I was certain that the black dot had spoken. I shook my head. More giggles tucked behind brown palms, more looking to the floor. Without thinking, I shook my head to clear my mind. Shaking my head was my signal for the fiddlers and one drummer to begin the final hymn. They responded. As the music began, the black dot surrounded by soft sunlight began to float toward the back door.

The church musicians were off-key and out of time, as usual, but happily began to play, realizing that I had stopped the mass earlier than usual. Slowly, the jumble of sounds fell in together and formed a song. Little Susie Nunata broke in with the familiar words of “Amazing Grace.” Her stilted soprano brought the church to life. The notes bounced off the pews and the stained glass images of lambs playing among the little lilies scattered in fields. But I barely heard the song. I was watching the black dot fade into the heavy church door.

I almost had them this morning, if only that black dot hadn’t shouted out. I could have had them feel The Pure Moment—that one special time when their souls would lift from their bodies and float above the altar, higher and higher until they reached the ceiling. I knew I could have achieved that rare feat. The Holy Spirit had been so close until the black dot spoke.

How often have I preached about the goodness of life and the Holy Spirit, knowing my words were falling on the deaf ears of these Northern people. All these hundreds of years of mission work up here and they still didn’t get it—but today, today they could have. Maybe, just maybe today it could have stuck better than their suicide plans and booze and the OxyContin drugs that came into town with the construction crews.

I looked out over my brown flock and smiled. Then I bowed my head and spoke softly into the only microphone in the log cabin church: “Now, tutsiavigvaa. Let us pray.” I took a deep breath, looked toward the back door to double-check on the whereabouts of the black dot and began, “Lord Jesus, please bless our group of believers today and protect their hearts and souls and spirits as we each begin a new week. Bless all those that they love too and help us each to remember to keep You first in our thoughts, in our words and in our actions. In Jesus’s most holy, holy name. Amen.”

“Yes, sir—AMEN!” screamed the black dot in the back of the church once more. A small giggle weaved its way through the pews and some of the younger girls turned their black braided heads toward the back of the church. Susie Nunata smiled and waved to the black dot surrounded by a beautiful sunlit glow.