Stories

Story: Those Birds

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

May 31, 2026

Genesis 1:1-2:4a
2 Corinthians 13:11-13

A lot of the honeycreepers in the mountain forests have brightly colored feathers. I think I’ve mentioned that before. The ‘apapane and the i’iwi are bright red and black. The ‘amakihi and the ‘akiapola’au are bright yellow. The ‘elepaio has these fascinating speckles in its feathers, even if they aren’t all that vibrant.

And then there’s the oma’o. The oma’o is basically gray. Gray head. Gray wings. Gray belly. Some brown in the back, but basically gray.

This oma’o felt perfectly fine about that. He didn’t see the need to show off his feathers. He was content to sing out with a good song when he felt like it, and to eat the berries and bugs he found. All in all, he felt pretty good about the world.

Except for the i’iwi.

He couldn’t help but notice that some of the i’iwi in the forest had some bad habits. They didn’t like other birds nearby when they were feeding. They didn’t like other birds nearby when they were singing. They didn’t like other birds nearby most of the time. If an ‘apapane settled nearby, they’d chase her away. If an ‘amakihi perched in a neighboring tree, they’d chase him away. Sometimes it felt like the most common sound in the forest was the wingbeats of an i’iwi chasing another forest bird.

Some i’iwi live alongside other birds without feeling the need to chase them away from flowers in blossom, but the oma’o didn’t actually notice that. It’s the noisy ones that get attention in the forest just as it is among people. The oma’o’s eye passed right over inoffensive i’iwi as their aggressive cousins chased ‘apapane and ‘amakihi away.

“I’iwi are evil,” the oma’o announced one day after one had bullied three ‘apapane, an ‘amakihi, and a confused ‘alawi (who doesn’t even eat the same food as and i’iwi) out of the neighboring stand of ohi’a trees. “Something should be done.”

“Like what?” asked his sister, who was perched nearby.

“I don’t know,” said the oma’o, “but look at what’s happening. What kind of world is that for ‘apapane and ‘amakihi to live in?”

The sister said nothing then, but she did some thinking. Could an entire kind of bird be evil? Could a combination of feathers and beak and diet and song make you automatically harm others?

She perched near her brother a couple days later and asked, “How are you different from the i’iwi?”

“That’s simple,” he said. “I’m not evil.”

“Okay,” she said, “but you’re alike in a lot of other ways. You’ve got feathers, and you fly. You’ve got a beak and feet that can wrap around a branch.”

“They’re nothing alike,” he protested. “My beak is straight and short; the i’iwi has one that is long and curved. I’ve got gray feathers; they’ve got red and black. I eat berries, they eat nectar. Most of all, I don’t chase other birds.”

“Do you think their red feathers make them chase other birds?” she asked. “The ‘apapane doesn’t. Or their curved beak? The ‘akiapola’au doesn’t. Or their diet of nectar? The ‘amakihi doesn’t.”

She looked him in the eye. “Isn’t it true that you don’t chase birds because you choose to? Isn’t it true that some i’iwi choose to, and some don’t? Isn’t it true that you and I have more in common with an i’iwi than we do with a nene, who doesn’t bother much of anyone at all?”

He had nothing to say.

“We’re all birds of the forest up here,” his sister told him. “We choose good and bad. I’iwi aren’t just evil. They’re our cousins, too, sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse. We can only encourage everyone to be better to one another.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from a combination of memory and improvisation. The story as I first wrote it does not match the story as I told it.

Photo of an oma’o by Eric Anderson.

Story: Whatever It Was

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

May 24, 2026

Acts 2:1-21
John 20:19-23

I don’t know what it was that he found in the tree. Maybe it was a collection of seeds. Maybe it was some burrowing insects. Maybe it was material for a nest. Whatever it was, he was the only house finch to know about it, and as far as he knew (or I know) the only bird in the neighborhood to know anything about it.

“Wow!” he said to himself, but not very loudly. He had already decided what to do with it all, you see (whatever it was). He had decided to keep it to himself.

“I’ll be really happy with all this,” he told himself, and he didn’t tell anybody else.

Having decided this treasure (whatever it was) was his, he settled into a nearby branch to protect it. He made sure he had a good lookout on the whereabouts of other birds, but he also made sure that he wasn’t too obvious. If other birds noticed that he wasn’t going much of anywhere, they might get curious. Not to mention if a cat noticed him staying still, the cat would get interested for different and more dangerous reasons.

