Author: Rev. Eric Anderson

Story: The Best Flock

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

December 7, 2025

Isaiah 11:1-10
Matthew 3:1-12

An ‘apapane wanted to know what the best way to be a flock is.

There are plenty of examples if you journey around the island. He found an i’iwi, who said, “Keep it small, less than ten. And chase everybody else away. Speaking of which, ‘apapane, it’s time you got out of here!”

He checked with a myna, who said, “Oh, just get a few birds together.” “Yeah,” said a second myna, “but make sure they don’t argue.” “What do you mean by that?” demanded a third myna. “Don’t you get cross with me!” said the first, and the ‘apapane flew away as the mynas argued about… nothing.

The ‘akiapola’au, the ‘akepa, and the ‘amakihi said that it’s useful to join a flock because then some of the predators, like cats and such, get intimidated. “A good flock is one that keeps us safe,” they told him.

That sounded pretty good.

He looked in on the ‘akekeke, who said, “Just stay together!” He asked the kolea, who prefer to keep some distance from one another. He thought about asking some fish, but they weren’t coming to the surface to talk to any hovering birds.

It was the nene, however, who gave him the most to think about.

When he found a nene to talk to, they were gathered around one of their number who’d hurt her wing. The little group was hungry and rather footsore as they trooped along, looking for ‘ohelo berries (or pretty much anything they could eat).

“Why aren’t you flying?” he asked one of them.

“Because she can’t fly for a while,” said the one in front.

“Can’t you leave her while you go eat?” he said.

The nene looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind,” the nene said.

The ‘apapane returned to his part of the forest, and gathered his friends and family and any other birds he could. Together they could find food and shelter. Together they could scare off some of the dangers. But most of all, he told them:

“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory plus inspiration. As a result, the recording of how I told it does not match how I wrote it.

Photo of four nene by Eric Anderson.

Shoot of Jesse

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
    and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,
    the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
    the spirit of counsel and might,
    the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

Isaiah 11:1-2

I hate to break it to you, Isaiah.
But then, perhaps you know already.
You saw it, after all, in Hezekiah,
who trusted in the word of God
and watched the army of Assyria
retreat from Jerusalem’s walls,
but then succumbed to royal pride
and showed his wealth to greedy eyes.

These shoots of Jesse had their moments, true,
the worst had flashes of your wisdom. But
they let the widows cry for justice,
let the orphans cry for food, while they
enriched the wealthy, fed the full.
The best of them, like Hezekiah, fell
afoul of hubris like their ancestors before.

And then, Isaiah, came a child anointed
by the Holy Spirit, who embraced your words,
declared they’d been fulfilled, and best of all
with mercy, stories, grace, and healing brought
them to fulfillment. You would have cheered
to see this shoot of Jesse blossom and bear fruit.

You would have cheered to see the fishermen,
the shepherds and the farmers, even tax
collectors, daughters of Jerusalem,
embark on journeys up and down the land
to seek his healing and his word.

They cheered to see the lepers cleansed.
They told his stories to their neighbors with
excitement and enthusiasm. They affirmed
a humble man from Galilee as Christ.

They could not save him, though, Isaiah,
from the fear and might of powerful men.
They seized him and they beat him.

They called him rebel, and they nailed him to a tree,
and jeered to see him suffer there and die.

Isaiah, human folly is enough to break your heart.

A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 11:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Second Sunday of Advent.

Photo of a fern shoot by Eric Anderson.

Story: Caterpillar’s Hope

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments
An orange and black butterfly resting on a fern leaf.

November 30, 2025

Isaiah 2:1-5
Romans 13:11-14

Caterpillars don’t have the easiest life. They don’t get around very much – but then, when you move mostly to find another leaf to eat, you don’t need to move very far. There are things about that, while you’re eating leaves, would be very happy to eat you, and that makes for more than a few anxious moments. A lot of the birds I happily tell stories about would happily eat a caterpillar, and that makes them rather sad.

Caterpillars are among the most hopeful creatures on Earth, however. Each one of them hopes to go from an animal that crawls slowly across the branches to one that flies through the skies. They hope to go from someone that you hope will be overlooked (and so not eaten) to one that glows brightly in the sunlight. They hope that the beauty they feel on the inside will be mirrored on the outside.

What’s amazing is that that’s what happens.

