequence or imaged on the visual overview. Most of the files are worksheets of written and craft-style activities, but the folder also contains power-points of content to use with children. It is here that the flexibility of the programme becomes both obvious and, at times, confusing. Multiple documents give the same information: overviews, Phase Level learning packs, and teaching and learning sequences, for example. The presence of ‘newer’ and ‘older’ material also adds to the confusion. Experience tells us that many teachers will go directly to this end-point to access the curriculum, which is rarely the best option. Hyperlinks back to the founding documents do their best to build a fuller sense of design. However, the challenge of providing teaching resources that satiate a pragmatic desire to ‘do’ within a wider context of ‘why’ or ‘what’ is a sober reminder that transitioning from theory into practice is a risky business.

• Overview Documents.

Two further overviews are provided in the primary phases: one tabulates a simple matching of the achievement objectives and learning intentions with a few suggestions of activities and teaching points. The second is a visual overview. As the name suggests, it contains actual images of worksheets referenced in the Suggested Learning Sequence against each learning intention. It was made by those preparing the material for Primary Phases, ‘a decision that found significant favour with teachers’ (Lanner L. personal communication, 16 May 2025).

1.4. Discussion

It is apparent that Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith is the product of deep consideration and consultation. It is also evident that the Catholic Schools in Aotearoa NZ face many of the issues experienced by their compatriots in Australia. Teachers whose knowledge of Catholic faith and tradition is limited, students who struggle to find relevance in an ancient tradition, families who need encouragement to engage with their faith tradition, and a society that proposes much of what the Church does—the well-being of people, an environment that cries out for care, poverty, homelessness, and displacement—without the burden (or benefit) of belief in God all challenge the role and purpose of the Catholic school.

However, three things stand out as unique to Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith.

First, the bringing of Catholic Schools under the Integration Act was a significant win for the Catholic Church of Aotearoa NZ, enshrining in law the right for schools to maintain their special character (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025). Indeed, the binding nature of the agreement commits political parties of all persuasion to the Act, guaranteeing Catholic schools not only the right to teach and live their special character but to ensure that the population of a school, staff and students, remains mostly Catholic. This gives Catholic schools in Aotearoa NZ a level of clarity and security in their identity ‘that is internationally unique, [one that] puts Catholic Education is an extremely strong position’ (MacLeod C. personal communication, 27 May 2025). Catholic Schools can ‘have their cake and eat it. If they fulfil their obligations, the Crown won’t let them down’ (New Zealand Catholic Education Office n.d.).

Arguably, the most vexed question in Australia concerns a school’s Catholic Identity, specifically, when does a school stop ‘being Catholic?’ As the number of Catholic schools in which Catholic staff and students are in the minority increases, is there something that Catholic schools in Australia might learn from the Aotearoa NZ story?

Second, its solidarity in its flexibility. Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith is a national curriculum, written for all Dioceses in Aotearoa NZ. As such, all Catholic schools work with the same content and standards. This allows for high levels of collegial support. However, it also opens the possibility for the collection of data at the national and local levels, useful in monitoring the implementation of the programme across diverse cohort groups. As individual schools work in different ways with the same content to the same standard, research into the impact of factors, such as pedagogy, resources, local initiatives or teacher knowledge or experience, could contribute important new understandings of what makes religious education effective. Further, research into the effectiveness of the ‘bridging objective’ as a means of encouraging formal classroom learning to be applied in the wider life of the school could also bring new understandings of the Catholic school as a vehicle for both education and formation.

The level of unity achieved by Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith has not been possible in Australia. In the state of Victoria alone, a drive of only three hours will bring you into contact with four different religious education curricula, all with their own approach, standard, and content base. While this diversity keeps the debate about the purpose and role of religious education in Catholic schools alive and well, it does not allow for strong collaboration between Dioceses and teaching colleagues. It also makes the study of religious education by those wishing to teach in Catholic schools much more complex: which view of religious education, which approach, which pedagogy, and whose objectives?

Finally, the most notable feature of Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith is the strong, explicit commitment to the inclusion of the Māori language, evident in both the translation of English terms into Māori and the use of words and terms that originate in Māori. It is this latter use of Māori that stands out as both visionary and provocative; thus, it warrants particular comment.

