“Companions. Let us be companions to each other. Let us walk together. Let us

walk consciously, with compassion, and in community.”

This was the benediction from a sermon at a Unitarian Universalist church in Baltimore. When I read this, I had just returned from my Easter Island “adventure”—and the quote reminded me of the community that I had met on the island.

Someone asked me recently if the spiritual draw that brought me to Easter Island actually materialized into something more tangible while I was there. And the answer is yes. But it wasn’t what I had expected to learn. Before going to Easter Island, I had read numerous books—and I expected to go and experience a bit of what had happened in their tragic history—and maybe I’d feel sad for them—and I’d hope to bring back the story of their mistakes, so we would never make those same errors again.

But by the time I got to Easter Island, a 5 hour flight over the ocean, 2300 miles from the coast of Chile, the lessons that I would learn, were simply not in my control.

The island is just under 65 square miles wide (just a bit larger than the Denver International Airport). It was formed from three volcanoes. So, picture a small, triangular shaped island, with an extinct volcano in each corner. When you take the long hike up Teravaka, the highest hill on the island, there is only water for as far as you can see in any direction.

Currently about 4,000 people live on the island—with about half being native Polynesians, who are called Rapanui. In 1722, the island was “discovered” by a Dutch captain. At the time, over 1,000 people were living on the island and it is believed that the Polynesians had been living there since 800 AD (although that date is still debated). The date that the Europeans landed on the island was Easter Sunday—and the name stuck. Islanders however call their home Rapa Nui.

Continuing to use their name for the island, is extremely important to them, as is maintaining their language and culture—both of which could easily be lost with the introduction of the Chilean culture and Spanish language. With a complicated and tragic history, the islanders have made a conscious decision to hold on to their culture.

The island lies in a shroud of mystery and myth. Despite efforts to dispel rumors, bizarre claims, mostly involving the huge heads, called “Moai”, have made it difficult to determine the truth.

• It’s been said that Easter Island was an energy source that sent messages to South America and Mexico using 3-D inscriptions on the backs of the giant statues;

• Some people have described the island as a sunken continent;

• Many have claimed that it must have been aliens that transported the Moai from the quarry to their platforms;

• And even our own Denver Post once reported that Elephants were used to move the huge heads (no one seems to have considered how the elephants might have gotten there…).

In reality, the island, removed from the myths and fallacies, is still a fascinating mystery. The more information that is gleaned from archeological digs and pollen samples, the more intriguing the island becomes. And in addition to its mysteries, it has an important lesson to share.

To this day, when the islander share a meal, they do a chant or prayer to invite the spirits, the older generations, and the people who used to live there to come and eat with them. We had the privilege of experiencing one of these communal prayers as they opened up an umu, an underground oven, and took out the food during a festival. The symbolism of inviting in the ancestors to share in their wealth, was a theme that we witnessed many times on our trip and an important part of the island culture.

But, it’s impossible to fully understand that importance of family without knowing a bit of the island’s history:

Rapa Nui legends, all tell a different story of the first settlers on the island, but all agree that a King Hotu Matu’a sent a group to the island, most likely by canoe—prepared for a long stay. The first Polynesians found an island with many large palm trees, volcanic craters full of drinking water, and abundant fish.

They quickly set about building houses, planting crops and getting used to their new home.

The early islanders believed that a spiritual power, which they called “mana” existed in most things. This mana was concentrated in one chief of the island. The power of this spiritual chief was passed down from generation to generation. Inanimate objects could hold mana—for instance, the making of a canoe was a very spiritual process led by priests, and by the end of the building and celebrations, the canoe would contain its own “mana”.

At some point, craftsman began building the large heads that you see scattered about the island. These heads, or Moai, are actually not just heads, but also have torsos and hands, and were built to represent sacred chiefs. The Moai were carved from the rim of one of the volcanoes, and then moved from the quarry long distances, to a large, sacred burial platform that had been built specifically for one or more of these statues. Even today you can feel the sacredness of these “ahu” and the moai that surround them. The people make a conscious effort to explain the sacred nature of these structures and even young children know clearly where they should walk and climb, and where they should not.

The Moai-building continued at a frenzied rate, with successive statues being larger in size and more artistically detailed. The earliest Moai were around 6 feet tall, and the later ones (likely made around 1680), were as big as 30 feet. The largest Moai found is 65 feet tall and is estimated to weigh 270 tons—although it still lies unfinished in the quarry.

When the Rapanui first moved to the island, they cut down many trees to start planting crops. The building and moving of statues required more trees to be chopped down—likely to help roll the Moai to their final destinations. To be fair, no one knows for sure how the Moai were moved. The oral legends that have been passed down, all share a story of the Moai “walking” to their platforms. Most of these hypotheses include using a fair amount of wood, and rope—all made from trees.

And as the Moai increased in size, so did the cutting down of trees.

