In Sit by the Fire again, Duncan Reid pursues a heartfelt conviction. As a result, he has gathered together a range of indigenous and non-indigenous voices for a timely conversation, which is scholarly, creative and surprising.

Duncan Reid is editor of, and contributor to, this excellent collection. He is an Australian Anglican priest, theologian and educator. He has written invaluable scholarly works like Energies of the Spirit: Trinitarian Models in Eastern Orthodox and Western Theology (Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1997). More recently, he has contributed to a Theological Conversation on Country: An Aspiration (Adelaide: ATF, 2026).

Sit by the Fire again has much to offer to American, British, Canadian and South African conversations. I say this, not because Australians have the answer, but to signal the presence of a significant contribution to that global conversation. In other words, this is an important book, which makes ground-breaking moves in unexpected ways. In terms of this work, the key socio-political event is 2023 national referendum.

From time to time, Australians have an opportunity to vote on their constitution. And the constitution can change. For example, in 1967, a national referendum was successful in amending two sections of the Australian Constitution and enabling inclusion of indigenous communities in the Census. In 2023, however, a national referendum was unsuccessful on establishing an Indigenous Voice to parliament. With this in mind, let me reflect on the book’s contributions.

• • With prophetic insight, Naomi Wolfe, in ‘Canticle, country, and contestation: Theology after the 2023 referendum’, explores the genre of canticle, inviting us to listen and to see, connecting with social realities.

• • Stripped bare, Stacey Wilson in ‘Angry’ expresses openly and courageously something on the reaction of many Australians to the loss of the referendum.

• • Duncan Reid in ‘Epistemology in the Locative Case: The uncreated energies and place-based ways of knowing’ invites us to consider, what Foucault referred to as, lost or subjugated knowledges. The inference is that not only has there been lost knowledge, but also there are different ways of knowing.

• • Daniel Kisliakov in ‘Beyond dualism: Listening, indigenous discourse, and theological meaning in contemporary Australia’ builds on Duncan Reid’s earlier work ‘Time we started listening’ bringing into the conversation the rich Eastern Christian theological heritage (e.g., John Chryssavgis).

• • Talitha Fraser in ‘My story, our story’ opens with some provocative questions (below), making important connections and providing invaluable insights.

• • In ‘Showing up on Stolen Ground’, Talitha Witika brings into focus other critical issues. This includes the Stolen generations and Black deaths in custody. In other words, the 2023 referendum must be seen in context.

• • Also building on Duncan Reid’s earlier work, Nikokai Kostin in ‘When we begin to listen: Multidimensionality in anthropology’ brings in other dimensions (e.g., Yuri Knorozov). Rightly, he emphasizes the importance of ‘multidimensionality’ in method.

• • In ‘Speaking too soon? Job’s friends, truth-telling, and the aftermath of the 2023 referendum’ Naomi Wolfe and Sarah Eldridge take up creatively the story of Job, inviting new thinking about truth-telling and the loss and search for mystery.

• • Janet Turpie-Johnstone in ‘We walk together? Story, country, church, and the unfinished work of truth’ provides an intimate account of the impact of the referendum and the work that lies ahead.

• • The collection finishes aptly with Glenn Loughrey’s poignant ‘Return to Country (Easter Morning): John 20:1–18’. So, let me conclude my brief overview with his words ‘To return is not to go backwards. It is to remember. It is to sit again on the ground where your spirit first woke up. It is to listen until the noise of ambition falls away like ash after flame’.

This is an excellent collection. It is part of an important and ongoing conversation. For my part, I hope Duncan Reid continues to explore the conversation. In the future, the inclusion of a timeline would help overseas readers. In terms of the fine detail, some concepts are worth expanding like Cartesian dualism and truth-telling (cf. Michel Foucault parrhesia). So-called Cartesian dualism, for example, represents an unfortunate shorthand approach to a complex debate about subjectivity (cf. Reiner Schürmann ‘the indeterminate subject’). All this could be explored fruitfully in subsequent discussions about identity and the production, reception and sharing of knowledge. In terms of the big picture, however, many non-indigenous Australians want to explore these issues and learn new ways of having conversations with their indigenous sisters and brothers. And many indigenous Australians just want to be heard.

Duncan Reid has presented a timely challenge to non-indigenous communities to listen. On that note, let me refer again to Talitha Fraser’s chapter ‘My Story, Our Story’. Talitha, who comes from New Zealand, is a Ngai Tahu/Pakeha settler on the lands of the peoples of the Kulin Nation. She is also the curator of The Recollective – a playground for reflection, culture and feminist theologies. Talitha begins her story with three questions ‘Who directs the narrative of our story? Who writes the ending? Who decides what is meaningful to take away from it?’ (p. 65). In different ways, the contributors of this work wrestle with all these questions. And I suspect that this is exactly the kind of conversation Duncan Reid was hoping for.