Two caterpillars were sharing their hopes on a branch one day between bites of leaf. I’m going to leave out the biting and chewing, because it actually took more time than the conversation. Caterpillars are serious about eating.

“I’m really looking forward to being a butterfly,” said the first.

“Me, too,” said the second.

“I can’t wait to fly,” said the first.

“Me, too,” said the second.

“I’d like to see more of the world than this flower patch,” said the first.

“It’s a good patch,” said the second.

“I’m not saying it isn’t,” said the first.

“You’re right, though,” said the second. “It would be nice to visit another one.”

“All we’ve got to do,” said the first caterpillar, “is wait.”

“Just wait?” asked the second.

“Just wait,” said the first.

“That doesn’t’ sound right,” said the second. “I think we’ve got to build a chrysalis, and stay in it, and then come out as butterflies.”

“Don’t be silly,” said the first. “You hope for it, and then it happens.”

“I don’t think so,” said the second. “I think you hope for it, and then you do something about it. And then it can happen.”

I don’t know what happened to the first caterpillar. I hope it made a chrysalis and became a butterfly, because the second caterpillar was quite right. Caterpillars become butterflies in the chrysalis. They’ve got to make things happen to make other things happen.

Dream of better days. Hope for them, and believe they can come to be. But don’t forget to do the work for them. Hope is good, but hope and effort are better.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them on Sunday from memory plus inspiration. The story you just read will not be identical to the story as I told it.

Photo of a monarch butterfly by Eric Anderson.

Let Us Go Up to the Mountain

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments


“Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.'” – Isaiah 2:3

A mountaintop is the House of God,
a place of mystery.

A mountaintop lacks human homes,
for it is foreign ground.

A mountaintop is a solid thing, we think,
until it flows.

A mountaintop can teach us anything
we wish to learn.

A mountaintop can teach us truth unless
we’d rather hold our lies.

The liquid stone flows down the mountainside
passing people flowing up.

The mountain’s fluid flanks sweep our
pretense away.

And then the lava hardens into rock
like human hearts

Who fail to learn the truth that swords and spears
mean nothing

And the truth that plows and pruning hooks
mean everything.

A mountaintop can teach us truth unless
we’d rather hold our lies.

A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 2:1-5, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, First Sunday of Advent.

Photo of the Kilauea summit by Eric Anderson.

Story: Decisions, Decisions

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

November 23, 2025

Jeremiah 23:1-6
Luke 23:33-43

The common waxbills may be the smallest birds in Hawai’i – meaning how big the adults get. Newly hatched chicks even of very large birds can be smaller. But if you see a very small bird with a rosy beak, it’s likely to be a common waxbill.

They like to eat the small seeds of grasses and herbs, and they tend to move about in flocks of anywhere from a pair up to thirty or forty birds. With a flock, of course, comes the problem of decision. If I’m the only one who needs to make a choice, well, I can make the choice. I decide whether to go this way or that way. When there’s somebody else, though, now we have to work out our direction, our left or right, our up or down.

Waxbills have the same problem. When they’ve eaten the seeds in this plot of grass, how do they decide where to go next?

A waxbill decided one day, after a certain amount of chirped argument, that somebody had to take charge. Somebody had to make the decision. Somebody had to rule.

“We’re going this way,” he called, and took off. Most of the other waxbills took off with him, but not all, so he circled back and screeched at them until they, too, joined the rest of the flock and flew with him. Some of them were relieved not to have to argue any more. Others were irritated that they had ideas that nobody listened to. And there were a few that didn’t want to go in this direction at all.

One of the nice things about being a bird that eats grass seed is that, pretty much any direction you go is likely to have grass in it. They flew. They found. They ate. But not everybody in the flock was happy.

The next day, the waxbill in charge decided to take charge again, but this time some of the waxbills wouldn’t go at all. He chirped at them. He screeched at them. He even flew at them as if he was going to hit them with his wings. But they wouldn’t go.

Eventually the flock settled back to the ground again, and one of them said, “I don’t mind following you, but we need to take trouble to agree which way we’re going to go.”

“No, we don’t,” said their self-appointed leader. “I know what I’m doing. I’m in charge.”

“We all have ideas about where to find seeds,” said the waxbill speaking for the others. “Some might be more right. Some might be more wrong. And that includes you. If we all share, we’ve got a better chance that the ones who are more right will be heard, and that we, as a group, will find more seeds.”

