Dear Editor,

Thank you sincerely for continuing to provide space for this valuable and deeply engaging discussion, one that speaks not only to the mind but to the heart of who we are as a people of faith, culture, and shared responsibility.

It is a deep honour to acknowledge the presence and contribution of Associate Professor of History, Morgan Tuimalealiifano, in this conversation. His decades of scholarship and unwavering dedication to understanding and preserving our collective memory have long been a guiding light. I was especially moved to reference his work Talofa e, Aiga ua ai e lago le tofa: Village Governance and Development in Falelatai in my initial response to the letter titled A Devoted EFKS Member Who Chooses to Stay and Speak.

Professor Tuimalealiifano’s words reminded me that knowledge carries weight when it is born of love for our people, and of service grounded in humility. His reflections, drawn from both historical depth and lived experience within various church denominations, offered us more than just analysis but a heart that has walked alongside our stories.

One moment that lingered with me was his recollection of a field trip discussion with Church historians on the EFKS practice of publicising freewill offerings. What emerged from that dialogue was not mere justification but a deeply rooted understanding that this practice, though often questioned, is not performed out of habit or spectacle. It persists because it harmonises with our tu ma aga, a shared cultural rhythm shaped by pride in community, honour for our families, and the sacred joy of giving. Though the gifts have shifted from mats and yams to envelopes and ledgers, the soul of the offering, its heartbeat, remains the same.

Associate Professor Tuimalealiifano, I thank you personally. Your voice in this dialogue has offered not only clarity and wisdom, but also a sense of companionship on a journey many of us are still learning how to walk.

To my dear sister or brother in faith, “Devoted EFKS Member Number 3”:

Thank you for your heartfelt response. Though at times it may seem the conversation leans in favour of one perspective, I write not to oppose but to offer another view, one rooted in lived experience, in silent labour, and in the quiet prayers of many who serve without being seen.

In your letter, A Church That Cannot Listen Is a Church That Cannot Grow, you challenged us all to listen. I agree, but I also believe that listening must come from a place of tautua. We must serve before we speak, walk before we teach, kneel before we call others to rise.

True transformation within the Church cannot rest solely on the memories of our parents' service. Their sacrifices, though worthy of reverence, cannot substitute the need for our own steps. We must each walk the path ourselves. As James 2:17 reminds us, “Faith without works is dead.” It is through the grit of participation , not just observation that we come to understand the heart of the Church. There is a difference between speaking from within and speaking about something. Tautua gives our voice not just volume but truth.

Sacred authority must always be grounded in humility. What many of us lack is not a desire for change but the depth of experience required to understand the cost of that change. When we serve, we begin to see. We begin to feel the weight that others carry and only then can we speak of how it might be lifted.

Yes, the Church has nourished many of us, not through luck but through the quiet labour of generations who gave not from abundance, but from conviction. Our blessings, often unnoticed, are the returns of service planted long ago in prayer and tears.

Jesus overturned the tables not to abandon the temple but to restore its sacredness. He remained, he spoke, and he gave. Our forebears followed in that same spirit, they did not run from the weight of their faith, they built their lives upon it. The feagaiga, the offerings, the prayers, these were not burdens; they were sacred acts of love and honour. Are we now to question the very soil in which our roots were planted?

When you ask, “How can we lighten the load?” I offer this: Serve. Represent your youth. Attend the Fonotele. Listen not only to yourself but to those who have walked before you and beside you. Offer your hands before your voice, and when your voice does rise, let it be shaped by the footprints you have left behind in service.

Your courage in writing is not unnoticed. Yes, silence in the face of injustice is dangerous. But not all burdens are written in ink. Some are only understood through the calluses of tautua.

As I said before, no one is forced to give or remain. EFKS continues to grow because people choose to stay. People give from the heart. The measure of one’s faith is not found in the weight of the envelope, but in the spirit with which it is given in secret, with joy, and without seeking applause.

You spoke of building a table long enough for all, for the toeaina and the timid. That table exists. It is the Fonotele, where voices are welcomed. But no one sits at that table without first walking the path of service. No faifeau can put forward a name that has not been tested through humble participation. This is not exclusion, it is the natural rhythm of accountability. Fai sau matafale. Plant yourself in the soil of service so that your words may bloom with weight, grace, and meaning.

Let us not make noise for tradition’s sake. Let us make room for truth, for love, and for one another, indeed.But let us also remember, as Associate Professor Tuimalealiifano reminded us, that the tradition of giving endures because it mirrors the heart of our culture, a heart that embraced Christianity not as a foreign doctrine, but as a fulfilment of the values we already held dear.

To preserve the past is not to be trapped in it, but to carry its light forward. To serve in the present is to become that light for others. In doing so, we honour our past, strengthen our present, and prepare faithfully for what is yet to come.

Thank you again to the Editorial team for creating a space where we can speak from our depths; not to divide, but to draw near. Not to conquer, but to walk together.

With humility and love,

The Covenant Keeper