The subtitle of this paper, Ko tōku reo tōku ohooho, ko tōku reo tōku māpihi maurea, my language is my awakening, my language is the window to my soul, is attributed to Sir Tīmoti Kāretu (Powell 2020). The proverb is reminiscent of that of the Austrian philosopher Wittgenstein (1961), who argued that the limit of our language meant the limit of our world. In completely different contexts, cultures, and eras, these quotes make it clear that the words we use matter. Language is more than simply a means of communication, of naming, asking, and responding. Language allows us to test and clarify our thoughts and to develop and share new insights. In language, we access the world we live in; in language, we interpret this world and consider who we are within it. Most significantly, in language, we express what we believe and what we hold to be true, to our very soul, to the presence of God within us.

The complexity of saying what you mean is magnified when a decision is made to work in more than one tongue. The meaning of words is deeply intertwined in the culture in which they develop, its beliefs, values, and even vocab and grammatical structures (Hymes 2024). A page titled Ki te ao marama (untranslated) explains three Māori words, each of which it is hoped will ‘develop an understanding and the ability to listen more deeply to others’ stories’ (NCRS 2024, p. 21). Aroha is explained as compassion, love, and forgiveness. In a quote attributed to the late Catholic theologian Msgr. Henare Tate, it is described as ‘being in the presence of the breath of God’ (NCRS 2024, p. 21). Whanaungatanga is said to be about building relationships, about being inclusive. ‘Other expressions that are very close to whanaungatanga are family-ness or belonging’ (NCRS 2024, p. 21). ‘Manaakitanga speaks to our desire to make others feel and be welcomed, to provide hospitality, care, an awareness of their needs’ (NCRS 2024, p. 21). It is a way of life that emphasises the well-being of individuals and communities through acts of service, inclusivity, and reciprocal relationships. Aroha, whanaungatanga, and manaakitanga are not translations of English words. Rather, they express Māori thought and belief, Māori understanding of the world, and Māori understanding of how humanity can and should act within it. Translation is, thus, difficult and clumsy. In the field of linguistics, the term ‘intercultural competence’ refers to knowing that different cultures express ideas, concepts, and traditions differently. As demonstrated in the three examples above, it recognises that simple word-for-word translations often fail to capture the nuances, idioms, or cultural implications that are essential to conveying the meaning found in the culture of origin (Carswell et al. 2025). In irony hard to overlook, even what the page title, Ki te ao marama, means is unclear, with my online translator suggesting either to the world of light or to the world of understanding.

Whether the writers of Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith have been successful in capturing the meaning of individual Māori words, in translation or explanation, is beyond the expertise of this paper. What is clear, though, is that in Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith, the NCRS has shone a light on the role of culture and language in the expression and transmission of faith. In his thesis, Tate (2010) argues that ‘the traditional Christian message that Māori have received has always fallen short of speaking intimately and powerfully to Māori experience in Aotearoa New Zealand. Many Māori experience it as irrelevant to their lives. The received theology is not couched in terms of concept, imagery, language, theology and liturgy that speak to them as to who they are in this land, in this contemporary society, and in terms of their relationships’. Tate calls for a second stage of evangelisation, one which comes from within. ‘Māori people must become the subjects, the doers, of their own theology. Theology cannot simply be received “from elsewhere, as if there simply existed a monocultural theology having universal claims to truth and relevance to Māori and indeed to all cultures”’ (Tate 2010).

As I have read Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith, I have reflected upon Tate’s concerns and on how religious education might do ‘to’ people rather than ‘with’ them. To what extent do the words we use in religious education assist—or inhibit—the transmission of faith? What might ‘theology from within’ look like in a Catholic school? This paper now turns to suggest a small but significant shift in the teaching of scripture as a response to Tate’s concerns. As a discussion about faith begins with the existence of God, this proposal focuses on Biblical metaphors for God and on how we speak about the nature of the God whom Catholics profess.

