Author: Rev. Eric Anderson

Story: Dive or Skim

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

October 23, 2022

Psalm 84:1-7
Luke 18:9-14

It’s a funny thing. The koa’e kea – the white-tailed tropicbird – and the noio – the black noddy – eat basically the same foods. They like small fish, they like squid. But they catch their food in very different ways. One koa’e kea had noticed this.

“That,” he said to another koa’e kea, “is disgusting.”

“What is?” she asked. The two were flying out to their fishing grounds from the ledges of Kilauea.

“Them,” said the first, “those noio. Watch them crowd together. Why can’t they hunt alone? There’s a horde of them fishing there. Then the noise. Every last one of them is screeching and calling. They’re flying low, and any bird should know that you can’t spot fish if you’re not high over the water. And most of all“ – he shuddered even as he was flying – “they don’t even know how to do a proper dive.”

“Really?” asked his friend. “What do they do?”

“Watch,” said the first, and they watched as noio after noio skimmed low over the water. The surface of the ocean rippled with the movement of the small fish beneath it. The noio dipped their beaks into the water, seized a fish without landing, and flew on as they swallowed.

“They don’t even pause on the surface to properly appreciate their meal,” he moaned.

“Aren’t there big fish down there, too?” asked his friend, who had noticed larger forms deeper in the water.

“Ahu,” said the koa’e kea, “skipjack tuna. They’re chasing the same fish as the noio. I don’t know why they’re not all crashing into one another, and why none of those noio have become lunch for an ahu.”

They watched the chaotic scene for a while, and then the second koa’e kea said, “You know, it seems to work.”

“What?” he said.

“With those ahu around, the small fish are closer to the surface,” she said, “and with so many birds in the air you wouldn’t want to pause on the surface. From all I can tell from here, none of them look like they’ll go hungry.”

“Do you want to fish like a noio?” he demanded.

“No, I’d rather dive from a good height,” she said, “and I’d rather not have a lot of other birds about because I’d crash into one when I’m diving. I’m not eager to run into an ahu under water, and one of my dives might get down to where they are. I can’t call the noio disgusting, though,” she continued. “They’re living, and thriving, and happy, and fed. That’s a pretty good life for a seabird, don’t you think?”

I don’t know for certain whether she’d convinced him, because he didn’t say anything more as they flew out to their own fishing grounds farther from shore. I’ll call her wise, though, to recognize that there’s more than one way to live a good life as a seabird, and to appreciate a seabird who does things differently.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

The story is told from memory of this manuscript. That is enough to cause some differences. Today, there was another presentation before the story, and, well, you’ll just have to see it to believe it.

Photo of a noio in flight (though not actually skimming the surface) by Eric Anderson.

Contemptible

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

[Jesus] also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt… – Luke 18:9

Truly you see that he is contemptible.
Imagine a collaborator, a Quisling, a snake
who slithers his way to take chicks from the nest.
Such is this man, who is rich from his friends –
if he has any, now, since he fronts for the Romans
and seizes their substance for them and himself.

I thank you, Creator, that I have not fallen
to such mean temptation or villainous deed.
You’ll find that my substance is shared with my household.
You’ll find that my giving to you is correct.
You’ll find I am faithful in all of my doings.
To you I give praise for your law and design.

Now listen, O Great One, as he struggles to pray.
My studies have given me words fit for angels,
to proclaim your glory as if my voice echoed
the song of the heavens and heaven’s chorale.
And he prays for mercy? Sure, mercy he covets,
but we know his plea is yet more of his greed.

Truly you see that he is contemptible,
in life and profession, in false piety.
Let not his petition leave grit in your ears,
but hear my thanksgiving and praise to your name.
You, and you only, can judge your Creation.
You, and you only, can say what contemptible is.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 18:9-14, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 25 (30).

The image is a woodcut for Die Bibel in Bildern, 1860, by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld – Die Bibel in Bildern, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5490865.

