Imagine a Catholic priest swapping his sermon notes for a Gibson Les Paul, shredding guitar solos in the vast, sun-drenched Australian outback. It’s not your typical Sunday Mass, but for Father Oche Matutina, it’s the perfect marriage of his two greatest passions: God and rock 'n' roll. But here’s where it gets controversial: Can faith and heavy metal truly coexist, or is this just a gimmick? Let’s dive in.
Father Matutina, an Indonesian Redemptorist missionary, landed in Australia in 2020, just before the pandemic shut borders. After serving in Melbourne, he was reassigned in 2022 to Bourke, a remote town in north-western New South Wales. The move wasn’t easy. ‘I heard stories about Bourke,’ he admits. ‘But once I arrived, everything changed. I fell in love with this place.’ His superiors had warned him about the challenges of finding priests willing to relocate to this rural outpost, part of the sprawling Diocese of Wilcannia-Forbes, which covers over half of New South Wales. Here, priests often drive hundreds of kilometres weekly to reach scattered congregations.
Earlier this year, Father Matutina requested to stay in Bourke for another three years. His professor’s response? A smile. ‘I think it was positive,’ he says, hopeful.
And this is the part most people miss: Father Matutina’s journey to the priesthood began with a childhood steeped in heavy metal. Growing up on Indonesia’s Sumba island, he was one of seven children raised on Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and Metallica. His father, a guitar and ukulele maker, fueled his passion. By his teens, he was performing with his siblings, dreaming of the big stage. But a German priest, always humming as he walked, planted a seed in his heart. ‘He seemed so happy,’ Father Matutina recalls. ‘He inspired me to consider the priesthood.’ A pivotal conversation with this priest resolved his dilemma: he could serve God and rock out. ‘You can do more through music,’ the priest told him.
At 17, he entered the seminary, toning down the heavy metal to appease some superiors but keeping the classic rock alive—Chuck Berry, country rock, and blues. ‘Music is a prayer for me,’ he explains. ‘It brings me joy. My teacher once said, ‘When you sing, you pray twice.’
In Australia, Father Matutina faced a culture shock. Unlike Indonesia, where faith conversations flow naturally, Australians often shy away from religious talk. ‘When I mention faith, people sometimes just walk away,’ he notes. So, he turned to music as a bridge. ‘Through music, I connect with people,’ he says. ‘It opens the door to conversation—no pressure, just talking.’
His approach has paid off. Since 2022, Sunday Mass attendance in Bourke has skyrocketed from a handful to 30-50 people, drawn by the novelty of electric guitar and prayers set to country rock tunes. Yet, with only 20% of Bourke’s 2,700 residents identifying as Catholic, he knew he had to take his mission beyond the church walls.
Teaming up with local musicians—guitarist Stephen Wilson, bassist Kobie Lollback, and drummer Dwayne Elwood-Hudson—Father Matutina formed the covers band Yellowbelly. By Easter 2025, they were touring north-western NSW and southern Queensland, playing pubs and community events. On stage, he’s a rock star in a priestly collar, pulling off riffs with his guitar behind his head. For his bandmates, all Aboriginal, his role as a priest is secondary. ‘He’s just one of us,’ says Kobie. ‘He’s not pushing church values—he’s part of the crew.’
But here’s the question: Is Father Matutina’s approach diluting the message of the Church, or is he redefining what it means to be a modern priest? His reputation has spread across the diocese, with strangers waving hello during pastoral visits. ‘People know me now,’ he says, mimicking their enthusiastic greetings. He’s even gained a following, with fans shouting ‘Father!’ as he drives by.
For Father Matutina, it’s all about spreading joy and connecting people to God. ‘Faith isn’t just about church or prayer,’ he reflects. ‘It’s about being with people, sharing happiness. I want to show God’s kindness through myself.’
So, what do you think? Is Father Matutina’s blend of faith and rock 'n' roll a stroke of genius or a risky experiment? Let’s hear your thoughts in the comments!