2. Part 2: A New Hermeneutical Lens

2.1. Introduction

The last twenty years have seen unprecedented interest in the placement and teaching of the Bible in Religious Education in Catholic schools (Holm 1983; Erdozain 1983; Madgen 1993; Stead 1996; Carswell 2018a; Grace 2003; Pollefeyt and Bieringer 2005). Recognition that our presentation of scripture within religious education curricula has leaned towards proof texting has brought a determined shift in practice, one that has brought the application of exegetical practices to the teaching of scripture (Carswell 2018b). This has been a good move, one that has repositioned scripture so that we teach, rather than simply use, passages (Stead 1996). A hermeneutical approach to scripture has undoubtedly been of benefit to both the Bible and to its readers, who are now invited to understand God’s presence in the world through the wrapping of an author who puts their experience of belief into thoughts and words (Bowie and Coles 2018; Carswell 2018b). The similarity between what biblical scholarship understands, what the authors of our sacred text have done, and what Tate asks that his people be allowed to do is stark. It would, therefore, be a small shift in practice to bring an additional hermeneutical lens to the teaching of scripture and allow students to ‘do theology from within’. Such a lens would go beyond simply teaching students to be interpreters of the God-words of others. Rather, it would position them in imitation of the practice of the Bible’s authors and ask them to be creators of their own God-words, drawn from their own culture and language.

2.2. Beginning with God

The Catholic Church has an interesting relationship with language used to speak about God. Augustine of Hippo argued that if you thought you understood God, it could not be God. Anselm of Canterbury similarly proposed ‘that God is that which none greater can be conceived’ (Johnson 1965). The Catechism of the Catholic Church (1997) embraces belief in the unknowable-ness of God as the reason we must ‘continually purify our language of everything in it that is limited, image-bound or imperfect, if we are not to confuse our image of God—“the inexpressible, the incomprehensible, the invisible, the ungraspable”—with our human representations’ (42). In spite of this insistence, the language for God used by the Church is exceptionally limited, narrowed to only a few of the many options the Bible offers us.

2.3. Metaphors for God in the Bible

The literary form used most often in the Bible to speak of God is the metaphor, where God (the subject) is said to be something else (the vehicle). The Bible’s authors reveal a strong preference for anthropomorphic vehicles: ‘king’, ‘judge’, ‘husband’, ‘father’, and ‘master’ dominate other vehicles, such as ‘warrior’ and ‘physician’. A smaller but still significant number of metaphors use an inanimate or animate vehicle: ‘fortress’, ‘dry wadi’, ‘mother bear’, and ‘eagle’. Finally, the smallest number of vehicles use a personally experienced reality to speak of God: ‘love’, ‘justice’, or ‘forgiveness’ (Carswell 2006). Placed side by side within a single work, or appearing in a range of different books, such metaphors extend, even contradict, one another so that the depth and ambiguity of the nature of God is clearly evident. That God could be both a divine leader of armies and a woman giving birth moves us closer to what Augustine and Anselm had in mind (Mills 1998).

What is of interest to this paper is less the multiplicity of metaphors for God used in the Bible, but more the process that has brought them to us. The vehicles chosen for metaphors are taken from the everyday experiences of the people creating them. Written in a patriarchal culture by men, the Bible’s authors describe God through their experiences of being male in a male-ruled society. In the Old Testament, the authors display a clear preference for the vehicle ‘king’, used sixteen times in the book of Psalms alone. In contrast, references to God as ‘father’ are rare. Indeed, within the forty-six First Testament books that the Catholic Church accepts as canonical, God is only referred to as ‘father’ twelve times, and never in direct address (Schneiders 1986). In the Greco-Roman world of the New Testament, an almost complete reversal occurs. Surprisingly, given its dominance in the Old Testament, direct reference to God as king vanishes in the Gospels, although it remains behind every one of the many references to the kingdom of God made by Jesus or his followers (Macky 1990). The vehicle ‘father’, however, comes to the fore. While some proponents of this vehicle account for its dominance on the basis that it was Jesus’s preferred metaphor, this is very difficult to argue. In Mark’s gospel, God is referred to as ‘father’ only four times, and in the Gospel of Luke, seventeen times. Matthew’s liking for the vehicle is evident in that it appears more than forty-five times. It is in the Gospel of John where the dominance of this metaphor becomes absolute; God is called ‘father’ at least 113 times.