So he perched on his branch, ducking down from time to time to avoid notice, and guarding his treasure. He only snuck away briefly to get water and eat. If you’re thinking, “Ah, ha! His treasure wasn’t food!” all I can say is, what if he wanted to avoid birds noticing that he didn’t have to go anywhere else to eat?

He kept guarding whatever it was.

One of his sisters finally noticed that she wasn’t seeing him in the usual places. She got worried, of course. When a brother goes missing, sisters get worried. She looked about for some time before she finally spotted him just before he ducked his head down out of sight again.

“What are you up to?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Have you been in this same spot all day? Why would you do that?”

“It’s a fine spot,” he said. “You should find one of your own.”

“What are you up to?” she said, and flew a little closer. Then she saw it.

Whatever it was.

She was impressed. “I can’t believe you found all that,” she sighed.

“It’s mine,” he told her. That surprised her. She didn’t think of him as that kind of bird.

“All right, it’s yours,” she said. “What are you going to do with it?”

Now, for the first time, he thought about it. His day in one spot in the tree hadn’t been all that great. He’d never really eaten or drunk quite enough, so he was uncomfortable. He was worried about cats. He hadn’t spoken to any of his friends or family until his sister came along. He hadn’t even seen when the finch races had taken place a short distance away.

“Keep it,” he said, but he didn’t put much heart in it.

“You can, I suppose,” she said, “but it seems lonely and uncomfortable to me. Wouldn’t things go better if you shared it?”

He thought some more. Then he nodded.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll stay here a bit longer to protect it, while you fly around and tell everyone about it. Then we can all share in it.”

And that’s what they did. They all shared it.

Whatever it was.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full in advance, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation). The story as I’ve written it is not the same as the way I told it.

Photo of two house finches by Eric Anderson. I don’t actually know that one of them is guarding anything at all.

Story: Bully’s Progress

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

May 17, 2026

1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

He was a year or so old, and he wore the red and black of an adult ‘apapane. He still thought of himself as young and growing and learning, and truly he was all of those things.

He was also the target of a bully in his generation and his neighborhood, and that wasn’t such a good thing.

There are, I’m afraid, bullies among the ‘apapane sometimes, as there are among the i’iwi and the ‘amakihi and, as I’m sure you know, among human beings. Like other bullies, this ‘apapane bully didn’t have much if any real reason to dislike our young and learning ‘apapane. He’d just taken it into his head that this was a good bird to pick on, and pick on him he did.

The bully would squawk at him when he saw him, and he’d call him names which I’m not going to repeat, because I don’t want you to go up to the mountain forests and start bullying ‘apapane. Sometimes the bully would dive at him while flying, and sometimes he’d dive at him when he was quietly perched in a tree. Worst of all, if the bully found him feeding on an ohi’a lehua, he’d land next to him and startle him away from his meal.

That’s pretty much what you’re seeing in the photo, isn’t it?

Our young and learning ‘apapane didn’t really know what to do about it. Not all, but all too many of the other birds in his flock and neighborhood seemed to egg the bully on. When he squawked, they’d stay silent. When he called him names, they’d laugh. When he swooped, they’d giggle. And when he drove him away from a meal, the most they’d do was cluck softly. The thing they simply wouldn’t do was help.

“What am I to do?” he asked his auntie one day. “Nothing stops this bully. Not soft chirps, and not loud protests. He’s pecked me more than once, and I’ve never pecked back, and if I even show signs of it he pecks harder. Nobody helps. Why? And what can I do?”

Auntie said, “I’ve seen more than a few bullies in the flocks, and there’s always someone they pick on worse than anyone else. It’s always bad and it’s always wrong. I’m really sorry it’s you.

“The other birds, I’m sorry to say, are afraid of the bully. They know that if it’s not you, it’s going to be somebody else, and that somebody will be one of them. It’s not very caring and it’s not very brave, but it’s what a lot of birds do.”

“So what do I do?” asked her nephew.

“You continue to be a kind, sensible, and caring bird,” said Auntie. “You help your flock to find food and sing songs and keep away from predators – even the bully. It takes time, and sometimes a long time, but the flock usually realizes that they are a flock, and a bully is just a bully, and when they realize that, the bully loses his hold on everyone, including you.”

