When Seafarers Became Our Pastors
By Revd Iain Dickson
Chaplain/Manager, United Seafarers Mission (Tauranga Seafarers Centre)
This ANZAC Day, Saturday, 25 April 2026, we remember. We remember those who served, those who fell, and those who still carry the weight of their voyages.
But this year, I find myself thinking of another kind of remembering. Another kind of sacrifice. Another kind of quiet courage.
As we mark 25 years of the United Seafarers Mission, an ecumenical partnership born from 60 years of reaching seafarers, alongside our brothers and sisters from Stella Maris, Galilee Mission, and the Mission to Seafarers; people often ask me for a story that sums up our work. I could tell you about the thousands of trips to the mall, the SIM cards that reconnect families, the endless cups of tea and the listening ear.
But there’s another moment I keep coming back to. A moment that didn’t happen inside our Centre, but flowed directly from the ministry we share with you.
You’ll remember the terrible landslide on Mauao in late January, six lives lost. A tragedy that gripped our community and the nation.
In the middle of that grief, something remarkable happened. A group of Fijian seafarers, men who have sat in our vans, shared our meals, accepted our welcome, went quietly to the memorial fence at the base of the mountain. While news cameras focused on officials and grieving families, they stood and sang a Fijian hymn of respect.
That moment was broadcast on national television. An image of hope and solidarity in the midst of sorrow.
I was there that week, standing with local iwi and other faith leaders, offering prayers at the vigil. But the most powerful prayer I witnessed was not mine. It was theirs.
Here’s the truth I want to leave with you this ANZAC Day: The seafarers we serve are not just recipients of our care. They are also ministers to us.
They bring their faith, their culture, and their compassion to our shores. The simple acts of welcome we offer, rides, tea, a safe place, are not just about meeting needs. They are about nurturing a global community of people who, in turn, nurture others.
On that Saturday morning in April, as we stand at dawn services and remember, let’s also remember them. The quiet ones. The ones who sing over strangers. The ones who sail so we can live as we do.
They remind us what ANZAC truly asks of us: not only to remember the fallen, but to serve the living.
A prayer for seafarers this ANZAC Day
God of winds and waves,
of distant shores and quiet vigils,
we thank you for those who sail.
For the Fijian seafarers who sang at Mauao.
For every crew member who carries grief unseen.
For chaplains and volunteers who offer small kindnesses.
Make us worthy of their witness.
And when they pass through our port,
let us be to them what they have been to us—
a sign of hope, a hymn of peace.
Lest we forget. Amen.
