That’s Not How It Works


“And he began to speak and taught them, saying: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'” – Matthew 5:2-3

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

The poor in spirit won’t receive the kingdom of heaven.
The poor in spirit are poor by their own negligence.
They could be rich, you know, if they made the right choice,
invested in the things that bring them gain, ignored the claims
of other obligations, engaged in fraud, then they’d be rich…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The ones who mourn, will they be comforted?
There’s a whole industry to comfort them.
They’ll pay for it, of course, because who wants
to write insurance for a mental health distress?
If they were rich, they’d comfort themselves…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

The meek? Don’t make me laugh. The earth belongs
to those who take and seize and hold it firm.
The meek are those who follow orders barked
by armed and masked anonymous authorities.
The meek are not entitled to the earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now how can you assert that anyone is hungering
for righteousness? We have the law (that serves me well)
and isn’t that enough? And if we bend it some
to punish those we’ve in advance condemned, we will
not satisfy this thirst of sentimental saps…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

I see the people who cry, “Mercy!” stand
between the human vultures and their prey,
and hear them ask the victims if they are OK,
and tell the wolves, “That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad
at you,” and they receive the mercy I expect…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

As for the pure in heart, they can be pure
as pure they wish to be. But if they live
where I don’t want them to, and if they live
on land I want, well. They’ll just have to move.
If they resist, they will see God for sure…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Now if I claim to be a peacemaker
and threaten nations with invasion
after blowing boats to kingdom come
and killing their survivors, you’ll give to me
the prize of Child of God? That’s right…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

Once more I tell you, Jesus, not one soul
is persecuted for their righteousness.
They suffer for their crimes, the crimes that I
decide, the story that I tell, and I alone.
Not heaven theirs, but hell, and hell on earth…

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

And tell me, Jesus, who you think has been
oppressed or injured for their loyalty to you?
We pepper spray the ministers who resist us,
not for their faith in you. Do you maintain that they
are marching in the streets on your behalf?

In spirit. Right. Of course. In spirit.

By God, you’ve got it so wrong, Jesus.
Do you really not know?
That’s not how it works.

And Jesus wept.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 5:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is “The Sermon on the Mount,” woodcut by Lucas Cranach the Elder, from his Passion Christ und Antichrist, Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum, Braunschweig (1582) – Digitised image, Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Köln, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50665418.

Story: The Fishing Game

January 25, 2026

Isaiah 9:1-4
Matthew 4:12-23

One of the things that humans do, you’ve probably noticed, is play games. Sometimes they’re running around games, sometimes they’re tossing things back and forth games, sometimes they’re sit around the table and hope you get to move the number of spaces you want to move games. Sometimes they’re quiet. Sometimes they’re noisy. Hopefully they’re fun, because after all, that’s the point.

Humans aren’t only ones who play games. Lots of creatures do. We see it all the time, and probably sometimes without realizing that they’re playing a game. Even when we do recognize that they’re playing, we may not understand the rules.

Some ae’o – that’s the Hawaiian black-necked stilt – were organizing a game and no, I’ve never understood the rules. I know it had something to do with fishing and something to do with cooperating and beyond that, I’m at a loss. It doesn’t matter to this story, though, because this story is about getting the teams together for the game. Which needed teams. You’ve probably had to put together teams for a game, right?

It can be hard to do.

The two ae’o who were recruiting the teams had very different approaches. One of them basically flew and waded and strutted around and screeched at the ae’o that he wanted to be on his team. “You’re on my team! Get over there!” he’d call, usually without indicating where “there” was, and always without asking if they wanted to be part of the game or not. Some of them did want to play, it’s true, and a few wanted to be on his team, but fewer of them wanted to be on his team when they’d been screeched at like that, and even some of those who did want to be on his team couldn’t figure out where the team was gathering, so that didn’t work very well, either.

The other ae’o, it must be said, took more time at it. She went up to each bird, told them she was putting together a team, and asked them if they wanted to play. If they did, she asked them if they wanted to be on her team. And if they did, she invited them to come along with her while she went to ask the next bird. By the time her team was complete, she was being followed by a trail of ae’o, all of them ready to play the game.

The other team leader had finished screeching, but didn’t actually have a full team. Some were lost. Some had said no. And some had decided they had better things to do than be screeched at while playing a game.

Games are supposed to be fun. Which group of ae’o do you think had more fun?

Being a follower of Jesus is supposed to be a blessing. How do you think you might encourage people to follow Jesus?

