Author: Rev. Eric Anderson

Story: Honu Up a Tree

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments
Honu in water
Honu (not actually) in naupaka

November 2, 2025


Isaiah 1:10-18
Luke 19:1-10

When was the last time you saw a honu up a tree?

Never?

Well, I never have either. It’s not a natural place for a honu to be. A honu really prefers to be in water, like the honu in this picture.

Unfortunately, one day a honu found herself in a tree.

As I mentioned, I’ve never actually seen, let alone photographed, a honu up a tree. I’m afraid that photo is the result of a certain amount of non-artificial intelligence that produced that unconvincing image.

It was a storm, of course. Ordinarily honu in a storm find a safe place to ride it out, which is frequently offshore. I don’t know precisely what happened with this honu, and I’m not sure she ever did, either. One minute she was being tossed about in the water, and the next minute she was flailing around in a tree, not getting anywhere, and getting sprayed by the waves and the rain.

All in all, not where she wanted to be.

When things got brighter, the birds came out and found the honu in the tree, and they knew she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Can you swim out?” asked an ala’e ke’oke’o, who was a swimming bird, even though the honu had better flippers on her limbs than the ala’e ke’oke’o had on his.

“I’ve tried all night,” said the honu. “My flippers can’t move these leaves the way they move water.”

“Besides,” she added, “I’m a pretty high off the ground here, and those rocks look hard. I think I might hurt myself if I fell from here.”

The birds looked things over and thought about it. Winged creatures don’t think about falling very much.

“I know,” said some of them. “Let’s pull some of the leaves and twigs out of the way so she’ll slip down slowly.”

“Right!” said some others. “And we’ll go get some other leaves and grass and mud and sand and we’ll cushion the rocks below her.”

That’s what they did. Some pulled up grass for padding, some moved branches of naupaka aside (OK. She was in a naupaka bush, not a tree, but it looked like a tree to her). The pile of padding grew and her distance from it slowly shrank. They worked slowly but steadily, cautiously but creatively, until with a creaking sound the last naupaka branches bent and lowered her to the top of the padded mound.

The birds cheered as the honu hauled herself off with her flippers and made her way down the beach to the water.

At water’s edge she turned and said, “Mahalo nui loa, friends. I hope you get help like this if you’re ever up a tree!”

One of the birds, a kolea, shrugged and said, “Most of us will be quite fine up a tree. But if you can help me out like this if I’m ever stuck in the water, I’ll be just as grateful as you are now.”

Then she waved and swam off into the deep. I don’t know if she ever did have to help a bird stuck in the water, but I know she would have, and she’s ready to if there’s ever a need.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. What you have just read is not identical to the way I told it.

Photos of a honu and of naupaka by Eric Anderson, as is the not-very-convincing blending of the two.

Up a Tree

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.” – Luke 19:4

I didn’t think my hands could grip so tight.
I also didn’t think I’d ever be this high.
So let’s be clear that I regret this choice.
I wish I hadn’t scaled these heights.

Were I to fall, the people down below
would step aside. I grant you that not one
of them could cushion me. We’d both
be left in broken bones and tears upon the road.

I really wish I hadn’t climbed this high
into this tree or into my career.
I used to see my neighbors’ faces as
they doled out coins. Now I just see the coins.

Their faces turn away before I can
pronounce their names, but not before
I recognize their scorn, their bitter fear,
and their disgust at just how high I’ve gone.

Too high. Too high. When branches creak
at heights like this, the climber’s soul
sways unassuaged by creature comforts,
linen, gold, attentive slaves.

I got myself into this tree. I don’t know how
to get myself down to the ground.
My hands are knotted to this limb.
My breath is hoarse as I cling on.

Ignore me, Jesus, Just pass by.
Don’t look up. Don’t notice me.
Don’t speak. Don’t call. Don’t ask me anything.
Above all else, don’t ask me to come down.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 19:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 26 (31).

