Indonesian Priest Rocks Australia's Outback with Guitar Mass

When Father Oche Matutina plays Our Father with a country rock twang on his electric guitar, something remarkable happens in the Australian outback. Church attendance has jumped from three people to 50.

The 50-year-old Indonesian priest landed in Bourke, a remote town 800 kilometers from Sydney, in 2022. He'd heard stories that made the posting sound tough, but he fell in love with the dusty plains and sparse communities scattered across one of Australia's largest Catholic dioceses.

Growing up on Indonesia's Sumba island, Matutina dreamed of rock stardom. His father crafted guitars from wood, and young Oche filled his childhood with Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and Metallica. He and his siblings played in a band, chasing spotlight dreams.

Then a German priest who loved to hum changed everything. The happy, habit-wearing missionary sparked something in Matutina's heart. When the teenager confessed his dilemma about choosing between priesthood and music, the German priest offered wisdom that shaped his life: "You can be a priest and play music. You can do more through music."

Matutina joined seminary at 17 and was ordained at 29, guitars in tow. Some superiors found heavy metal unbecoming, but classic rock, blues, and country became his prayer language.

Australia presented an unexpected challenge. Unlike Indonesia, where people eagerly discuss faith, Australians often walked away when he mentioned church. Music became his bridge.

He started jamming with local musicians, and by Easter 2025, they'd formed Yellowbelly, a covers band. Matutina rocks lead guitar in his priest's collar, pulling signature moves like playing riffs behind his head. His three Aboriginal bandmates range from 20 to 51 years old.

"He's just like us. The only difference is his job," says bassist Kobie Lollback, 21. "He's not pushing church values on us. He's pretty much just one of us."

The band travels throughout northwestern NSW and southern Queensland, playing pubs and community events. Matutina connects with people through music first, conversation second. He never pressures anyone about church.

Sunny's Take

What makes this story sing isn't just a priest playing rock music. It's watching someone honor both his callings without compromise. Matutina didn't abandon his heavy metal heart for the priesthood or water down his faith for the stage. He trusted that joy, authenticity, and a killer guitar solo could open doors that sermons couldn't.

His bandmates don't see a priest trying to convert them. They see a genuine friend who happens to wear a collar. That's the magic: people respond to realness, not roles.

The priest who was nervous about moving to Bourke now asks to stay three more years. He's asked to keep playing, and people keep showing up.