This simple tabulation is more than an academic indulgence. It serves to demonstrate three crucial points, each of which offers support for Tate’s call. First, the personal preference, audience, and circumstance of the biblical author are responsible for their choice and use of vehicle, equivalent to their reference to landforms, Samaritans, Levites, and vineyards. Gibson (1998) reminds us that it reflects ‘their [the creators] conception of the universe, not ours, their reaction to the geography and flora and fauna of Palestine, not ours, their experience of human existence … their social organization and customs, not ours’ (p. 10). Second, the metaphors that we use to speak about God are neither fixed nor definitive. Rather, as the needs and lives of people change, so does the way they speak about God. Finally, while some metaphors are dominant at certain times in history, no metaphor for God is better than any other; each one is as inadequate as the others. Metaphors only ever give a glimpse of God; they are always less than the magnitude of God.

What these points make clear is that a blueprint for Tate’s ‘theology from within’ is found in the Bible, modelled by the authors of our sacred text. From within their varying environments, the Bible’s authors chose things in their lives to speak of God, as they found God, in whatever situation they were in. This observation provides a strong impetus for the inclusion of a practice that asks contemporary people of faith to do likewise and, once again, to ‘do theology from within’. However, a further reason to ‘think big’ is the way that metaphors work. The metaphors that the Bible’s authors use allow them to express their thoughts. However, once uttered, their words become the ‘thought frame’ for others who will formulate—and limit—their own conception of God to the limitations of the words they hear.

2.4. How Metaphors Work

A metaphor is a figure of speech in which some words are used literally while others are used in a sense different from their usual literal one. Often used to express insight about something that cannot be known literally, metaphors work by being nonsensical, thus demanding a process of thought in the finding of meaning. Likened to comparison, but much more than a simple juxtaposition of objects for a point-by-point examination, this thought process is dynamic and multifaceted, a result of the vast array of connotations that words have. Once a metaphor is uttered, all the connotations that the listener has about both the vehicle and subject begin to play together to make the metaphor work and affect communication. Knowledge, accurate or flawed; belief, primal or developed; and feelings and attitudes, positive or negative, even previous metaphorical associations, are brought together and in an action likened to that of a sieve; some attributes are found to offer useful insight into the subject and kept, while others are sifted away.

A description of the dominant metaphor for God used in the Gospels, God is our father, serves as an example. In calling God ‘father’, human fatherhood becomes the ‘playground’ for thoughts, feelings, and attitudes about both God and fathers. Attributes of human fatherhood that offer insight into the nature of God are retained, while those considered inappropriate or irrelevant are sifted away or discarded. Indeed, it is the ‘is/is not’ tension created by the retention/discarding process that prevents the metaphor from being literalised: God is not a father at the exact moment that God is a father. Within the frame of the metaphor, a concept of God, as like and different from fathers, is imagined and posited. Further, through extension, speaking of God as our father establishes the production of other ‘off-shoot’ metaphors, which comment much more extensively on humanity and the world (Carswell 2006). Men and women become the adopted sons and daughters of God, the children of God who become a family, brothers and sisters in faith. In the use of one metaphor an understanding not only of God, but of God’s relationship with humanity, and of humanity’s relationship with one another, is proposed.

The way that metaphors work marks them as much more than simply a clever tool of communication. Rather, they are a stimulus for a unique intellectual activity in which the mind holds thoughts of two things together at one time, as it forms a conception of the subject brought about by its association with the named vehicle. For those who create them, metaphors for God enable thought about God to be put into words. Once verbalised, however, they become a frame for and around the thoughts of those who hear them. Put simply, the metaphors we use to speak about God directly determine how the people around us will think about God and, as a result, come to perceive God. While this means that metaphors offer rich possibilities in our speech about God, they are not without issue.

Whatever thought process is prompted by a metaphor, it is tightly contained by the parameters of the vehicle, which acts as a containment line within which thought occurs. If I consistently hear God called a ‘warrior’, ‘fortress’, or ‘shield’, my thoughts will be limited to notions of warfare, enemies, and battle. Any thought of God as tenderness, compassion, giver of life, or forgiveness will not enter my mind. Further, if the vehicle used in the metaphor is distasteful or undesirable to the hearer, then these feelings will likely be transferred to the subject. If the vehicle is unknown to the hearer, the metaphor will fail completely. Rather than beyond all knowing, the limitation of the words I hear can make God appear small and narrow, even repugnant. For Van Wijk-Bos, this has a catastrophic effect not only on God but on the self-perception of the hearer. ‘When we deny God the freedom to be who God will be, we also deny ourselves the freedom to be who and what we can be in the gracious free presence of God’ (Van Wijk-Bos 1995, p. 101).