This is just me thinking, but I think it would look a lot more like what that second ae’o did: one at a time, gently and lovingly, and with a growing flock behind to show that yes, this is how you can find blessing.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory combined with inspiration. The text above does not precisely match the story as I told it.

Photo of an ae’o screeching by Eric Anderson.

Did They Know?

A black and white drawing with two men in the foreground at left hauling a fishing net. At right further away a third man beckons at them as they look toward him.

“As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea for they were fishers. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.'” – Matthew 4:18-19

Matthew left it out, of course.
What did you tell them, Jesus?

“Hey, guys, I’m sort of on the run
since they took John, although
they probably don’t know my name,
so that’s all right, you think?
Come follow me.

“Now mind you, folks will hear my name,
and quickly, too, if I am any judge.
They’ll come even from Syria to seek
some healing for their bodies and their souls.
Come follow me.

“I’m sure no one will think to look for me
atop a mountain peak – unless they follow those
who follow me, and frankly guys, I hope
to leave a wide and beaten track.
Come follow me.

“Now come along. We’ve work to do
that doesn’t need a net. No, we’re as likely to
be caught in Roman or Herodian nets as John.
They’ll lift us high – but not as high as God will raise us all.
Come follow me.”

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 4:12-23, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Third Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is from The End of that Person (1980), published by the Indonesian Bible Society. Anonymous artist – Koleksi Wikimedia Indonesia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=141661922.

Story: What Are You Looking For?

A sharp-beaked red bird with its head more brightly lit perched in a tree with smallish dark green leaves.

January 18, 2026

Isaiah 49:1-7
John 1:29-42

At this time of the year, you might forgive an ‘apapane for looking a little flustered. Or just for looking around. And flying around. A lot. This time of the year can be complicated.

For one thing, it’s time to get pairs together. When two birds have decided they’ll be parents with one another, they’ve got to find a spot for a nest. Then they’ve got to build the nest. Then there are eggs to lay and brood over, and then there will be chicks to feed and fledglings to teach fly, and during all of that, they still need to watch out for cats and hunker down in the storms and, of course, find themselves enough to eat.

One ‘apapane, one who had become something of a tutu to the younger birds, noticed another ‘apapane looking a little frantic.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I can’t remember,” said the other ‘apapane.

“Have you eaten?” said the first one.

“I don’t think so,” said the frantic one.

“Go eat something,” she told him. “There’s some ohi’a in blossom over there, and there will be plenty of bugs there, too. I’m sure you’ll remember better after that.”

Another frantic ‘apapane landed nearby.

“What are you looking for?” asked the tutu.

“I can’t find my husband,” she said.

“Did you find a place for a nest?” asked the tutu.

“We found two, and they’re not in the same tree,” said the younger bird.

“Perch half way between the two, and watch for him,” said the tutu. “I’m sure he’s looking for you, too.”

About a minute after the younger bird flew off, a male ‘apapane flew up.

“What are you looking for?” said the tutu.

“I can’t find my wife!” he said.

“Did you pick two likely nest sites?” asked the tutu. When he said yes, she sent him off to find his wife between those two trees. “You’ll find her,” she said. “She’s looking for you.”

She did this all day, in between sipping nectar and snacking on bugs. She sent some birds after nest materials and some after food and more than you’d expect to find their missing spouses.

“How do you do it?” asked another ‘apapane who’d been watching it all.

“It’s simple,” she said. “I ask them what they’re looking for. Once I know that – actually, once they know that – I can probably help them, or send them to somebody who can help them.

“It’s really hard to find anything when you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory plus inspiration. The story you just read does not precisely match the way I told it.

Photo of an ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Video: Kilauea Eruption December 2024 – December 2025

Kilauea, whose peak rises just around 30 miles from my home, resumed erupting in the summit caldera in December 2024. As 2026 begins, there have been 40 eruption “episodes,” including some very dramatic fountaining reaching heights of over 1200 feet. Of the 40, I have observed 18 and captured a very large number of photos and videos. I began to create summary videos, and have settled on producing them in three month intervals.

My great thanks to Scott Buckley, composer of “Snowfall” which I’ve used as the background music for each video, both for writing a great piece and making at available for use with a Creative Commons license.

December 2024 – March 2025

This video includes material filmed from seven visits to the caldera during eruption events.

April 2025 – May 2025

This video includes material filmed from four visits to the caldera during eruption events. It probably includes footage of the highest fountains I have observed to date.

June 2025 – August 2025

This video includes material filmed from two visits to the caldera during eruption events.