The image is Zachée sur le sycomore attendant le passage de Jésus (Zacchaeus in the Sycamore Awaiting the Passage of Jesus) by James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.189_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10904526.

Story: Remember

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

October 26, 2025

Ephesians 1:11-23
Luke 6:20-31

I remember a good number of things. I also forget a good number of things. Some of them I’m happy to forget, especially if they made me unhappy at the time. Some of them I wish I could remember, especially if they involve the question of where did I put down my keys?

The i’iwi wasn’t much worried about the things he’d remember. He was worried about the things others would remember about him.

A lot of i’iwi get remembered by other birds as being, well, kind of aggressive. Bossy. Selfish. They drive other birds away from the places that they’re eating. Other kinds of birds do that, too, but when an i’iwi gets aggressive, ‘apapane and ‘amakihi will tend to give in and fly away.

“But is that,” he asked himself, “how I want to be remembered?”

He knew plenty of i’iwi that loved to chase other birds away. They claimed that they ate better when they did, but he also knew i’iwi that tended to ignore other birds, even slept in the same trees overnight. They seemed to eat just as well, he thought.

“How do I,” he asked himself, “want to be remembered?”

He had a friend who was one of the most effective bullies around. Where some of the aggressive i’iwi would chase an ‘apapane for a couple of feet, he’d chase them for a twice or three times as far. Sometimes he’d chase a bird so far that he’d find another bird in the place where he’d started, and he’d chase that one, too. If that seems like extra work to you, it does to me, too. Still, he was flashy (but then, all i’iwi are pretty flashy) and he was popular (as long as he wasn’t chasing you).

“But is that,” he asked himself, “how I want to be remembered?”

Then he remembered his grandmother.

She didn’t take any nonsense from other birds, no she didn’t. No ‘apapane had ever driven her away from a cluster of ohi’a blossoms. But she’d never chased an ‘apapane, either, or an ‘amakihi, or a young i’iwi. In fact, she’d let other birds know when she’d found a good spot, whatever the color of their feathers.

His grandmother loved him. He knew that, because she used to hop aside so he could get to the best flowers.

He loved his grandmother.

He went to find her, and said, “I want to be remembered like you, grandmother.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Let’s go see if we can find something good to eat, and then we’ll let everybody else know.”

That’s how both of them would be remembered.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation) during Sunday worship. The story you have just read will not precisely match the story as I told it.

Photo of an i’iwi (being reflective?) by Eric Anderson.

What’s New, Beatitudes?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 8 Comments
A stone statue face of a woman with two tears dripping from her left eye.

“[Jesus said,] ‘But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.'” – Luke 6:24

What’s new, Beatitudes?
Woe, woe, woe!

OK, Jesus. I’ll get serious with you,
since you’ve got serious with me.
I’m hardly rich, you know
(except by global standards).
I’m hardly full, except when I’ve
scraped bare my dinner plate.
Nor do I laugh, except, of course
at my own jokes (a punster’s lot).
And people don’t speak well of me,
or, well, I guess they do. From time to time.

What’s new, Beatitudes?
Woe, woe, woe!

I’d claim I do not need
this list of warnings if
I could maintain the case
that I would honor them without them.
And… as I’m relatively rich,
and definitely full, and able to
make merry, granted honor that
is probably beyond my worth,
it looks as if I haven’t taken heed
of warnings you have made.

What’s new, Beatitudes?
Woe, woe, woe!

Well, bring them on, these challenges
to what I’ve done and do.
Charge me once again to love
my enemies and pray for them,
to do them good and not bring harm.
I’ll note they do not do the same for me.
I’d rather not be struck upon the cheek,
but if it comes, I’ll not strike back.
I’ll turn the other way, and wait,
and hope my tears dissuade a second blow.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 6:20-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, All Saints Day.

The image is a detail of the figure of Mary Magdalene in the sculpture The Entombment of Christ in the Church of St. Martin, Arc-en-Barrois, France. Photo by User:Vassil – File:Sépulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_12.jpg, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16942922.

