“[Jesus said,] [The rich man] said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him [Lazarus] to my father’s house–for I have five brothers–that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.'” – Luke 16:27-28
O Holy One,
When I should find myself (again) in torment I have made myself, may my compassion and my wisdom be enough to call a warning to the ones I love, and to the ones I don’t, with my own voice, and not rely upon the voice of those I have oppressed.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 16:19-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 21 (26).
The image is “The Parable of the Rich Man and the Beggar Lazarus,” an illustration in the Codex Aureus Epternacensis (Golden Gospels), by the Master of Codex Aureus Epternacensis – The Yorck Project (2002) 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei (DVD-ROM), distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. ISBN: 3936122202., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=155243.
He was a yellow-billed cardinal, and he was young. He was so young, in fact, that the feathers on the top of his head weren’t red; they were brown. He was so young that his bill wasn’t yellow, it was tan.
He was old enough to be living mostly on his own, finding his own food among the seeds and berries, and his own shelter for the night. He was old enough to enjoy a sunrise or a sunset, and he was old enough to enjoy sitting quietly in the sun.
What he wasn’t old enough for was to understand what “peace” was.
That may seem odd, given that sitting quietly and enjoying the sunshine sounds pretty peaceful, but it didn’t always feel that way. For one thing, if he sat in the sunshine for too long, he’d start to feel hungry. Feeling hungry, he thought, wasn’t very peaceful. I guess he had a point there. Being uncomfortable isn’t very peaceful.
Worse than that, though, when he got hungry, he had to find food. He knew how to do that, of course. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that other birds would show up, and he didn’t like that. Other yellow-billed cardinals were usually OK – he knew a couple of them that tended to tease him – but he really didn’t like it when different kinds of birds turned up. House finches made him nervous. House sparrows were kind of scary. Saffron finches made him feel uneasy about his rather dull coloring.
Worst of all, as you might guess, were the mynas. For one thing, they had brighter yellow bills than he did. For another, they were a good deal bigger. And, of course, they were often really loud, really argumentative, and really frightening.
As he got older and his head feathers turned red and his bill turned more yellow, he still didn’t like it when other birds turned up while he was feeding. He didn’t really notice that the finches and sparrows and kolea really paid him no mind. They just got on with looking for bugs and seeds and worms to eat. So when the myna turned up near him while he was eating, he jumped.
“What’s wrong, youngster?” asked the myna. “Is there something wrong?”
“Oh, no, myna sir,” said the yellow-billed cardinal. “Nothing wrong at all.”
“You jumped,” said the myna. “Did something startle you?”
“Well,” said the cardinal, “you did. You caught me by surprise when you landed.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” said the myna, who sounded somewhat relieved. “Sorry about that. You had me worried for a minute there.”
“You worried?” said the yellow-billed cardinal. “Why?”
“Some birds get upset about mynas,” said the myna. “They think we’re loud and obnoxious. They don’t like it when we’re around.”
The yellow-billed cardinal had thought such things, so he thought that now he’d better stay quiet.
“I’m glad you’re not like that,” said the myna. “I could do with a bit of peace today.”
That’s when the yellow-billed cardinal learned what peace could be – a time when creatures who were rather different could live side-by-side, meet their needs, and not fear one another. A yellow-billed cardinal could be safe from the bullying he feared from a bigger bird. A myna could be safe from the rejection and disdain of a smaller bird.
“I could use a bit of peace myself,” said the yellow-billed cardinal. “Let’s enjoy it while we can.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory, which means things change.
First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. – 1 Timothy 2:1-2
In a perfect world, prayer should have been enough to win a quiet life in peace, in godliness and dignity. In a perfect world, the Emperor would offer thanks for prayer, would offer to his subjects tranquil peace.
But it is not a perfect world, now is it, Paul? Instead of peace, the emperor presented you a sword, and not to hold. It stilled your tongue, your pen, your breath, and yes, your prayers.
We struggle still to pray for those who persecute our neighbors and ourselves, whose hands retain their firmest grip upon the sword, and strike the pen, the lips, the breath, the prayers from us.
A poem/prayer based on 1 Timothy 2:1-7, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 20 (25).
The image is of the mosaic including the beheading of Saint Paul in the Cathedral of Monreale, Sicily (ca. late 12th early 13th centuries). Photo by Holger Uwe Schmitt – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=128492483.
There was a tree, an ohi’a tree, that stood on the cliffside above Kilauea Iki. The tree had stood there long years. He was tall. He was grand. And he was proud.
He looked down upon the mostly flat black rock of Kilauea Iki and sniffed. There were ohi’a trees down there, too, but they were small and bushy. The tallest rose no more than eight or nine feet, less than a tenth of this tree’s one hundred foot crown.
“You’re so small,” he said to the little ohi’a trees below. “What difference can you make?”