3. Theology from Within

From within my world, our small farm outside Melbourne, my metaphors for God are overwhelmingly natural. God is a mother cow who, with tongue and soft moo, calls her newly born calf into life. God is the dust sweeping across a drought-ravaged land. God is a warm egg, the breath of my horse on a cold day. As a mother who has recently buried her child, God is an empty dam. In absolute imitation of the authors of the Bible, I can stand in the space of my life and, doing theology from within, use all that I sense and feel to put words around what I know of God. And as my thoughts turn into words, the God who is part of my world in all its struggles and pain is as close as the breath of my horse and the dryness of my dam. My sense of God is more than simply expressed in the metaphors I use; it is professed, confirmed, and made tangible. And, perhaps as you read them, you may see through the limits of my language and into my soul. You may even be invited to extend your own thoughts of God. But I am drawn to ask about the people of my hometown, the numerous tribes descended from the people of the Tainui, about their experience of God (Te Ahukaramū Charles Royal 2025). Does their relationship with the longest river in New Zealand, the Waikato, prompt and carry their thought and language of God? Or for the Kāhui Maunga tribes, is God as dramatic and as eternal as the range of mountains that cross their land? Or as reliable and as constant as the seasons of winter snow and red tussock?

And, if I dare to look further, what about the Tiwi people of Bathurst and Melville Islands, off the coast of Darwin? Or the Arrernte people of Ltyentye Apurte, 80 km outside Alice Springs, how would they speak of God? What of their land, and their lives, speaks to them of God now? Especially in countries like Aotearoa NZ and Australia, where the desire to restore indigenous culture and language shattered by colonisation is acute, Tate’s call for his people resonates more widely. It is much more than a nicety; it is a call for action towards reconciliation and justice. And, in doing so, it asks for nothing more than what the Bible’s authors accomplished and what I have accomplished, to speak of God from within.

4. Conclusions

This paper finds that while much of the new religious education curriculum for Aotearoa NZ is very like other curricula, in its extraordinary commitment to the inclusion of Māori, Tō Tātou Whakapono Our Faith throws open the doors to much greater discussion about the way that culture and language contribute to the expression and transmission of faith. Responding to Tate’s insistence that we must abandon the view that ‘there simply existed a monocultural theology having universal claims to truth and relevance to Māori and indeed to all cultures’, this paper proposes the inclusion of a new hermeneutical lens in the teaching of scripture (Tate 2010). Built on the example of the Bible’s authors, who practice and model theology from within, this lens would position students not only as interpreters of the God-talk of others but as the creators of God-talk of their own, using the words and experiences of their own culture.

In advocating a new hermeneutical lens, this paper does not argue for the discontinuation of traditional metaphors for God, such as ‘father’ or ‘king’. We need a common language to speak of God. Neither does it argue that we should stop teaching pupils what the Bible is or ignore exegetical approaches that help them understand the words its authors use or their cultural and historical settings. However, it does argue that to limit our speech about God, even to that of the Bible’s authors, is to limit our perception of the ‘inexpressible, the incomprehensible, the invisible, the ungraspable’ God that Catholics proclaim (CCC42).

The monotheism of the Bible is stretched by competing, at times even contradictory, metaphors for God. The Bible’s authors exercise a level of freedom in their speech about God that we have either overlooked or are too frightened to embrace. How big might God be if we all spoke to each other of God as we found God? How constant, how eternally relevant, might God be if our speech about God was both ancient and new? And how validating of those people whose culture and language have been silenced by colonisation, if we began venerating their words as we venerate the words of our sacred text? Not just in translation but in creation and in thought. For the Catholic Church to be truly Catholic—catholic—we need to listen to and follow the example of our sacred text and speak to one another of God, in our own tongue, from our own experience.

Kia tau ki runga i a koutou ngā whakapai a te Atua (Tate 2010).