This process didn’t happen over night. But gradually, as the quantity of trees decreased, the soil slowly became less and less sustainable.

And, as their supply of trees dwindled, they no longer had the wood they needed to build canoes for off-shore fishing (or to leave in search of new land, for that matter).

Slowly, birds, fish, and other animals native to the island disappeared. Plants and other natural resources that were important to the islanders were no longer available.

Soil erosion made the land unsuitable to continue planting.

It’s impossible to say whether the Rapanui people knew what was happening to their island, and could see the impact of their decisions. But whether they were conscious of it or not, as the population grew (some say to 10,000 or higher) and the resources continued to dwindle, the Rapanui were soon trapped on their little island.

As with many of the other aspects of Easter Island, what happened next is a subject of much debate. It appears that as the degradation of the island continued, there was a revolt (likely because of the lack of resources).

The original religion of the island slowly disappeared with the natural resources, and the spiritual “mana” of the past was destroyed. As one tribe revolted against another, villages were destroyed and by 1680 every single one of the Moai were toppled.

As the quality of life deteriorated, a new religion was born. This religion now placed power in the winner of a race. A race to determine a new chief—called the birdman. This new religion honored fertility and a new creator god, called Make-Make. The spiritual force or power was replaced by a dangerous race for the first bird egg of the season, possibly as a desperate plea for a renewal of resources.

This was a period of intense civil war.

***

One can only imagine what it must have been like. Trapped in the middle of the ocean, on an island that could no longer sustain life.

***

And then, as I mentioned in the beginning, in 1722, almost 1000 years since the islanders arrival, a Dutch ship showed up and called the island “Easter Island”.

They stayed only for a short time. And the island had a few other visitors over time, but with no resources or goods to take with them, no one stayed for long.

Between 1862 and 1864, Peruvian slave ships came. They took away over 1400 islanders and put them to work in Peru. The outside world was paying attention to the Peruvian slave trade though, and expressed its disgust. So, Peru packed up the 470 Easter Islanders who had NOT yet died, packed them onto a ship and brought them back to Easter Island. Only 15 islanders made it back alive. And those 15 brought smallpox.

In the late 1800’s, a Christian missionary was charged with converting everyone on the island, but he was quickly taken virtually hostage by the remaining islanders—and had to be saved 9 months after his arrival. But this missionary was determined, and he returned later with several other priests and assistants. The missionaries moved all of the islanders to one area of the island so that they could be more easily controlled.

As part of this crew of missionaries, a French sea captain arrived. He declared himself “lord of the island”. And with all of the islanders now contained to one small area, he turned the rest of the island into a sheep pasture—with all available resources – especially water—going directly to the sheep. And the sheep (at one point nearly 70,000 of them) helped to further defoliate the already stripped island.

The native population dwindled to 110.

In 1888, Chile claimed control of the island and then promptly ignored its new prize, until nearly 30 years later, when a Chilean bishop came to the island and decided to take action. New trees were planted, and new species of birds were introduced. This of course brought about both positive and negative results, but the island was firmly under the control of the Chilean government.

Over the following decades, several archeologists and explorers came to the island, including Thor Heyerdahl. They conducted some of the first research on the island and produced some important books. This served to both capture some of the oral history that may otherwise have been lost, and also to begin some myths that are perpetuated even to this day.

By 1967, an airport was built that eventually welcomed flights, introducing tourism and modern culture to the island. And later, the United States government even lengthened the runway extensively to allow for an emergency landing of the space shuttle.

***

Many people have written about the sad history of the Rapanui people. The environmental degradation of Easter Island is often referred to as a microcosm of our larger earth island.

These essays typically warn that the same destruction can easily occur at a larger scale.

And the lesson is a good one. There are very few places where you can point to such an obvious catastrophe and say “see!?”

But I’m not sure that this is the whole lesson. As poignant and relevant as the story of ecological and societal collapse is, that’s not the end of the story.

As editors of the Rapa Nui Journal have mentioned, “A focus on destruction has overshadowed a basic fact: that the Rapa Nui society — despite the past dramatic environmental and social changes — not only has survived but is today in a dynamic place.”

And when you get the chance to talk with the Rapanui people, they echo those sentiments.

Edith Pakarati, the owner of the hotel where we stayed for 10 days, has 22 brothers and sisters. She married an Australian and moved with her husband to Australia. Her life was much more comfortable then it had been, but eventually she and her husband move back to Rapanui. She told us that she needed to be back with her family and community. Visiting just wasn’t enough.

We spent many mornings over breakfast listening to her talk about her family—and how important they are to her. She really seemed to appreciate that I had come to Easter Island with my family, and she told me over and over how special that was - and how important it was to never take my family for granted. Edith now spends every weekend with her family—all 22 brothers and sisters—and their families--to share stories and eat and drink and be together. Despite the amenities that Edith had been introduced to in Australia, it was important for her to come home to her family—and not just to her family, but to the island itself.