September 2025 – December 2025

I visited the Kilauea summit nine times between September and December, including four fountaining events. There was visible surface lava during a couple of the other visits, and, of course, there were always the stunning sights of the Kilauea caldera. This video does not include the dramatic fountains of episode 40, which took place January 12, 2026.

That Awkward Question

Three figures wearing Biblical clothing standing in a sandy landscape. Two of them follow the first, who is turning to speak to them.


“When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, ‘What are you looking for?'” – John 1:38

Well, Teacher, I’ve been following you
for forty-five years and more, and yet:
I don’t think I can tell you what I’m looking for.

It’s such an awkward question.

Like Andrew and his long-forgotten friend
(what happened to him, anyway?),
if you asked me I’d say something inane.

“Where are you staying, Teacher?”

You know, I know, they knew
that wasn’t why they took those steps
from John the Baptist’s side to yours.

But how were they to answer what they didn’t know?

And I, with decades as a follower,
with decades as a teacher of your flock,
with years of writing poem prayers to you,

I still don’t know.

What am I looking for in you?
A place of honor, a big frog
in what seems like a shrinking pond?

That would be silly, wouldn’t it?

Might I be looking for some meaning in
a world that seems to shed its sense
and sense of morals, too?

Can you make sense of what’s nonsensical?

Could I be looking for a safe embrace,
for arms extended wide, to hold me
fiercely, gently, for all time?

I could. I could indeed.

But most of all, dear Teacher, I
suspect I’m looking for the One
who’ll listen to my babbled nonsense answer, and

Reply with, “Come and see.”

A poem/prayer based on John 1:29-42, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Second Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is Vocation de Saint Jean et de Saint André (The Calling of Saint John and Saint Andrew) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.55_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195829.

Story: Not So Cool

A bird with red eyes and gray and blue feathers has its long black beak open wide, clearly shrieking.

January 11, 2026

Isaiah 42:1-9
Matthew 3:13-17

‘Auku’u are cool birds. They’re the most widespread heron in the world (black-crowned night heron). Our Hawaiian ‘auku’u have relatives across all the continents, including Antarctica. They’ve got startling orange eyes when they’re young and even more startling red eyes when they get older. Their blue and gray feathering is very smart, and who can forget those long black and white feathers trailing back from the head. They’re cool birds.

One of them knew it.

Like most ‘auku’u, he spent a good deal of his perching time settling his feathers. They all do that; it’s kind of like the way you and I wash our hands pretty often. Since he knew he was a really cool bird, though, and wanted to make sure everybody else knew it, he spent a lot more time, twice as much time as the other ‘auku’u.

Which is OK, I guess, if you’re a cool bird and want to make sure you stay a cool bird. The problem was, he decided that since he was a cool bird he would also be the best fed bird.

‘Auku’u do tend to warn other birds away when they’re feeding, but he took it to another level. If he saw a bird land nearby, he’d squawk and screech. If it flew away, he’d squawk until it was out of sight. If it landed, he’d take off and fly right at it, screeching until it took to the air again.

He squawked at other ‘auku’u. He squawked at ae’o. He squawked at ale’e ke’oke’o. He squawked at cattle egrets and kolea and akekeke. All in all, he screeched at everyone.

Then he’d settle back down, settle his feathers, and turn his attention to fishing once more – except that by this time another bird would usually settle nearby and he’d be screeching again.

Not too far away, some other ‘auku’u watched all this with some puzzlement.

“What good is all that doing him?” asked one of the other.

“Is he eating any better?” asked the second of the first.

“I don’t think so,” she answered. “Does he look any better to you?”

“Not to me,” her friend said. “He mostly looks unhappy.”

“With all that preening,” said the first ‘auku’u, “he should look more stylish than that.”

“You know, I hate to say it,” said the second ‘auku’u, “he doesn’t look cool.”

“Not cool at all,” said his friend.

“It’s a pity,” said the second, “that a cool bird looks so uncool.”

The screeching started again from across the pond, and the two birds shrugged, settled some of their own feathers, and turned back to fishing.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and inspiration. As a result, the story you just read will not be precisely as I told it.

Photo of an ‘auku’u (a black-crowned night heron) by Eric Anderson.

Power at the Riverside

A circular image of mosaics in a dome. At center are three figures, a bearded figure representing God at left, a beardless figure in water at center, and a bearded figure wearing furs at right pouring water over the central figure. A dove is over the central figure. Surrounding the central image are twelve male figures representing saints.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” – Matthew 3:13-15

I wonder.

