In a world where faith often walks apart from politics, two men found a way to weave both into the soul of a nation. Together, Pastor Randall Prior and Pastor Sethy Regenvanu turned faith into a force for freedom for Vanuatu and forged a friendship that still bridges oceans today. This is theirstory.
Randall
When I first came to Vanuatu in 1979, it wasn’t the Vanuatu we know today. It was still called the New Hebrides — a country on the brink of independence, pulsing with the tension and hope of self-determination. I came as a delegate of the National Council of Churches in Australia, sent to show solidarity with the local church leaders who were guiding their people through that historic transformation.
That’s where I first met Pastor Sethy Regenvanu, now almost 50 years ago. He was already a respected voice — a pastor, an educator and a political leader-in-waiting. I remember sitting in that meeting hall in Port Vila, listening to him speak about the people’s right to govern themselves, and I was struck by his conviction. He was younger then, but you could tell he carried the weight of his people’s future in his voice.
When I returned to Australia, I couldn’t shake the impression he’d made. There was something profoundly spiritual in the way he linked faith and freedom for his country, as if independence were a divine calling.
Sethy
When I first met Randall, I saw a young man from Australia who truly wanted to understand what was happening in our country. Many foreign visitors came to observe and analyse — but Randall came to listen. At the time, I was serving as secretary of the New Hebrides Christian Council, and I had grown used to speaking firmly about what our people wanted: independence, dignity and partnership – not charity.
Randall listened with genuine respect, eager to know how the Australian churches could support us. I sensed from the beginning that we shared the belief that the church was not separate from the life of the people.
When independence came in 1980, I entered government as Minister for Agriculture, Lands and Forestry. Those were demanding years, and I did not see Randall again until 1983. But when he came back, this time as a pastor invited by our own church, our friendship truly began.
Randall
I still remember arriving with my wife, Heather, and our three children in January 1983. The country was newly independent and still finding its way. I had been invited by the Presbyterian Church of Vanuatu to serve as parish minister for Vila — 9 congregations and about 3,000 members.
At my welcome ceremony, Sethy spoke on behalf of the church. He told me three things I have never forgotten: “You are here because we invited you. You must work in the Melanesian way. And we will review your work each year.”
It was a gentle but firm reminder that this would be a partnership – that the church belonged to the people now and I was there to walk alongside them.
Sethy and Dorothy lived across the road from us with their family, and our children played together from morning until dusk. Those shared spaces were filled with the laughter of children, shared meals and Sunday worship — the distance between Australia and Vanuatu had disappeared.
Sethy
When Randall and his family moved next door, we welcomed them like family. Our children were in and out of each other’s homes all day. We didn’t think of ourselves as “the Vanuatu family” and “the Australian family.” They were simply our neighbours.
I admired how Randall embraced the Melanesian way. He learned Bislama quickly, joined in local worship and sought to understand our customs.
We talked often about faith and culture — how the gospel must speak in the language of our people and through our own stories.
At that time, I was serving in government, but I still saw no separation between church and politics. To me, both were a divine calling and Randall understood that. He never saw my political work as something apart from my ministry — rather, as another way of serving God’s purpose for our nation.
Randall
Those conversations with Sethy shaped my life. Every Tuesday, I met with my local colleague, Pastor Fiama Rakau, to discuss the Sunday readings and their meaning in the local context. Again and again, I found myself turning to Sethy too — to understand the deeper layers of Melanesian faith and wisdom.
We began to talk about how the gospel could be expressed through the culture of the Pacific. Later, those ideas became books and workshops — ten published volumes exploring Gospel and Culture in the Pacific. But the seeds of that work were sown in the conversations under Sethy’s verandah, over cups of coffee and the sounds of children playing between our homes.
When I think of those days, I realise how much Vanuatu changed me. Coming from Australia, where faith often feels private and individual, I found here a world where life was communal and it redefined my understanding of humanity.
Sethy
Randall and I were both writers, and both of us wanted to help others tell their stories. I wrote about education, faith and nationhood, and he wrote about the intersection of gospel and culture.
Even after he returned to Australia, we kept in touch. We shared letters, ideas and encouragement. When he received an award from the Australian Government for his work, he named me as his referee. When my wife Dorothy published her autobiography, we asked Randall to write the introduction. These gestures may seem small, but to me they represent something sacred.
What we built was not an official partnership or formal program. It was a friendship built on faith, service and respect.
Randall
It’s true our friendship never depended on proximity. Even when I went back to Australia, we remained close. I continued to visit Vanuatu almost every year, often during the National Assembly of the Church. Each time I returned, I felt as though I was coming home.
Decades later, I still work closely with Ni-Vanuatu people through the PALM scheme in Australia, helping Pacific workers settle and thrive. Many of them come from the same islands Sethy once told me about. When I see their resilience, humour and faith, I see his influence still alive in them.
The longer our friendship continues, the deeper it becomes — a blessing that words can hardly capture.
Sethy
I am now 80 years old, surrounded by my sons, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. When I look back, I see that the most important thing I have done in my life is not politics or titles, but relationships — with my people, my church and with friends like Randall.
He once told me there is no such thing as retirement in the Pacific, because age brings responsibility, not rest. I agree. I continue to write and teach because I want the next generation to understand where we came from — to remember the people who have walked before them, and to build on that foundation.
If I were to send Randall a message today, it would be one of gratitude. Thank you for never leaving us, for continuing the journey we began together, for helping our people find dignity and faith even from afar.
Randall
My message to Sethy would be this: Your wisdom is a treasure — not just for Vanuatu, but for all of us who have learned from you. You taught me that the gospel takes root when it grows in the soil of culture, and that friendship, like faith, is something you nurture for a lifetime.
We may live on different shores, but our hearts — as the people of Vanuatu once told me — are buried in the same soil.