Song: Take the Labyrinth Road

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments
This is the premiere streamed performance of “Take the Labyrinth Road,” sung live at 11 AM HST on October 19, 2022. It was written for the Pastoral Leaders Retreat of the Hawai’i Conference, United Church of Christ, and first played during that event on October 12, 2022.

by Eric Anderson
October 7, 2022

C Dm F Em / C Dm C G / C F Dm G / C G F G / C – – –

Twisting, turning paths
from without to within
Over gravel, soil and roots.
Let the time begin
For a journey of the soul
from brokenness to whole…
ness in the Spirit,
Come take the labyrinth road.

The journey curves about
in the world, in the heart,
And the ground below is rough
or is smoothed by art.
Moving body, moving soul
from brokenness to whole…
ness in the Spirit,
Come take the labyrinth road.

No promises on the way
for insight or inspiration
Just a time to step away
for peaceful contemplation,
For a journey of the soul
from brokenness to whole…
ness in the Spirit,
Come take the labyrinth road.

© 2022 by Eric Anderson

Story: The Pueo that Caught a Pig

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

October 16, 2022

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

As you know, there are birds and animals that don’t eat meat, and there are birds and animals that eat entirely meat, and there are birds and animals that eat either one, depending on what they find. Most of the meat-eating animals have a similar strategy about what they eat. They tend to look for something to eat that is smaller than they are. If that sounds a little bit like bullying, well, I think that’s where bullying comes from. I wish we could think of other people as people, and not as “this is someone I can bully.”

There are a few creatures that do hunt for animals larger than they are. The pueo is not one of them. The pueo flies about over the grasslands and looks for smaller things: mice, small birds, more mice, more small birds… basically, lunch.

This is the story of the pueo that caught a pig.

He didn’t mean to. He was distracted in his flying that day. Everything was nice and clear and there wasn’t a lot of wind. He wasn’t hunting with his full attention; he was mostly daydreaming in the air. Still, when he saw some grass move out of the corner of his eye, he was on it in a flash. Movement in the grass meant a mouse or a small bird. Movement in the grass meant lunch.

In this case, however, what it meant was a napping pig whose ear had just flicked at a fly and moved the grass. The pueo only discovered his mistake when he’d grabbed the pig by the top of her head. All the dreaminess of soaring about the sky vanished in a flash, as the pig woke up, felt the pueo on her head, and dashed off in a panic.

The pueo didn’t know what to do, so he hung on.

The pig tossed her head and tried to use her front feet to knock the pueo off her head, but her legs were too short. She threw her head from side to side as she ran so that one moment the pueo was pulled left and the next pulled right.

The pueo hung on. Dust was flying from beneath the pig’s feet but so were feathers from the pueo’s body. The sensible thing to do might have been to fly away, but there were so many feathers in the air that he wasn’t sure he could control his flight, and if he once fell underneath the pig’s feet that wouldn’t be good at all. As for the pig, if she’d thought about it, she could have rolled over and forced the pueo to let go, but she was startled and frightened and panicked, so she didn’t think of it.

This went on for some time until the pig ran out of energy and stopped, trembling. The pueo’s feet were tense and cramped and he still didn’t dare let go.

“Who are you?” said the pig, “Why did you do this?”

“I thought you were a mouse,” said the pueo, knowing that this sounded silly as he said it.

“What do you want?” said the pig.

“I want to go home,” said the pueo. “And I’d like to go home without your footprints in my feathers.”

“I’d like to go home without your claw marks on my head,” said the pig, “but I’m not getting what I want.”

“I’m going home without a lot of feathers,” said the pueo. “I’m not even sure I can fly.”

“What if,” said the pig, “we both get what we want? I want you off my head, and you want to be off my head, don’t you?”

“That would be best,” agreed the pueo.

The pig walked over to a larger rock, one that rose above her head. The pueo, with some difficulty, unclenched his feet and stepped cautiously onto the rock, then hurried up to its top. The pig looked up at him. He was too high for her to reach.

“Thanks for bringing me to a safer place,” he said.