How many of the senior teachers,
how many of the higher priests
who gathered with the laborers,
the tax collectors, soldiers, on
the riverbank in search of some
forgiveness through the flowing stream,
thought secretly or not so secretly
that they, not John, should wash away
the sins to be forgiven, or
would rather send the penitent
to climb the slopes and pay the price
charged by the Temple vendors who
would scatter later at the wrath of Christ?

How many would have said, “Let it be so
for now,” and bowed their heads to wash
as Jesus did? Or did they huff upon the bank
and claim that they were justified
no matter what they’d done, or others seen,
recorded, understood, and known for wrong?
How many would have roared that they alone
determined right or wrong, despite the blood
which dripped into the Jordan from their hands?

How many would have humbled pride of place?

Events of then or now suggest it would be very few.

Perhaps: just one.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 3:13-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Baptism of Christ.

The image is the ceiling mosaic in the Arian Baptistry, Ravenna, Italy, 5th-6th cent. Photo by Petar Milošević – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=39891909.

Story: The Wisdom of Flight

January 4, 2026

Jeremiah 31:7-14
John 1:1-18

“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he flew through the sky.

“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he sipped on ohi’a nectar.

“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he settled down to sleep at night.

“What is wisdom?” wondered the ‘amakihi as he woke in the morning.

“What is wisdom?” is, in fact, an extremely good question whether you’re an ‘amakihi or a human being. Wisdom, after all, tends to prevent a lot of foolishness. Foolishness, on the other hand, tends to happen in the absence of wisdom.

“What is wisdom?” wandered the ‘amakihi over the course of the day.

One of the features of wisdom is that when someone who is wise doesn’t know or doesn’t understand something, they do things to learn more about it. They look around at things. They measure and they think about what they’ve measured. If they’re human, they might read something, or a lot of somethings. They ask others to see what they know.

Whether you’re a human or an ‘amakihi, a good one to ask would be tutu.

“Tutu,” asked the ‘amakihi, “what is wisdom?”

Tutu was pleased. It was a wise question – if you don’t know something, wisdom says, “Ask.” He’d made a wise choice about who to ask – grandparents often know things. And he was asking about something important, wisdom itself.

She replied with a question of her own: “What is knowledge, grandson?”

“Knowledge?” he asked. “I hadn’t thought much about that… it seemed kind of obvious. If I know something that’s true, that’s been demonstrated to me, that’s knowledge. If I think I know something that isn’t true, or if I simply don’t know something, that’s not knowledge. Is that right?”

“That’s right,” said Tutu. “Now let me ask something else.”

“Are you going to answer my question?” asked her grandson, who was starting to worry that if he answered all her questions she wouldn’t get around to answering his.

“I am,” she said. “Now here’s my question: Can you fly with your wings closed?”

He opened his beak to reply, then stopped. It doesn’t make much sense, but he realized that sometimes while flying, he would close his wings. Not for long. Not all the time, obviously. But for a few moments in many flights, he would be flying with his wings closed.

“Yes,” he said carefully. “For a moment or two.”

“How do you know whether to close your wings in flight?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “How high up am I? How much do I need to rest my wings for a moment? Will I need to make a quick turn or slow down to land? There isn’t a simple answer.”

“That’s right, there isn’t,” she told him. “Knowing that you can fold your wings in flight is knowledge. You know it’s something you can do. Choosing the right moment to do it – or the right moment not to do it – that’s wisdom.

“Wisdom is when you consider what you don’t know for certain, what might happen, or what might not happen if you do something, and then make a good choice. Wisdom looks at what you know, and asks whether you should.

“That, grandson, is wisdom.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and inspiration on Sunday mornings. What you have just read does not precisely match how I told it.

Photo of an ‘amakihi in flight by Eric Anderson.

2025: Sabbatical, Birds, and Passage

2025: A Year

In 2025 I took my first sabbatical since arriving at Church of the Holy Cross UCC in April 2016 – which was, shall we say, overdue. Several friends and colleagues have been either asking me about my plans or, shall we say, nudging me to make them. I won’t go into the reasons why I delayed it. Some of them are obvious given the world of 2020 to 2023. Some of them are, shall we say, entirely my own fault.

I took it in time.

The last time I took a sabbatical was from my position with the historic Connecticut Conference. I’d delayed that one, too, for reasons that seemed good at the time. It meant that when I did take it, I basically collapsed for quite a long time. I didn’t have enough energy to learn many new things or to do things that refreshed me. This time, I was able to make the journeys that nourished my soul.

I produced a video as part of my sabbatical report.