We heard a similar story from our tour guide Yan, who was born on Easter Island, but moved to London with his family when he was only 2 years old. Over 20 years later, he made the conscious decision to move back to Rapanui. He told us that while he was away, he was exposed to many wonderful new things—and had many opportunities that the Rapanui wouldn’t normally have. His grandmother, who lived with his family, had made it a point however, to teach him about his island heritage and history. And despite having been raised in an entirely different community and culture for most of his life, he felt it was important to return home to Easter Island.

Both Yan and Edith felt it was important to share with us the pull of the island and their family. But by family they meant, the island family. The entire community. And their commitment to preserving the well-being of that family. As Yan explained to us, everyone on the island shares a common culture, and therefore they understand each other on a different level than most communities. Yan described the inherent trust that they have in each other—and when he told us about that trust—he always explained it in the context of the island history—that BECAUSE of their history, there now exists within everyone an important focus on caring for the island community.

This was very obvious during a festival that we attended, called “dia de la lengua Rapanui”—a day that celebrates the native Rapanui language and especially the island heritage. This festival wasn’t designed for tourists. It was organized by the schools—and gave the children an opportunity to share with their parents and families what they had been learning, about their culture and their island.

The transformation of the festival grounds was a sight to see. Over the course of a week the participants (young and old) gathered local materials and hauled them to the festival site where they built traditional–style structures for the booths and displays. It was a stark contrast to the bland, pre-fabricated tents we use in this country for our community events. Even in the building of their festival they were teaching their children about their culture and their history.

There were many booths that had been built to show each of the school projects and there were children running around with colorful feather and shell outfits. During the festivities, we watched young children perform typical dances and sing songs in Rapanui that told the island story. By the end you can be sure that we walked away AT LEAST knowing how to say Iorana and Maururu.

At one point, a boy with down syndrome started dancing with the children on stage. As outsiders, we watched nervously, wondering how they would handle it—how they would get him off the stage. But the islanders just let him dance and patted him on the back when he was finished. It was so different from what we might have seen here in the United States. Where we might have been embarrassed—and escorted him from the stage as quickly as possibly. They treated him with kindness and care and humility—like the fellow member of their greater family that he truly was. Their concern and love for him was conscious and deliberate.

***

Somehow, the tragic history has created a culture of people—with a deep knowledge of what can happen. And an innate bond—that helps them inherently know the importance of living their lives more consciously. And this feeling was apparent everywhere we went.

On Sunday morning we had the opportunity to attend their Sunday mass. It was a normal Catholic mass in most ways but with so many aspects of the Rapanui language and culture woven in—that it was anything but typical.

The church is THE place to be on a Sunday morning. The building was packed to the rafters—with people flowing outside—and a palpable energy and buzz that you could feel as soon as you entered. We stood in the back, pressed shoulder to shoulder with other people. There’s just no comparison to other catholic services I’ve attended—this was a big celebration. People with guitars, drums, harmonicas and accordions sat in pews with the congregation —and each song was like a spontaneous, excited outburst that grew from the seats as everyone chimed in. They sang in Spanish and Rapanui—and even though you couldn’t understand anything they were saying—you got it. The room was alive.

Rapa Nui’s history is simultaneously tragic and beautiful. But the lesson you bring back seems to be as much about living as it is about environmental and social degradation. The people on the island know the importance of really valuing what you have—and making sure that you really live with that knowledge every day.

When I spent time in Romania 3 years ago—I remember thinking that there was constantly a dark cloud over everything. The weight of communism had a heavy, sad impact on the people and the country. So, it was interesting for me to go to Easter Island, with their own sad story, and feel the difference. It’s not about happiness; it doesn’t mean that their lives aren’t still a struggle. But that each day, they think about what they value in the world around them. They value their home, they value their families, they value each other, they value each meal, they value their environment… They recognize the effect that their decisions will have—and they live their lives with intention. And you can feel it!

While it’s important to remember the sad history—and the ominous lesson that Easter Island teaches, the real message is about how we live now. Today. The importance of valuing what you have and working to protect it.

Even the name, Easter Island, as arbitrary as the naming was, gives a sense of what the island can teach. Easter is about resurrection. About a complete return to life. And about celebrating living.

Despite the historical challenges that islanders faced, their lives exude some sort of hope—and a subtle reminder to be mindful of how we want to live our own lives—and to be deliberate in our actions.

The real question of Easter Island is not, HOW did they build those huge statues and move them around the island?

The question, especially for Unitarian Universalists, is how do we take the lessons from Easter Island, and use them for guidance on our own search, our own truth?

How do we find meaning in our own stories and myths?

What lesson do we take from our own history and what do we do with what we learn from it?

What personal choices do we make as we plan our daily lives?

***

How can we live our own lives more consciously?