“Thanks for getting off my head,” she said. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll make every effort to avoid it.”

She went home with some scratches. He went home without a few feathers, ones that would have to grow back before his flying was at its best. They went home having given one another the thing they wanted most: an opportunity for peace.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

The story was told from memory of this prepared text. And so… it’s not the same.

Photo of a pueo in flight by Forest & Kim Starr, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6167276.

Subdued

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

“The sun rose upon [Jacob/Israel] as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.” – Genesis 32:31

I had you, God.
You know it. I know it.
You saw you weren’t prevailing.
You know it. I know it.
And then you pulled a dirty trick!
You know it. I know it.
You pulled my hip right out of joint.
You know it. I know it.
It didn’t matter; I held on to you and held.
You know it. I know it.
You did not want the daylight to reveal you.
You know it. I know it.
And so you called for me to let you go before the dawn.
You know it. I know it.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You have to bless me first.”
You know it. I know it.
You did; you gave me a new name.
You know it. I know it.
A name about the struggle.
You know it. I know it.
And now I limp.
You know it. I know it.
But I won.

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

The image is Jacob Wrestling the Angel by Anonymous (Meister 1) ca. 1350-1375 – Hochschul- und Landesbibliothek Fulda, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23797771.

Story: Details, Details

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

October 9, 2022

2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c
Luke 17:11-19

The three ‘amakihi chicks had emerged from their eggs over the course of a day, and they promptly set out to do what newly hatched chicks do: they grew. Mother and father brought them food and cleaned the nest and did the things that ‘amakihi parents do. After a couple of weeks, they set out to teach them to fly.

This turned out to be complicated.

The three stepped up out of the nest along a branch and took their positions, ready to fly. “Get your wings ready!” called mother, and that’s where the instruction began. Two of the chicks extended their wings, but the third on the branch just looked confused. “How do I get my wings ready?” he asked.

Mother and father both extended their wings and spread the feathers along them. The first two chicks had been pretty close, though not perfect. The third one hadn’t apparently been paying attention to seeing his parents fly. It took a while, but he got those wings out and open and spread.

“Now open up your tail feathers,” said father. This time was the turn of the second chick to look confused. “Tail feathers?” she asked, as her two brothers both their tails into the shape of a fan. Father and mother demonstrated, and finally her tail took the proper shape.

Everybody managed to get the next section of the flight lesson, hopping up and down and doing some gentle wing flaps. All three managed to get in more and more wings beats before settling back down onto the branch again.

“Very good,” said mother. “The last thing to remember as we take your first flight to that branch over there” (she pointed with her beak) “is to lift up your feet and tuck them up to your belly.”

Now it was the first chick on the branch to look confused. “Shouldn’t I leave them down to grab the branch?” he said.

“No,” said father. “Your balance will be off if you do that.”

“No,” said mother. “You’ll reach out with your feet when you’re approaching the branch.”

That last chick looked uncertain and confused, and sure enough, when he and his brother and his sister took off, his legs weren’t properly tucked up. They flew fairly straight to the branch their mother had showed them, but he veered wildly up and down and from side to side before seizing that branch a good distance from his brother and sister. All of them were panting, but he was panting the hardest.

“That’s a good start,” said mother.

“This is really complicated!” wailed the chick who hadn’t tucked his feet up. “Really complicated,” said the sister whose tail was still working at stretching out.” “There’s so many things to remember,” complained the chick who hadn’t known to stretch out his wings.

“It’s all little things,” said father, “but you’re right. There are a lot of little things.”

“Put the little things together,” said mother, “and you’ll fly with safety and delight.”

It’s the little things, and the little things put together, that make us able to do the big things, like flying, and friendship, and love.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

Technical problems today have delayed the availability of the video, and unfortunately there were audio problem with the recording. You’ll notice that the volume is very low at the beginning of the story and gets much more audible about half way through, at 12:55. We regret the errors.

And, of course, the story as told is not quite the same as the story as written.