Next to him stood another tree, just as tall, just as grand, but not so proud and rather wiser. “Don’t you remember?” she asked him. “This was no more than a pond of lava years ago. These trees had to catch every drop of rain. They had to make their own soil. Someday this crater will be filled with trees, and it will be because these trees got it started.”
“Well, all right,” huffed the other tree. “But what about these little bugs that crawl all over me? They’re even smaller. And they nibble at me. And they itch. They can’t be of any use.”
His neighbor looked him over and said, “These are the same creatures that attract the birds to you. Between the birds and the bugs, they carry the pollen around that means there will be ohi’a seeds.”
“Seeds,” huffed the proud tree. “What good are they? They’re even tinier than the bugs!”
“Seeds,” said the wise tree, “mean that there will be a future for our forest up here on the cliffsides as well as in the rocky bottoms of the craters. Seeds mean new trees where there hadn’t been any before.”
“Seeds,” she said softly, “mean that when we are measuring our height on the forest floor, there will be other trees rising over us.”
The proud tree huffed again. “There could never be a tree as grand as me,” he said, and he ruffled his branches in the breeze.
“Seeds,” said the wise tree, as she watched a little cloud of them dance in the wind from the proud tree, “Seeds mean that there will be a forest even grander than either of us.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory (and a little bit of inspiration). What you have just read does not precisely match what you’ll see.
Photo of an ohi’a in the Kilauea Iki crater by Eric Anderson.
“[Jesus said,] ‘Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?'”
What is the value of a single coin? Not much today, when we make money with printing upon paper, or with electronic imagination.
What is the value of a single coin? It might be little even in those ancient days, unless, of course, it was a tenth of everything she owned.
What is the value of a single coin? It might be food to take me through the day, or into a coming week, or possibly next year.
What is the value of a single coin? Enough to set me searching high and low, to bear the cost of burning oil in the lamp, to celebrate the sudden silver gleam amidst the dark.
What is the value of a single coin? A better question might be this: What is the value of a single human soul? Enough, said Jesus, for the heavens to rejoice.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 15:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 19 (24).
Kilauea, whose peak rises just around 30 miles from my home, resumed erupting in the summit caldera in December 2024. As September begins, there have been 32 eruption “episodes,” including some very dramatic fountaining reaching heights of over 1200 feet. Of the 32, I have observed 14 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.
People, in general, don’t do well if they eat a lot of food quickly. It’s a good way to feel sick. Sometimes, somebody who eats a lot of food really quickly will get sick.
Ick.
The young ‘akekeke had learned something similar from his parents as they led him and his sister and brothers around the Alaskan tundra near where they’d hatched. There they found the bugs and worms that filled their bellies and kept them growing. Both mother and father, however, warned them against eating too much, and after one of his brothers ignored their advice and got a nasty stomachache the rest of the chicks decided their parents knew something after all.
As the summer wore on, it became time for the trip to Hawai’i. The four chicks became fledglings, learned to fly, and watched as more and more of the ‘akekeke began flying toward the coast. Their mother joined in with lots of the other mothers, leaving them with their father to finish flight school with him.
Even more birds departed before their father gathered them along with some other youngsters into a little flock and said, “It’s time to get ready.” They flew to the shoreline where they found a number of other groups of ‘akekeke probing through the shallows for small fish and shrimp.
“It will be time soon,” said their father, “to make the long flight to Hawai’i. You’ll need all the energy you can get for this. So eat. Eat all you can. Eat more than you think you can.”
“But wait,” said his son. “You’ve been telling us for weeks not to eat too much. In fact, when our brother tried it anyway, he got sick. Are you telling us that was wrong?”
“It was wrong then,” said father, “but now we’re doing something very different. We’re making a long flight and there’s nowhere to stop and eat until we get there. This is the time to plan. This is the time to prepare. This is the time to get ready.”
The young ‘akekeke wasn’t convinced. He wasn’t convinced that eating a lot was a good idea, even though his sister and two brothers had plunged right into an outcrop of mussels. He also wasn’t sure that taking such a long flight was a good idea, even if so many of the adults had already gone. His father looked at him with sympathy and with love.
“There’s some time, youngster,” he said. “Take time. Consider. I don’t think you’ll enjoy staying here for the winter – it gets cold, you see. But think it over. I hope you’ll join us.”
The young ‘akekeke thought about it. He thought about being cold, which he couldn’t really imagine. He thought about eating more than he ever thought possible, which he couldn’t really imagine, either, but he could see that his father, sister, and brothers didn’t seem to have any troubles as they ate their way along the shoreline. He thought about Hawai’i, which he also had trouble imagining, since he’d never been there before. Mostly he thought about being the only ‘akekeke in Alaska when everybody else had gone.
A little while later he was industriously feeding himself alongside his father.
“I’ve thought it over,” he said, “and I’ll stick with you.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them without notes, so the text I prepared does not match the way I told it in worship.
Photo of an ‘akekeke (ruddy turnstone) on Hawai’i Island by Eric Anderson.
