04/05/2026
He Poroporoaki Aroha - Rev Prof Jione Havea
“He whetū ki te rangi, he kaihautū ki te moana.”
(A star in the sky, a navigator on the ocean.)
E tangi ana te ngākau, e mihi ana te wairua, e maumahara ana ki tētahi rangatira nui – ko Rev Prof Jione Havea. E te rangatira, e te pou herenga waka o ngā whakaaro whakapono, kua whetūrangitia koe i te rangi. Haere, haere, haere atu rā.
Ko koe he kaiwhakatere i ngā moana hōhonu o te mātauranga, he kairapu i ngā ara ngaro o te whakapono. I rite koe ki ngā tūpuna whakatere waka o Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa, e aru ana i ngā whetū, e pānui ana i ngā hau, e whakarongo ana ki te ngaru. Nāu i ārahi ngā whakatupuranga kia kite i te ao whakapono i tua atu i ngā rohe kua whakaritea, kia pakaru ngā here o te whakaaro kuiti.
“He waka eke noa” – nāu tēnei i whakatinana. I whakapono koe, ehara te mātauranga i te taonga mō te tokoiti, engari mō te katoa. I tohe koe kia rangona ngā reo kua roa e noho puku ana – ngā iwi taketake, ngā hunga rawakore, ngā wāhine, ngā rangatahi, ngā hunga kua panaia ki te taha. He toa koe mō te hunga kua pehia. Kāore koe i mataku ki te kōrero pono, ahakoa te kaha o te whakahē. I tū koe hei pou mō te tika, hei kaitiaki mō te mana tangata.
“Whaia te iti kahurangi, ki te tuohu koe, me he maunga teitei.”
Koinei tō ara – ko te whai i te pono, te tika, me te rangimārie, ahakoa ngā uauatanga. I roto i ngā hononga o te ao, i tū koe hei kaiako, hei hoa, hei kaitautoko. I raranga koe i ngā whatunga p**a noa i te ao, kia hono ai ngā whakaaro, kia tupu ai te māramatanga.
Nāu i whakakotahi te tangata, nāu i whakakaha te wairua o te kotahitanga. Nā reira e te Rangatira, e te pou herenga waka wairua, e te kairapu i te aroha ki ngā tangata katoa, haere, haere, okioki atu.
Beloved Rev Prof Jione Havea,
Today we stand in the shadow of your legacy, a legacy woven through the lives of many across Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa. You were not only a scholar of immense depth, but a kaihautū who navigated the currents of theology with courage, wisdom, and aroha. You carried the stories of our peoples into spaces that too often overlooked them, and you made them heard with dignity and strength.
You were a wayfinder, charting courses across intellectual and spiritual oceans that many had not dared to cross. Like the great navigators of the Pacific, you read the signs others overlooked—the silences, the margins, the spaces between words—and you taught us that theology is not confined to institutions, but lives and breathes among the people. You were a warrior—not of violence, but of truth. A defender of the marginalised, the oppressed, and the silenced. You refused to allow theology to remain comfortable while injustice persisted. Instead, you called it into accountability, into movement, into relationship.
E te rangatira, e te tohunga, e te hoa aroha—
To Rev Prof Jione Havea, he pou whakairo i roto i te ao whakapono, he kaihautū i ngā ara kōhatu o te hinengaro, he kaiwhakatere i ngā moana hōhonu o te mātauranga. Ka tangi te ngākau, ka whakanuia te wairua.
“He whetū ki te rangi, he kaihautū ki te moana.”
(A star in the sky, a navigator on the ocean.)
Jione, you were both—he whetū that guided and a kaihautū who dared to cross uncertain seas. In the vast Moana-nui-a-Kiwa, where stories are carried by tides and memory lives in the body, you stood as a wayfinder of theological consciousness. You refused narrow maps. You redrew them.
Your scholarship was never confined to the academy. It breathed. It walked among the people. It listened before it spoke. Like the ancient navigators who read the stars, the winds, and the currents, you read the signs of our times—colonisation, displacement, inequality—and responded not with silence, but with prophetic clarity. You embodied this truth. Your work was never about individual acclaim. It was about collective liberation. You amplified the voices of the marginalised, the oppressed, and the silenced communities of the Pacific and beyond. You reminded us that theology is not neutral—it either liberates or it imprisons.
Through your writing, teaching, and presence, you challenged dominant narratives and invited us into deeper, more honest conversations. You taught us that God is not found only in institutions, but in struggle, in resistance, and in the cries of the people. You stood alongside those pushed to the margins and declared their dignity. You named injustice without fear. You were, in every sense, a warrior—not with weapons, but with words, with wisdom, with unwavering compassion.
As a mentor, you gave generously. You created spaces where emerging scholars, especially from the Global South, could find their voice. You did not gatekeep knowledge—you shared it. You did not hoard wisdom—you multiplied it. Many who walk in academic, theological, and community spaces today carry your imprint. You encouraged bold thinking. You welcomed discomfort. You insisted that faith must engage the real world—its pain, its beauty, its contradictions.
You were a friend to global networks, a connector of people and ideas. You built bridges across cultures, disciplines, and traditions. In a fragmented world, you embodied relationality. At the heart of your work was always humanity. Not abstract humanity—but real people, real struggles, real stories. You refused to let theology become detached from lived experience. You honoured indigenous knowledge systems. You affirmed Pacific identities. You challenged colonial frameworks that sought to erase or diminish them. In doing so, you helped reclaim dignity for many.
“Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream.” (Amos 5:24)
Your voice was part of that river. Persistent. Unyielding. Life-giving. Even when the terrain was difficult, you kept flowing. You reminded us that justice is not optional—it is essential to faith. E hoa, your legacy is not static—it moves. It lives in the conversations you sparked, in the courage you inspired, in the communities you uplifted. You were a navigator, yes—but also a teacher of navigation. You showed others how to read the stars for themselves. How to trust their instincts. How to journey with integrity. You taught us to honour the past as we move forward. To carry ancestral wisdom into contemporary struggles. To remember that our identities are not burdens, but sources of strength.
In te ao Māori and across the Pacific, we understand that a person does not truly leave—they transition. They become part of the landscape, the ocean, the memory.
So we say:
Haere e te rangatira.
Haere ki tua o te ārai.
Haere ki te kāinga tūturu o te wairua.
Go, dear friend, beyond the veil.
Return to the eternal home of the spirit.
“Well done, good and faithful servant… Enter into the joy of your Lord.” (Matthew 25:23)
And to those of us who remain:
Let us continue the journey.
Let us navigate boldly.
Let us speak when silence is easier.
Let us stand where standing is costly.
For that is how we honour you.
Moe mai rā, e te hoa.
Rest in power, Rev Prof Jione Havea.
Your voyage continues—in us.
Ngā manaakitanga
Te Aroha Rountree | President – Te Hāhi Weteriana o Aotearoa Methodist Church of New Zealand