I traveled a lot during 2025, eventually becoming grateful for the times I wasn’t traveling. I made trips to O’ahu, Kaua’i, and the northeast during my sabbatical. For the first time since 2016, I celebrated Easter with family, attending church with my daughter Rebekah in Northampton, Massachusetts. We drove to Watertown, New York, to see my stepmother and her grandmother Shirley, and I also visited my son Brendan in Burlington, Vermont, and aunt and uncle in New Hampshire. The trips around the Hawaiian islands were related to one of my sabbatical projects, which was to visit all the islands – which almost happened. I didn’t make it to Maui (though I’d been there before) or Molokai, so that still needs to happen.

Me, Rebekah, and Shirley

In June I was back on Kaua’i for the Hawai’i Conference’s ‘Aha Pae’aina, or annual meeting. I took the opportunity to visit two birding sites and was rewarded with lots of new birds and amazing images. I also headed for the rear tables in the meeting itself to leave room for the new Conference Council Chair to do her work as moderator, which she did very well.

A week later I was back in New England for a cousin’s wedding, which I never attended as I came down with Covid and had to keep separate from everyone. It was a pretty bitter disappointment.

Two weeks later and recovered I was off again, this time to the General Synod of the United Church of Christ, held in Kansas City this year. I had a brand new set of responsibilities: as a member of the Board of Directors of the UCC Media Justice Ministry, I was one of the leaders of a workshop led by the Ministry and helped staff our exhibit hall booth. I’ve attended quite a number of Synods as a reporter/photographer, and a couple as a delegate. This was a much more relaxed schedule, but it still kept me busy.

Members of the UCC Media Justice Ministry Board

Back from Synod, I was able to turn my attention to a gap in our church staff. Our choir director, Doug Albertson, retired at the end of 2024. With me absent we’d put off the search for a new director. In the fall we brought on Bob Grove, a wonderfully talented and tender person who brought our choir to a lovely debut on Christmas Eve. With the choir working up, I continued to sing a solo one Sunday a month during the anthem time.

I took something of a musical break during my sabbatical. I wrote no songs at all during those three months, which suggests to me that composition had lost some of its creative release for me. Over the course of the year, however, I did write seven songs, which are collected in 2025: The Songs. In the fall I rejoined the Big Island Singers (I didn’t sing with them in the spring) and even took their portraits for the electronic program. As the year ended, illness took its toll on some of our planned performances. Bob Grove gathered a men’s trio for a Sunday, and one of it members couldn’t sing and we had to cancel. On Christmas Eve Bekah and I planned to sing together, and illness brought her low.

August brought a terrible shock: the death of my stepmother, Shirley Anderson. She had been my stepmother, in fact, longer than I’d had my mother. Shirley was one of the world’s great souls, bringing love and cheer and compassion with a quiet determination that I’ve never seen match. As her son Ken said, she was one of the best of us. We all miss her terribly. In October I made yet another trip to New England – the third of the year – to lay her to rest.

During and after my sabbatical, photography provided my creative anchor and outlet. A lot of those photos featured birds. I added thirty-two species to my official “life list,” but that’s partially because I only started keeping one a couple years ago. A species I grew up with, the Northern Cardinal, I “officially” recorded for the first time in 2025. Still. I saw several birds I’d simply never seen before and got photos of nearly all of them. I got really satisfying images of i’iwi, ‘akiapola’au, ‘apapane, kolea, ‘akekeke, kioea, and more. At year’s end, I produced a self-published children’s story book of “The ‘Apapane’s Christmas Pageant.” I took most of the photos for it this year. There’s some excitement about it within the church and we hope to make it more widely available in the coming year. You can read the story here.

A koa’e kea flies near a lava fountain (one of the images in “The ‘Apapane’s Christmas Pageant”)

It wasn’t just birds. I still like to take pictures of flowers, and I took quite a few. Over and over again, the Kilauea volcano drew me to the summit. There have been 39 eruptive events since last December, and I have seen around half of them. The result is hundreds of photos and videos.

Twin fountains on March 23, 2025.

The year ended with a deep delight: my son Brendan and daughter Rebekah visited from just before Christmas until New Year’s Eve. As I hinted above, Bekah promptly fell ill and left Brendan and I to do some exploratory hikes while she recovered. Regrettably, they missed a fountain event the night after they arrived, but the timing was really poor to drive up to see it, and the next morning Bekah reported she was sick.

Brendan and Rebekah at the Kilauea summit.

My tenth anniversary as pastor of Church of the Holy Cross UCC comes up this April, a solid decade of life and work and music and photography in this precious place, a literal thin spot of the Earth. May it bring life, work, music, and wonders.

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