Vision From the Ground Up

The aboriginal leader took his food and walked some distance away from the small crowd that assembled for lunch at a community site run by the indigenous people in western Australia. He sat alone on the ground and began to eat his meal.

I followed the tribal elder out onto the dusty red earth, where he invited me to sit with him. We had been speaking earlier about the life of the community there, the projects the people were undertaking, and his determination to pass on a way of life to the young. Now he began to talk about what it means to be an Australian aboriginal.

He reached down and put his hand on the ground beneath us. "The earth is our mother," he said. Then, putting his hand on his chest, he continued, "I can feel the earth in my bones, in my flesh, and in the blood moving through my body." Our lives depend on the earth, he told me, and we also must depend on each other. "That's why we share what we have with one another. There is no one here who goes without. We would not let that happen."

Relationship to the earth and a communal way of life are at the heart of Australian aboriginal spirituality. And it is still there, despite the genocidal consequences of 200 years of white settlement. One finds it most clearly in the "grandfathers and grandmothers" who provide community leadership by telling the stories of the "dreamtime" and passing on the memory and traditions of the aboriginal people to the next generation.

The grandfather who I sat with on the ground told me that aboriginals are a spiritual people, and their spirituality is essential to life itself. Without it, they would surely die. It seemed to him that most white people have a very different spirituality.

His observation was strikingly revealed in that morning's Australian newspapers. There, on the front page, was George Bush sitting in his golf cart and ordering American troops to the Middle East over his mobile phone.

The contrast could not have been more stark between two leaders and two kinds of vision for the world. One, an aboriginal elder, who speaks of our harmony with the earth and community with one another. The other, the commander in chief of the world's leading superpower, committing many lives to war over what we take out of the earth.

The dramatic alternative between the two leaders and their visions became the subject for my sermon that night. The choices each exemplified are fundamental to the kind of future we will have.

DURING THE ENTIRE FOUR WEEKS of a very demanding Australian speaking tour this summer, it was the connections with the aboriginal people, and the land which is so sacred to them, that became my own best sources of sustenance and energy.

The aboriginal flag, which was presented to me as a gift at the beginning of the tour, became a powerful symbol as we displayed it at each speaking venue. It served to remind all who came of Australia's black history, indigenous spirituality, and multicultural possibilities. The flag's beautiful colors tell the story: The black, on one side, is for the people themselves; the red, on the other side, for the earth of the beloved land; and a bright yellow sun, in the center, offers the hope for the future.

I had the privilege of attending the first national Aboriginal Spirituality Conference, which drew together people from around the country. There was great excitement in the air and a deep determination to recover and revitalize a faith that is rooted in the experience of aboriginal people. "We need the space to develop our own spirituality, " said one speaker, "then we will have something very significant to offer white Australians."

Indeed, I was struck with the irony many times during the month of how the indigenous people that white Australians seek to destroy are the very ones possessing many of the crucial insights that all Australians now need to learn in order to survive. The same could be said for white Americans and American Indian peoples, whose history most closely parallels Australia's aboriginals.

This was my third trip to Australia in the last five years, and my relationship with the aboriginal community has grown deeper each time. Acceptance and friendship are offered very communally, and the warmth of the embrace has been a deep personal blessing.

I had never visited the Australian "outback" until this trip. The stark desert landscape has a very special beauty, with rugged mountains, spectacular gorges, and oasis waterholes in completely unexpected places.

One day, in the Northern Territory "bush" country, I was visiting an aboriginal community engaged in very promising experiments in local economic development. A community-owned store and service station would have their grand opening only a few days later. We had a very encouraging dialogue about the problems of white control, the legacy of white church missions, and the difficult road of self-determination.

After our discussion the community's leader walked me back to the four-wheel-drive truck that had been lent to me by an aboriginal pastor. On top of my bag, he spotted my Los Angeles Lakers hat. "The Lakers!" he exclaimed. "Magic Johnson is my favorite player!" Those who know me realize how that made me feel even more at home. I left my Lakers cap in the Northern Territory, but I came home with many gifts and memories from a community of people in Australia with whom I feel a growing kinship.

As I was leaving his community, the aboriginal grandfather asked me if I would be flying back to my home. He nodded when I said yes. "As you travel back to your own community, look out the window to the wing of the plane and I will be there, going with you to keep you safe." I did, and somehow I felt that I would travel more safely if I could remember the lessons learned while sitting on the ground.

Jim Wallis is editor-in-chief of Sojourners.