“So I just wait?” asked our young and learning bird.

“You wait, and you show the rest of the flock what a good ‘apapane is,” said Auntie. “One of these days they’ll choose you.”

It took longer than it should have, but Auntie was right. The bully lost his power in the flock, and they stopped giggling and they stopped allowing him to pick on the other birds.

Among people, bullies can seem awfully strong, and they can be. Most of the time, communities figure it out and act to end the bullying, but it can take much longer than anyone thinks it should. We are also held in the heart and mind of God, who tolerates no bullying at all. So summon all your courage and summon all your heart, and remember that God wants you to be the best person you can be, and not to be like those who bully you.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. The story as I wrote it does not completely match the story as I told it.

Photo of two ‘apapane by Eric Anderson. In fairness, there’s no reason to believe either one is a bully.

Story: One Might Know

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

May 10, 2026

Acts 17:22-31
John 14:15-21

This story didn’t take place on our island, because although one of the birds in it lives on Hawai’i, the other doesn’t. I took this picture on Kauai, though both birds also live on O’ahu.

The one on the left, swimming in the water, with its red beak and red on its forehead, is an ala’e ‘ula, or Hawaiian gallinule. The one on the right, standing on long thin pink legs with white and black feathers and a very long straight black beak, is an ae’o, or Hawaiian black-necked stilt.

Both of them like to search for food in roughly the same kinds of places: relatively still and shallow water, like old fish ponds or coastal marshes. They don’t eat the same food, however. The ala’e ‘ula likes plant roots and seeds and shoots, and enjoys a snail or two. The ae’o mostly looks for fish, but will snap up water insects when it finds one.

Actually, the ala’e ‘ula will eat those insects, too, but neither of them is so fond of a diet of bugs to get very upset about it.

On this day the ae’o was getting somewhat upset, but not about bugs. It was fish. He couldn’t find many. Oh, one or two swam his direction, but where were the rest of them? He was getting hungry, and he was also getting irritated with the world. Being hungry does that to some people, and to some birds as well.

“Where are the fish?” he squawked in frustration.

“You can’t find fish?” asked an ala’e ‘ula a short way away.

“No, I can’t, and is that any of your business?” he said rudely.

“No, I suppose not,” said the ala’e ‘ula, who’d been feeding quite happily on roots and shoots and therefore wasn’t hangry with the world. “Would you like me to tell you if I find some fish?”

“You do what you want to do,” said the ae’o irritably, and as the ala’e ‘ula swam off to another section of the fishpond, grumbled to himself, “It’s not as if you’ll be of any help.”

It wasn’t very long, though, before the ala’e ‘ula swam back toward the hungry, grumpy ae’o. “Say, friend,” he said. “Take a look over there. There’s a good sized school of fish milling around eating flies.”

“How would you know?” demanded the ae’o, who couldn’t make out the flies on the water from where he stood.

The ala’e ‘ula shrugged. “One might know if one looks under water,” he said. “I was pulling up a root and there they were, all around. When I got my head out of the water I saw the flies swimming on the surface.

“I suppose you could make a meal of the flies if you have to,” he said thoughtfully, “but I imagine you like the fish better.”

“One might know,” muttered the ae’o as he stepped over to where the ala’e ‘ula had been, “but one probably doesn’t. More fool I.”

Then he saw the milling flies, and he saw the ripples where the fish had risen to the surface. He saw the water swirl as they swam beneath. In a moment he was there, and dipping his beak, and catching his fish, and feeling better than he had all day.

“I guess one might know at that,” he said when the ala’e ‘ula found him again shortly after.

“One might know,” said the ala’e ‘ula.

“Even better,” said the ae’o, “one might share what one knows. And the world gets a little bit better than it was.”

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 as written and the story as told are not identical.

Photo of an ala’e ‘ula (Hawaiian gallinule) and an ae’o (Hawaiian black-necked stilt) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Courage

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment
A bird with black feathers and a white bill, with a white forehead shield, swimming in gray water with droplets visible on its back.

