Michael Lapsley is a marvellous Christian, a courageous priest, a great New Zealander. In Michael WorsnipÕs book Priest and Partisan, this missionary to Africa reveals how he was transformed by the people and the events of the time.
Michael LapsleyÕs outspoken condemnation of apartheid brought him into conflict not only with the government but sadly also with his own Anglican Church. Indeed, throughout the book, these twin themes emerge as the bi-polar prongs of opposition to his mission to work as a priest committed to a gospel of liberation for all South Africans.
Expelled from South Africa in 1976 and given refuge in Lesotho, eventually he was forced to flee that country as well and move to Zimbabwe. Here eventually things are a little better, though Michael ends up locked in conflict with one of the first generation of black bishops, who seeks his removal. It seems some things never change.
At the heart of his constant conflict with Church authorities is the vexed question of obedience. To the uninitiated it may appear to be a simple issue Ñ do as one is told! But Nuremberg taught us forever that it is not so simple. And so did Newman and Jesus. Picking corn on the Sabbath was not the most popular thing to do in his time. Conscience and right judgement are at the heart of a Christian understanding of obedience. And in seeking to practice obedience he believed to be right and of God, Michael paid a heavy price. It was a price that eventually led to that bomb blast that left him minus two hands and an eye Ñ but thankfully with his faith and humour intact.
Priest and Partisan is a great read for all who hunger and thirst after justice. That it has an introduction by Trevor Huddleston, a preface by Oliver Tambo, and a foreword by Nelson Mandela gives some idea of the high regard in which Michael is held.
It is a book that is easy though sometimes troubling to read. But then again, perhaps that is MichaelÕs reminder to us all Ñ that trying to be always comfortable and Christian at the same time are incompatible objects. The cross sits in the middle of all our roads, none more so than his.
THE STORY OF SUZANNE AUBERT, by Jessie Munro (Auckland University Press, November 1996, 464 pp, $49.95, available The Catholic Shop, Auckland). Reviewer Jim Consedine.
Conventional wisdom has it that the last thing an author writes for a completed book is the introduction. Following that idea, I found the best starting point for a review of Jessie MunroÕs epic, The Story of Suzanne Aubert, was with the acknowledgements at the end of the book. There, more than 200 people including ambassadors, cardinals, scholars, kaumatua, religious, priests and laity, and including a veritable WhoÕs Who of the New Zealand literary world, are thanked for their contributions towards the production of this wonderful biography.
The acknowledgements reflect the importance of this publication. This is a book which has had a long gestation period which has taken the author to several countries and into widespread and painstaking research.
The result is a fascinating account of, not just the life of a wonderful New Zealand identity, but also of the history of the early Catholic Church in Aotearoa. Indeed, the first one-third of the book deals less with Suzanne and more with Jean-Baptiste Pompallier, the first Catholic bishop, his relationships with those around him and the various political and religious strains and struggles of the time. It is all the stuff of real lives and recent history and Jessie Munro brings this portion to life in a way not done before.
Suzanne Aubert was a product of mid-19th century French spirituality and social thinking. It was an age which spawned many religious orders like the Sisters of Charity, the Mission Sisters and such people as Frederick Ozanam and St Jean Vianney. He would later become the patron saint of her own religious order, the Sisters of Compassion.
She left France with her uncle, Bishop Pompallier, without the permission of her family. She was certain of her call, but not certain of her parentsÕ permission to follow it. Her call was to work with Maori and the poor, particularly children. Starting in Auckland in the 1860s, she became fluent in both English and Maori, teaching in a small school and nursing the sick in their homes. She eventually wrote several texts in Maori, including a Maori dictionary.
After the departure of Pompallier, Suzanne did not find Auckland a happy place and she was eventually forced to leave by Bishop Croke, an Irish immigrant himself. The issue was primarily one of independence for herself and for those with whom she worked. It was an issue that would surface time and again down through the decades as she continued to run foul of Church authorities.
Driven from Auckland, she came south to Meanee in Hawkes Bay and established herself as both a teacher and a nurse. Again her focus was Maori. It was here that she started to build her reputation as a dispenser of traditional Maori medicines. Her knowledge of natural drugs and plants became such that her reputation remains today.
From Meanee she moved to Huriharama (Jerusalem) up the Whanganui River. Here she gathered together those who would be the foundation members of her own religious order. Known then as Mother Mary Joseph, she was earning a national reputation for her skills, her commitment and her witness to the teachings of Jesus that would eventually reach across the world. Abandoned children became her primary interest, and she sought to provide them with a safe, secure environment in which to grow.
In 1899 she moved to Wellington. Jessie Munro writes Òher relationship with Wellington was dynamic.Ó Those six words give a succinct summary of the remaining years of her life. She literally took Wellington by storm. She impacted not just on the Church, but more directly on the community and the state. Her sisters out walking with the famous prams, begging their livelihood, carrying their parcels and donated goods back home became a Wellington institution. Her order was legally recognised by the Church, and she became known popularly as Mother Aubert. In 1907 two thousand attended the opening of the Home of Compassion in Island Bay.
But once again she was in trouble with Church authorities, this time with Thomas OÕShea, vicar-general and later archbishop. This struggle led her to six years exile in Rome, during which she eventually won the blessing of the Roman authorities for the independence of her order from local diocesan jurisdiction. Back in Wellington after World War I and worn out after decades of work and struggle on behalf of the dispossessed, she died quietly in 1926. Her funeral brought Wellington to a standstill for several hours. Newspaper obituaries noted that here indeed was a national leader of both the Church and the wider community.
It is hard to fault this beautiful production. It is well written but not too complex, mingling clear prose with direct quotations from letters and journals. The full story of Suzanne Aubert is long overdue in the telling. This biography is a treasure that should grace the bookshelf of every religious house, spiritual home, and womenÕs group in the country. It is an award winner in every sense.