“You’re a fine leader,” he went on, “but you’re not the only one with good ideas. We’ll follow – but we’ll also contribute. If you don’t want to listen, well, somebody else will have to lead.”

It took longer that way. It did. But this little flock of little birds did better than they ever had before at finding good clumps of grasses in seed, and they did it with birds who felt better about their leadership and their fellow fliers in the flock than they ever had before.

It can be a challenge to make decisions. It might be that the most important decision you can make is how you make a decision for yourself and with others.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation). As a result, what you read and what you hear will be different.

Photo of common waxbills by Eric Anderson.

Save Yourself

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

And the people stood by watching, but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” – Luke 23:35

I sometimes ache for your pain, O Savior,
tortured there upon the cross,
and I, without the mocking, echo those
cruel words of long ago, and urge you, “Save yourself!”

But when I do, you hold me close
with misted eyes. My lips go silent, as
I strain to hear your soft reply:
“Instead, I will save you.”

A poem/prayer based on Luke 23:33-43, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Reign of Christ, Proper 29 (34).

The image is Crucifixion with Darkened Sun by Egon Schiele (1907) – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5105294.

Story: Teacher’s Example

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

November 16, 2025

Isaiah 65:17-25
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

It’s been a while since I’ve talked about nene school, which hasn’t changed what’s gone on there a bit. Goslings have gone to school, they’ve learned about advanced eating and flying, and some of them have wondered about becoming nene teachers themselves.

There was a time when there were just two nene teachers. Both of them were solid at the job. They could coax a timid flyer into dramatic aerobatics. They could coach a fussy eater into finding a much wider diet – sort of a nene version of heavy pupus. They held their students’ attention. They taught their lessons. Best of all, the students learned.

That’s the mark of a good teacher, when the students learn.

One of the students noticed something else, too.

Both teachers taught that it was important for nene to care for the flock. If you see a storm coming, they said, warn your neighbors. If it looks like a mongoose might be close to a nest, drive them away. If you found a good clump of ‘ohelo berries, call your friends over. Take care of the flock. The other members of the flock will take care of you.

That was an important lesson, and they mentioned it every day.

One of the teachers, though, seemed a little confused about its application. When her students were learning about finding food, she was very helpful. “Look for these colors as you’re flying about,” she’d say. And when they found some, she gave them lots of praise. “Well done, my friends!” she’d say to the beaming young nene.

And then she’d eat the food they’d found.

The other teacher did things differently. He was helpful about finding food, too. “These are the colors to watch for,” he’d say. “Make sure to look side to side.” And like his colleague, he had good things to say to his students when they found that tasty clump of ‘ohelo. “That’s exactly right,” he’d tell them. “Well spotted.”

But then he said, pretty much every time, “Call the other students in. Is anybody hungry?”

As I said, one of the students notice this, and one day he asked his parents about it. “My teachers help me a lot,” he told them, “but when we find food, one of them eats it. I suppose that’s OK; she is the teacher, after all. But the other one invites us to share. Which one am I supposed to learn?”

His parents looked at one another, and then they looked back at him. “Which one makes you feel better?” they asked. “Which one makes you feel like you’re an important part of the flock? Which one seems to be strengthening the flock as a whole?”

“Well, that’s easy,” said their son. “It’s the one who invites us to eat.”

“So which example will you follow?”

He thought about it.

“I spotted some ‘ohelo a few minutes ago,” he told them. “Are either of you hungry?”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them on Sunday morning from memory and inspiration. The recording does not match the prepared text.

Photo of two nene in flight by Eric Anderson.

We Have the Right

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

“This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate.” – 2 Thessalonians 3:9

We have the right to claim whatever we want.
We say.
We have the right to say offensive things
and sneer at those who hear.
We have the right to say to one, “Go here,”
and to another, “Go there,”
and they will go.
We enforce.
We have the right.

Are we any more than irresponsible,
mere busybodies,
tearing down the building of
a blessed community?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
do little for our neighbors?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
will underpay their workers?

Is it not true that Paul’s example,
sparing those he served from burdens,
that the greatest burden, ignorance of love,
might lift from them, is our greatest call to work?

Is it not true that we are Paul’s
“mere busybodies, not doing any work,”
not building up community.
How can we claim our right to eat?