May 3, 2026

Acts 7:55-60
John 14:1-14

The ala’e keokeo – also known as the Hawaiian Coot, and I guess it is pretty cute – lives along the shorelines, particularly enjoying the old fishponds built by the Hawaiians because the edges are rich in the water plants they like to eat. “Ala’e” means forehead, and “keokeo” means white – so the Hawaiians certainly called it by its appearance.

One young ala’e keokeo liked a lot about his life. He liked the sun, and he even liked the rain when it fell. He had brothers and sisters and parents and aunties and uncles in plenty, and even when they were teasing one another he liked them. He liked swimming in the fishpond, even if he didn’t have webbed feet like a duck. He liked the foods he ate: seeds, stems, and roots for the most part. There was only one problem.

He was afraid of the water.

Does it seem odd that he liked swimming but was afraid of the water? Well, it did to me, too. What he was afraid of was putting his head in the water. Plenty of people don’t like that, either. They’ll step into the water up to the shoulders, but put their head in? No.

That was his feeling about it. Put his head in the water? Absolutely not.

To be truthful, he could get along with his head firmly above water. The plant seeds he ate waved over the water, so that was OK. He could pull on stems from above, too. The only time it became a problem was with roots, and wouldn’t you know it?

One of his favorite foods was the root of a pond grass that he absolutely could not pull up from overhead. He tried and tried, and he could not do it.

He resigned himself to a life without his favorite root, but it turned out he didn’t have to. It turned out that when it came time to find someone to build a nest and hatch chicks with, she was a generous and compassionate bird. She didn’t tease him about not diving, the way his cousins did. Instead, from time to time she dove down and brought one or two up, and gave them to him.

He loved her for it.

When she laid their eggs, she stayed with the nest continuously for the first couple days – it would take them a while to learn that he could keep them warm, too. She got hungry, and he went back and forth from the grasses to the nest bringing her seeds and shoots.

As he set out for another foraging trip, he overheard her sigh, “I’m so hungry for a root or two.” She didn’t mean him to hear her, and he didn’t let on that he’d heard. That trip, though, he made sure to find some of those plants as he plucked seeds and shoots.

The next trip, he returned to that same spot. He looked at the water. It was fairly clear. He could see the bottom of the pond and knew just where the root would be. He closed his eyes and held a memory of his wife in his mind – then he dove into the pond.

He wasn’t good at it, because diving takes practice, but he did it, and he did it again until he gripped a root in his beak. He brought it back to the nest, where his wife gasped to see it.

“Here you are,” he said. “I knew you’d want one.”

“Thank you so much,” she told him. “This was so good of you.”

“I wanted to do it for you,” he said. And then he went back to do it again.

Sometimes courage comes from what we need, and sometimes it comes from wanting to do something for someone we love. Love can help us move through the fear and help us do amazing things for one another and for God.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation). The story as I wrote it and the story as I told it are not identical.

Photo of an ala’e keokeo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Good Advice

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
An 'elepaio: a small bird with mottled brown and cream feathers perched on a branch.

April 26, 2026

Acts 2:42-47
John 10:1-10

What do you need to know if you’re an ‘elepaio? It helps that most of the ‘elepaio are very curious, so they tend to ask themselves the questions and then find out the answers. Is it sunny on that side of the tree? Are there bugs to be had in that stand of koa over there? Can I catch a bug in mid-flight?

One young ‘elepaio was having some difficulty answering his questions, though. He was a bit overwhelmed with options. There were so many bugs flying around him, and how was he to know which ones were OK to eat, which ones were OK to eat but tasted bad, and which ones tasted the best? The world swirled with possibilities as the insects danced around him in the air and on the branches and on the leaves.

“What should I eat?” he chirped aloud, and a somewhat devious ‘amakihi heard him.

I think I’ve told you that most birds are basically truthful. Telling lies often means that you deceive yourself as much as anyone else, and a bird can’t live on lies in the mountain forests. This ‘amakihi, however, thought he might amuse himself (in a cruel way) with this young ‘elepaio and keep some of the tastiest insects for himself at the same time.

“Don’t you know, young one?” he called in his friendliest voice.

“Not really. There’s so many choices,” said the ‘elepaio.

“Let me sample them for you,” said the ‘amakihi. “That will help, won’t it?”

Honestly, the ‘elepaio thought that suggesting which ones to try would be more help, but before he could say so, the ‘amakihi had plucked a big spider off a tree branch.