Song: Hold On

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

by Eric Anderson
October 17, 2025

I wrote this song for worship on October 19, 2025, and it is based on the story of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32.

[Chorus]

You’ve got to hold on, hold on
Though your limbs are weary
            and your soul is tired
You’ve got to hold on, hold on
For the sun will rise and bless your eyes

[Verses]

Jacob sent all his riches ahead
His brother had pledged to see him dead.
How could he be safe? So he stayed behind
Then he wrestled a man until the morning light.

[Chorus]

Jacob lost that match, and called the victor God.
He held on to be blessed by eternal love.
Now he walked with a limp but he strode out all right
To reconcile with his brother in the morning light.

[Chorus]

When the shadows put you in fear
Never forget: love is every near.
It will come to your aid; it will never deny.
You’ve got to hold on until the morning light.

[Chorus]

October 17, 2025

© 2025 by Eric Anderson

Story: Hold On

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

October 19, 2025

Genesis 32:22-31
Luke 18:1-8

Where I grew up on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean, there are birds that eat worms. In fact, a lot of birds eat worms. Some of them would eat worms (and bugs, and spiders) that burrow into trees. Some of these would use their beaks to dig holes into the bark to get those caterpillars out. Some would even carve pretty big holes in the wood.

Those birds are called woodpeckers.

On our island, we don’t have woodpeckers, we have the ‘akiapola’au, and I think I’ve mentioned before that it’s a very rare bird. They only live on our island, and there are less than two thousand of them. They have a short lower beak, and they use that to dig into tree bark where caterpillars or worms might be hiding. When they find one, they use the curved top beak like a fishhook, only they’re catching the worm.

I guess you could say they use both the upper and lower beak to actually eat what they’ve caught.

One day an ‘akiapola’au caught a caterpillar, but he wasn’t alone when he did. There were several other birds around, and none of them had the unique beak of an ‘akiapola’au. Therefore they had a lot of different ideas about what the ‘akiapola’au should do with his newly caught caterpillar.

“It’s stuck on your beak,” said an ‘apapane. “You can’t eat it from there. How are you going to get it into your mouth?”

“He could put it down,” suggested an ‘amakihi, who may have said that because he was hungry and thought he could get to the caterpillar if it crawled off.

“Is it too big to eat?” asked an ‘elepaio, which isn’t a very big bird but neither is an ‘akiapola’au. “You could bite it into smaller pieces.”

“That sounds like a good idea!” said the hungry ‘amakihi, who hoped to get one of the smaller pieces.

The ‘akiapoloa’au swung the caterpillar around, using the twigs and branch to get it from the hook of his beak toward his mouth. The other birds chimed in with advice like “Left!” “Right!” “Up!” “Down!” which wasn’t very helpful.

The worst advice came from an i’iwi, whose beak curves pretty dramatically, too. “Just put the caterpillar down,” she said. “Get some flower nectar instead. I mean, yuck!”

The hungry ‘amakihi echoed her, but the ‘akiapola’au ignored them all, all except an ‘alawi, another bird that likes a menu of bugs and caterpillars, who simply said, “Hold on.”

Hold on.

The ‘akiapola’au held on as he used the twigs to get the caterpillar lined up just right, and then, well, he was a happier ‘akiapola’au because he wasn’t as hungry. He looked at the helpful ‘alawi, who was searching for a caterpillar of her own.

“When you find what you need,” he said, “hold on.”

There are plenty of things in life that it’s good to let go of. Hot pans. Mosquitoes. Sharp things. There are plenty of habits in life that it’s good to let go of. Greed. Making fun of other people. Eating too much sugar.

But when you find what you need, whether it’s the food for the body or the food for the soul, the best advice there is, is: “Hold on.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory, so what I said will not match what I wrote.

Photos of an ‘akiapola’au (and his lunch) by Eric Anderson.