A poem/prayer based on 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 28 (33).

The image is The Multiplication of the Bread and the Fish by Jacopo Tintoretto – http://catalogo.fondazionezeri.unibo.it/ricerca.v2.jsp?view=list&batch=100&sortby=LOCALIZZAZIONE&page=1&decorator=layout_resp&apply=true&percorso_ricerca=OA&locale=it, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=79669072.

Story: Flowers and Friends

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

November 9, 2025

Haggai 2:1-9
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Life isn’t always easy in the mountain forests. Sometimes it gets really wet and uncomfortable, and while feathers are pretty good at keeping you warm and dry, they’re not perfect. Sit in the rain long enough, and an i’iwi will feel pretty cold and wet.

Worse, though, is when it gets dry, because the trees and the plants rely on water. When there’s been no rain for a good while, they have to save their energy. It’s like when you’ve been running around a lot and need to rest for a while. The way a tree rests, or another kind of plant rests, is to hold off on making flowers or fruit. When there’s more water, then it’s time to bloom.

The birds can mostly cope with that. The ‘elepaio eats bugs, and lots of the bugs eat things other than nectar. The ‘apapane and the ‘amakihi eat lots of nectar, but they can make a good meal from worms and spiders. They miss the nectar, but they can feed themselves.

The i’iwi has a rougher time. They will eat bugs, but they’re built to eat nectar, not bugs, and when the flowers aren’t blooming, they get hungry.

It was dry on the mountain. And the i’iwi were hungry.

As I’ve mentioned, while some i’iwi don’t get along with other birds, some i’iwi get along just fine. So there was a little flock of ‘apapane and ‘amakihi and ‘akepa that were worried about their i’iwi friend, who wasn’t saying much, but she was clearly getting hungrier and hungrier.

“What can we do?” an ‘amakihi asked an ‘apapane, who replied with a bird shrug, because he didn’t know, either.

“What can we do?” an ‘elepaio asked his friend the i’iwi, which was the same question but had the advantage of being asked of the right bird. Unfortunately, she didn’t know either.

“You’ve showed me where you’re finding some bugs to eat, and that’s helped some,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’m not as good at catching them as you. I don’t think you can get me more food any better than that.”

“I still want to help,” said the ‘elepaio, and all the other birds did the same.

“You know how you can help?” said the i’iwi. “Stay right where you ware. Stay close to me. Show me you care.”

“How will that help?” asked the ‘apapane, who had a very practical mind. “You can’t eat that.”

“Perhaps not,” she said, “but when you’ve done all you can to help me eat, I’m glad to have your company. It may not feed my stomach, but it feeds my heart.”

So they perched there together in the same tree. Sometimes one or the other birds would sing, and once the ‘amakihi caught a spider and gave it to the i’iwi, who ate it with a hearty “Mahalo.”

Mostly, though, they sat in friendship, friendship that fed the heart even better than flowers.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them in worship from memory (and improvisation). The story when you watch it will not match the story when you read it.

Photo of an i’iwi (who hopefully isn’t hungry) by Eric Anderson.

Shaken and Shaking

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“He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God. Do you not remember that I told you these things when I was still with you?” – 2 Thessalonians 2:4-5

I remember lots of things.
I remember grandiosity and pride.
I recall my own, of course,
and sometimes mourn its passing, though
more often I regret its resurrection.

I remember lots of things,
including those who, yes,
exalt themselves. They openly
accept the praise that’s due to God,
declaring that they stand for God.

What law except their own
will they obey? What limits place
upon their power and their pride?
What wisdom will they own except
the rules of ownership and privilege?

In times like these, I fear I may
be like your troubled friends
in Thessalonica, dear Paul.
With evil rampant, justice tossed aside,
I say: “Come Jesus, now, and bring us your relief.”

Though twenty centuries have passed
since Thessalonians cried out for the
same thing, dear Paul advises us the same:
Stand firm. Hold fast. Be filled with Spirit’s love.
And may God strengthen you in doing good.

A poem/prayer based on 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 27 (32).

The image is The Apostle Saint Paul by El Greco (between 1610 and 1614; painting displayed at the El Greco Museum, Toledo, Spain – 1QEs4novinaf3A at Google Cultural Institute, zoom level maximum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29844105.