Photo of an ‘amakihi by Bettina Arrigoni – Hawaii Amakihi (male) | Palilia Discovery Trail | Mauna Kea | Big Island | HI|2017-02-09|12-21-50.jpg, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74674211.

How Many Miracles?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment
“Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, ‘If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.'” – 2 Kings 5:2-3

“…his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.” – 2 Kings 5:14

The first of the miracles was a girl enslaved,
who’d been torn from her home and forced to serve.
She was not embittered. She retained compassion.
She directed her “lord” to a prophet with power.

The general went to the king, and the king went and wrote
to a king, who in fury and fear rent his clothes.
By a miracle word reached the prophet, who said,
“Send the general here to be well.”

With chariots and horses and servants he came,
but only a messenger stood at the gate,
for the prophet, miraculously still unimpressed
remained in the house; directives he sent.

Now the general cursed and would fly down the road,
back to his home with his malady still.
“He told me to wash!” he denounced the directives,
and he would have rejected the miracles, save…

That his servants (among them, assuredly, slaves)
miraculously summoned their courage and said,
“It’s too simple for you? You can do what is hard.
Do the simple thing. See if it works.”

By a miracle the pride of the general faded.
He listened to those whom the culture despised.
He’d followed advice of a girl and a slave,
now the wisdom of slaves took him to Jordan’s side.

In the washing, the general found his skin cleansed.
A miracle true, a healing assured, his status restored.
A miracle once more: He sought out the prophet.
He raised up his thanks and he praised Israel’s God.

A series of miracles, built upon miracles,
a general who thanked, a general who listened
to slaves who cared and a prophet who ordered –
But the first of the miracles was a girl enslaved.

A poem/prayer based on 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 23 (28).

Biblical illustration of 2 Kings 5:3 by Jim Padgett, courtesy of Sweet Publishing, Ft. Worth, TX, and Gospel Light, Ventura, CA. Copyright 1984. Released under new license, CC-BY-SA 3.0 by Distant Shores Media/Sweet Publishing, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18903284.

Story: Filled by God

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

October 2, 2022

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

A myna and a saffron finch got interested in human religion. What can I say? People who pray are fascinating. They perched outside churches on Sundays and they listened to the things people were saying and sometimes they even chirped along with the music.

They found communion a bit difficult to understand.

“I was at one church,” said the myna, “and at one point during worship everybody got up from their seats, stood in line to come up to the front, and ate a cookie.”

“A cookie?” said the saffron finch. “That sounds rather nice. I saw people taking pieces from a loaf of bread and dipping it in a cup. When it came out it was purple. Then they ate it.”

“Soggy bread?” asked the myna. “The cookie sounds better. But come to think of it, I’ve seen people dip little wafer cookies in a cup, too.”

“Sometimes the one up front drinks from a big cup,” observed the saffron finch.

“And sometimes everybody gets little cups,” said the myna.

“At this one church in Hilo,” said the saffron finch, “everybody gets a little baggie with a cup of juice and a square of something soft.”

“Bread?” asked the myna.

“We could hope it’s candy,” said the saffron finch.

“But what does it all mean?” asked the myna, and they thought about it.

“They’re sharing in a meal,” said the saffron finch slowly.

“It’s a pretty small one, for humans,” observed the myna.

“And they do have something to drink, and it’s pretty nearly always purple,” said the saffron finch, “and they do it together, even if they have to line up for it.”

“They always look like they’re prayerful, too,” said the myna, “as if God is right there in the bread and the cup.”

“They say that, too,” said the saffron finch. “This is the body of Christ, they say.”

“Perhaps,” said the myna, “this is a part of worship where they take in the blessings.”

“Perhaps,” said the saffron finch, “this is a part of worship where they stop talking to be nourished by God.”

I have to say that for two birds watching from outside, they did pretty well. Communion is when we remember Jesus’ gift to us in a way he told us to do: remembering his body in the bread, and remembering his blood in the cup. Communion is when we literally take those blessings inside ourselves by eating and drinking bread and wine (I’m afraid the myna was wrong about the cookies). Communion is when we Christians stop talking for a moment and let ourselves be filled by God.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I tell these stories in worship from memory of this manuscript – and between my memory and my affection for improvisation, things change.