Overcome

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the day is breaking.’ But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me.'” – Genesis 32:25-26

Breath in gasps,
Slipping grip,
growling throat,
flailing arms,
feet scraping the ground.

And suddenly

Hip on fire
Leg will not lever.

Hold on.

Hold on to win?
Hold on to survive.
Hold on to endure.
Victory passes in the night
in the unsocketed hip.

I will hold on, I say,
though daybreak come
and break me,
though night should fall again
and claim my fading sight.

I will hold on.
I will insist on blessing.
I will be overcome

And overcome.

A poem/prayer based on Genesis 32:22-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternative First Reading for Year C, Proper 24 (29).

The illustration is “Jacob Wrestling with the Angel” by Anonymous “Meister 1”, found in the World Chronicle by Rudolf van Ems (between 1350 and 1375) – Hochschul- und Landesbibliothek Fulda, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23797771.

Story: ‘Apapane Faith

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
Juvenile 'apapane with spotted feathering

October 5, 2025

Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
Luke 17:5-10

Birds, by their very nature, rely on faith. Every bird knows about gravity; every bird knows that what goes up must come down. Every bird knows that while flight is the most natural thing in the world to them, it is also the most unnatural thing in the world. Somehow they hold those two things together.

At least, most of the time they do.

One young ‘apapane had learned to fly from his parents. He’d flown any number of times on his own. He was also still pretty young, so a lot of his feathers were still grey and brown. That had been fine. Now, however, some of his adult colors were coming in, so he had red feathers mixed among the grey and brown, and he had a speckled look. Frankly, I think he looked really interesting, but he thought he looked odd, even a little ugly.

With feathers that looked like that, he thought, how could he keep up with flying?

I don’t think that makes much sense, do you? He’d been flying just fine, and suddenly he didn’t believe he could fly because his feathers were changing? But you know, the first step in doing something is believing that you can do the thing. He stopped believing he could do the thing.

So he stopped flying.

He did manage to feed himself by journeying to other trees in the slowest, and possibly most exhausting way possible. He hopped from twig to twig, then from branch to branch, and when branches got close he jumped from tree to tree. It took time, and it wore him out, and frankly made him hungrier, but he did it.

It was a funny way to live for an ‘apapane.

It took a while for the other birds to notice, because he did turn up among his family and friends, even if he turned up later than everyone else. They just assumed he’d flown off in some other direction and finally got turned around the right way.

It was Tutu, his grandmother, who noticed the way he hopped, rather than flew, from tree to tree. She hopped over to his branch and said, “Are you all right, grandson? Have you hurt your wings?”

“No, they feel fine,” said her grandson.

“Then why are you hopping everywhere?” she asked. “Why aren’t you flying?”

“Well, just look at me,” he said. “Do these look like flying feathers? If I take off with these I’ll crash a moment later.”

“You think you can’t fly because of these feathers?” asked his grandmother.

“That’s right, Tutu,” he said.

Grandmother thought. She was a wise old bird, and she knew that you have to believe you can fly if you’re going to fly. She was tempted to let him hop around until he finished molting, but she knew he’d be pretty miserable the whole time. And who knows? He might never come around to believing again. That would be sad.

“Grandson, are you an ‘apapane?”

“Yes, of course I am,” he said, puzzled.

“Do you believe that you have wings?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you believe in your feathers?”

“They’re right here,” he said.

“I believe in your feathers, too,” said Tutu, “the ones you have and the ones you’ll grow. In fact, all your family believes in them. Do you believe us?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“It takes just a little belief,” said his grandmother, “and that’s the amount of belief it takes to spread your wings. You’ve done it before. You can do it now.

“Believe it. Spread your wings, grandson. Fly.”

by Eric Anderson

I regret that we continue to have problems with the audio in our video stream, so a recording of this story is not available.

Photo of a young ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Take Your Watchpost

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘Would you not rather say to him, “Prepare supper for me; put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink”?'” – Luke 17:8

Stand at your watchpost, Holy One, and see,
if I have brought your sustenance to table
where the hungry you have called are blessed
by word, and heart, and bread.

