Dear Editor, EFKS members and leaders,

I am writing today not as an outsider, but as one of our own—a member of the Ekalesia Faapotopotoga Kerisiano i Samoa (EFKS). My blood is EFKS. My Sundays have been spent in its pews, my childhood in its Sunday schools, my family woven into its history. And because I love it deeply, I can no longer stay silent.

There is something that weighs heavily on my heart: the growing burden placed upon the shoulders of our people, ordinary families, by the very institution that was meant to uplift them.

Every year, the Fono i Malua gathers our spiritual leaders from across Samoa and the globe. It is supposed to be a time of reflection, accountability, and a renewal of vision. But what has it become? A showcase of power. A performance of prestige. A growing list of expectations and financial obligations that most families cannot bear.

We see our faifeau being driven around in Ford SUVs while Christ Himself once chose a humble donkey. We watch as mansions are built for pastors, while some families cannot even afford a bag of rice or taga talo without borrowing money. This is not a judgment—it is a plea. It is a prayer. How far have we wandered from the path of humility, service, and compassion that Jesus walked?

I do not write to attack the faifeau. I know many who serve faithfully and humbly. But I write to speak to those in leadership who have the power to influence change—the toeaiina, the committee members, the advisors, the decision-makers who are shaping the direction of our church. I ask you: when you sit in those meetings, do you think of the mother in the village selling koko and kekepua’a to meet her taulaga? Do you think of the family drowning in debt, who can’t say no because saying no feels like saying no to God?

Have we confused giving to the church with giving to God? Do we measure faith by who contributes the most money or who sacrifices the most basic needs?

There’s a building at Papauta, and others like it across Samoa, of grand facilities being built—millions spent in God’s name—while the very people funding them return to homes with no running water or with children pulled from school due to unpaid fees. I ask again: Is this what God asks of us? Or is this what the system has asked us to believe?

They say, “You can complain about anything, just don’t question the church.” But I must question—not because I want to tear down the church, but because I want to see it stand stronger, more Christlike, more truthful. I have run from this conviction for far too long, but now I understand that God is not calling me to leave. He is calling me to stay, to speak, to fight—not against the church, but for it.

Because the God that created me is the same God that created you, the same God who sees every heart and knows every burden. And if that God has given me eyes to see injustice, and a voice to speak, then who am I to stay silent?

To our spiritual leaders: the time has come for deep reflection. Not on doctrine, not on titles or budgets or buildings—but on the people. Your people. The ones who carry the weight of faith in their daily struggle. If you do not serve them with humility, then whom do you serve?

To those advising our leaders: Remember your influence is sacred. You are not just advisors—you are stewards of power. Let your counsel be soaked in wisdom, empathy, and a clear vision of what the church is meant to be: a sanctuary for the people, not a burden to them.

To the reader: I do not ask you to walk away. I ask you to look deeper. To see what we’ve ignored. To hear what we’ve silenced. To feel what too many families endure in secret. This is not rebellion. This is responsibility.

Let us return to the Christ who washed feet, who preached on mountainsides, who wept with the grieving and dined with the poor. Let our Fono be less about position and more about purpose. Let our faith be measured not by the size of our buildings, but by the strength of our compassion.

Sincerely,

A devoted EFKS member who chooses to stay and speak