“[Jesus said,] ‘For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, “This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.”‘” – Luke 14:28-30
What are we, Jesus, except people (men, women, beyond the binary) who have begun to build and have not finished?
The Church may be your body, Jesus (an image which you did not create), but if it is, it’s a growing body. Growing, perhaps, and barely born.
It’s a tower rising slowly. Is there a course of stones or even less above the ring of the foundation?
How many Christ disciples over the millennia have hesitated, dropped their stones before they’ve placed them on the wall?
It is no wonder that so many ask derisively, “Do you still hope to finish this construction, grow this Church?
“The walls are fragile, trembling in a gentle breeze. They waver from their courses so that any stone which rests upon them will inevitably fall.”
Well, Jesus, here’s my stone. I’m not sure it’s well shaped. I’m not sure it’s well placed. But here it is. Long may it stand.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 14:25-33, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 18 (23).
Up on the mountain slopes, there are a lot of very colorful birds. The i’iwi and the ‘apapane are the brightest in color, with those glistening red feathers and the contrasting black of their wings. They’re not alone, though. The ‘amakihi makes a pretty brave sight in yellow, and the ‘akiapola’au is brighter still. Add in the colors of the flowers on the trees and on the bushes, and the forest is a pretty colorful place.
And then there’s the ‘alawi. The ‘alawi isn’t brightly colored. It’s grayish green with some yellow tint on the belly. It’s not even a strong singer. It has a pretty plain kind of call. It’s so understated, in fact, that people went many years before making the connection between the old Hawaiian word “’alawi” and a bird westerners called the “Hawai’i Creeper.”
Mostly, this hasn’t bothered the ‘alawi at all, since they don’t pay much attention to what people think of them. But one of them did start to feel bad. In the midst of a forest full of bright red ‘apapane, orange ‘akepa, and yellow ‘akiapola’au, who would notice a little green ‘alawi?
“It’s a pity I’m so drab,” he told himself one day. “I’m going to change that.”
I have to admit that his approach had some promise. He was going to start wearing jewelry – that is, he was going to tuck a flower behind his ear, as we see so often from human women in Hawai’i. He was so clever that he came up with the idea himself – he really didn’t pay much attention to people.
There was, however, a problem. Oh, he could grasp flowers with his feet quite well. But when you want to tuck a flower behind your ear, it really helps to have, well, ears.
An ‘apapane watched him do this and asked, “Why? I mean, why?”
“I want to be noticeable,” he said with some embarrassment. “I don’t want to be drab.”
“I’m noticing,” said the ‘apapane, “and I guess you aren’t drab. But you do look silly. Is that how you want to be noticed?”
This might have gone on for a while, but it turned out to be another of those dry times in the forest, and it got harder and harder to find things to eat. For the ‘alawi that’s mostly bugs. Everyone in the forest was feeling the pinch in their bellies.
Our friend the ‘alawi, however, got lucky one day. He found a stand of trees that were better watered, and the flowers on them had attracted a good crowd of insects. He flew over to feed, but stopped. He didn’t want anyone else to be hungry while he ate his fill. So he started to call the ‘alawi’s plan song. That didn’t seem to attract anyone, so he found an ‘akiapola’au and brought him to those trees. The ‘akiapola’au whistled, and some other birds and some other birds and some other birds made their way over, sang their songs, and settled in to eat.
Hopping along a tree branch, the ‘alawi met the ‘apapane he’d seen a few days before.
“You found a way to be noticed, youngster,” said the ‘apapane.
“I did?” said the ‘alawi.
“You did,” said the ‘apapane. “We’ve all noticed you, and not for wearing a flower. We’ve all noticed you for being the considerate and compassionate bird you are. Well done. And thank you.”
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Story
I write these stories in advance, but I tell them without notes, so between memory and improvisation the story as I told it is different from the story as I wrote it.
“[Jesus said,] ‘But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, “Friend, move up higher”; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.'” – Luke 14:10
Is it fair to tell you I’m waiting, Jesus? Yes, waiting for you to return in power. Yes, waiting for resurrection’s dawn. Yes, waiting for the Day of the Lord.
But I’m also waiting for your advice to work.
For truly, and sadly, I’m just as proud as ever I was. When others are honored, a part of me waits to hear my name called though I know that it’s not about me.
But Jesus, you know, it’s still about me.
I’ve no cause to complain. I’m aware that the praise I’ve received is more than I’m due. I know it, and know I should head for the end of the room, and take my place there,
But Jesus, you know I don’t like to be there.
I like the limelight, the spotlight, the office. I like the small pond where my frog looks big. I like it, and sure I’ve received it quite often. I’ve heeded the summons of, “Friend, move up higher.”
But Jesus, I don’t always think I should be.
I can’t say I’ve bidden the poor to my table. I can’t say I’ve done all the work I could do. I can’t say I’ve lifted the spirits beside me. I can’t say I’ve always been guided by you.
So Jesus, I’ll wait, and I’ll pray that you call.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 14:1, 7-14, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 17 (22).
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