Stand at your watchpost, by the door,
to see if any leave with bellies pinched,
with faces sad, with spirits quenched.
See if your banquet has been served.

Stand at your watchpost, Jesus, to observe
if I have nurtured that so precious seed of faith
into a shelter for the birds and beasts and people.
O Jesus, have I grown my faith in you?

A poem/prayer based on Luke 17:5-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 22 (27), with an additional nod to Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4.

The image is a photo of the shrine at the Tomb of Habakkuk in Tuyserkan, Iran. Photo by hamid3 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=99699676. The tower may date to the 11th or 12th centuries, an architect’s attempt to render Habakkuk’s vision of the watchtower.

Story: Aloha for the ‘Iwa

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

September 28, 2025

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
Luke 16:19-31

The ‘iwa, or great frigatebird, has a bad reputation among the seabirds around Hawai’i. ‘Iwa have been known to bully other birds to get them to drop their meals, which the ‘iwa then swoops down to eat. That’s pretty nasty. As a result, a flock of koa’e ula – red-tailed tropicbirds – had decided to have nothing to do with them.

When an ‘iwa flew by, they ignored him. Or her. They veered off to one side or another to keep their distance. When the ‘iwa called out a friendly “Aloha!” they said nothing in return. They called out to one another instead.

Except for one bird.

This koa’e ula decided that until an ‘iwa actually did anything mean, he’d assume that they were as worthy of a friendly “aloha” as any other bird. Seabirds tend to swoop around together a lot, which means that the air is full of “aloha,” which sounds a lot like lots of bird calls to us. A shore with lots of seabirds over it can be a very noisy place.

“Why are you greeting the ‘iwa?” asked his friends. “They’re bullies. They’re mean. They’re never going to give you an aloha.”

“I don’t know about any of that,” said the koa’e ula. “None of the ‘iwa I’ve greeted have done anything to me. Except to say, ‘aloha’ right back.”

Koa’e ula can fly for a long time, but they also like to spend some time resting on the ground, usually on smaller islands offshore from bigger islands like Kauai. There came a day when most of this particular flock was resting from some pretty vigorous flying and fishing. On that day something had happened a long way away that they didn’t know about. It was a big earthquake, and it kicked up the water into an ocean-spanning tsunami. All this was much too far away. The birds had no idea.

Hours later, a series of great waves approached the little island. A few of the koa’e ula were aloft, but they weren’t looking at the water closely. As the first wave came closer, an ‘iwa swooped low over the island, right over the place where the friendly koa’e ula had settled.

“Take off! Fly!” cried the ‘iwa. “There’s a big wave coming! Get into the air!”

“Take off! Fly!” shouted the koa’e ula to those near him, and he opened his wings and leapt into the air. Those near him did the same, and in a few moments the island was empty of birds and the sky was filled with them.

They looked down as the first wave washed over the entire island where they’d been. They were so shocked that they forgot to call “aloha” to one another as they circled. Without the warning of the ‘iwa, they’d have been there when the wave came.

“How did you know?” they started to ask the friendly koa’e kea, the one the ‘iwa had come to warn. “Hod did you know that the ‘iwa would know to warn us?”

“I didn’t know,” said the koa’e kea. “I just knew that everyone deserves an aloha. Everybody deserves aloha.”

As the ‘iwa swooped by with an anxious look to make sure her friend was all right, the koa’e ula called out, “Aloha and mahola nui loa to you!” The ‘iwa looked relieved and called back, “Aloha!” and she soared off once more.

I don’t know what other flocks do – there are ‘iwa and there are koa’e ula all around the world – but I can tell you that there’s been lots more aloha among those birds from that day to this, and long may it stay the same.

by Eric Anderson

Unfortunately, the video recording of worship for September 28, 2025, did not include audio, so there is no recording appended.

Photo of an ‘iwa (female) by Eric Anderson.