Photo of a myna by Eric Anderson.

Sproing!

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

[Jesus said,] “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” – Luke 17:6

Look, Lord, I have faith!

Sproing!

You pointed at this mulberry tree, and look!

Sproing!

It’s gallivanting all about, prancing on the shore.
I know you said to tell it to take root, but look!
What eye could turn away from jigging roots
and twisting trunk, from limbs a-sweeping in the dance?

Sproing!

Now isn’t that great?

Sproing!

Jesus? Isn’t that good?

Sproing!

Look, Jesus, I admit that servants have to serve
and all, but look! A leaping tree!
The spray upon your cheek comes from its hula
in the waves!

Sproing!

What happened to, “Well done, my faithful one”
(now that I’ve demonstrated faith)?
What happened to, “Your faith has made you well” –
and in my case, not well, but great!

Sproing!

You really mean discipleship is not about
the majesty of miracle, but finds its roots
in gentler dance, in tender care,
in humble healing, and in righteousness?

Sproing!

All right, Jesus. Mulberry, take your place.
My place, it seems, is with
the cranky and demanding
healer.

A poem/prayer based on 17:5-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 22 (27).

Photo of a mulberry branch by Luis Fernández García – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=85431793.

Story: The Hardest Thing

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

September 25, 2022

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16

They were an unusual collection of friends. They literally came from different parts of the world: from land, from sea, and from air, a mongoose, a honu, and a kolea. I don’t know how it first happened, but they’d developed the habit of taking a spot on a beach, with the honu pulled up in the sun, and the kolea looking for tidbits, and the mongoose taking a brief rest while the three talked story.

Today they were deciding what was the hardest thing.

“Rocks are the hardest thing,” shuddered the mongoose. “They hurt my paws sometimes, and a couple times when I wasn’t careful I knocked my head on one. Rocks are definitely the hardest thing.”

“Rocks are pretty hard,” agreed the honu, “but they also make nice shelter when the waves are high. You just nestle in behind them.”

“I fell into water once,” said the kolea. “I have to say it was pretty hard.”

“That’s right,” said the honu. “Water is the hardest thing. When the waves are crashing over me or the undercurrent is pulling me away from the beach, I’m grateful for the rocks. They don’t do that.”

“You haven’t tried the air,” said the kolea. “That’s a hard thing for sure. This last flight here to Hawai’i Island, I wasn’t sure I’d make it. We flew into winds that just blew us back and back and back. I can’t imagine anything harder than that.”

The three of them thought about this for a good long time, tossing in more examples of how rocks and water and air were hard things, when the honu said, “I’m hungry.” His two friends agreed.

They were about to split up to find dinner, when the mongoose said, “Wait just a moment. Wait just a moment and let’s think about this moment.

“Do either of you know that you’ll find food? I mean, absolutely know?”

The honu and the kolea admitted that they didn’t, although the kolea took a quick look around for a handy bug before saying so.

“In this moment, we’re all hungry, we all need food, right? And none of us are certain that we’ll find it.”

“Yes,” said the honu, “but we hope we’ll find it.”

“Right,” said the kolea, “we hope we’ll find it.”

“But isn’t this the hardest thing?” asked the mongoose. “We know what we need now and we don’t know if we can find it – not for certain. We hope we will… but doesn’t that make hope the hardest thing?”

That’s how a mongoose, a kolea, and a honu discovered that hope – that time we spend between realizing what we need and finding what we need – is, indeed, the hardest thing. Hope carries us from one to the other, but it may not be an easy journey, and it’s harder than high winds or strong waves or a solid rock.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

In the video above, the story was told from memory of this manuscript. Between gaps of memory and flashes of inspiration, the two are not the same.

Photo of a honu (before the arrival of a mongoose or a kolea) by Eric Anderson.