“Oh, this isn’t very good,” he said, as he polished it off and laughed to himself because it was, in fact, delicious. “Stay away from these.”

“Okay,” said the ‘elepaio as the ‘amakihi plucked at another bug.

“Try one of these,” said the ‘amakihi. “They’re very good.” Which they weren’t, in truth, and small besides.

“Okay,” said the ‘elepaio, and he didn’t really think the bug tasted as good as other bugs, but maybe he hadn’t developed an appreciation for fine bug dining yet.

This went on for an afternoon, as the ‘amakihi enjoyed tasty bugs and recommended the sour bugs to the ‘elepaio. Eventually the ‘amakihi flew off with a cheery, “I’ll help you some more tomorrow!” and the ‘elepaio went to find his family.

“Grandmother, when will I learn to like the tasty bugs?” he asked her when he found her?

“The what?” she asked, and he explained the helpful ‘amakihi whose suggestions hadn’t tasted all that good to him.

“Oh, grandson,” she sighed. “I wish you’d come to me or another of our family with that question. The ones who know and love you are the ones who’ll give you the best advice. We care about you. We’ll do the best we can. We don’t know everything, and sometimes we’re wrong about things, but we’ll tell you the truth as we know it.

“I’m afraid this ‘amakihi told you a lot of things that aren’t true. And you’ve had a sour afternoon because of it. Here. Try this,” she said, and she plucked one of those spiders off a branch, and sure enough, it was delicious in his beak.

“Two things, grandson,” she told him. “The ones who know and love you will give you the best advice they can. More than that, remember: you’re an ‘elepaio. When you don’t know, try it for yourself. That’s what we do. We look at the world, we ask questions about it, and then we try to learn what’s true.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them during worship from memory (plus improvisation). The story as I wrote it does not match the story as I told it.

Photo of an immature ‘elepaio by Eric Anderson.

Story: Seeing Further

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

April 19, 2026

Acts 2:14a, 36-41
Luke 24:17-35

The ‘apapane was young. He didn’t have his red and black feathers yet. That was OK. He knew they’d come. He was content even with the somewhat odd look of red patches on his mostly white chest. He’d be wearing red and black soon.

It was also OK that he’d learned to fly and fly pretty well. There had been some awkward moments in the learning, even one or two painful moments when he’d misjudged a landing, but all in all, he was content with his feet and his tail and his wings.

What he wasn’t happy about was the local ohi’a trees.

He wasn’t very old after all, and he’d never seen the cycle of the ohi’a trees before. As far as he knew, ohi’a trees wore their red flowers all the time. That was his experience. But now whole groves in the forest had no flowers, and he thought that was awfully careless of them.

“Where will I find flowers?” he wanted to know.

He followed the flock to find them, of course, and each day they found plenty to eat, whether it was ohi’a nectar or bugs and caterpillars in the trees. But why weren’t all the trees in flower? That was how he remembered it. Wasn’t that how it should always be?

“Why aren’t the trees in bloom?” he asked aloud one day, and his grandfather overheard him.

“They can’t always be in bloom,” said grandfather, who had seen a few seasons and knew that flowers come and go.

“Why not?” demanded the grandson, who couldn’t think of any reasons why the world shouldn’t run the way he wanted it to run.

“Because otherwise we don’t get new trees,” said grandfather.

The grandson thought this sounded ridiculous and said so, but he followed his grandfather as they flew over to an ohi’a tree that was definitely bare of blossoms. They landed near the end of a branch, where there was a cluster of short brownish stalks. The grandson recognized that they had formed from a cluster of flowers.

“The flowers have died,” he said. “So what?”

“Look closer,” said grandfather, and he did.

One or two of the brown stalks had opened, revealing tiny flecks. “Those are ohi’a seeds,” said grandfather.

“They’re tiny,” said the grandson.

“They are,” agreed grandfather, “but if one roots in the right place, it can become a great tall tree. In another place, it becomes a shorter tree. Both of them will blossom many times. And both of their blossoms will fade and become these seed pods. Then the seeds blow away on the wind and new trees rise up.

“You can’t just look at what’s in front of you, grandson. You also have to look ahead to what might be, can be, or will be. Today’s flowers fade so that tomorrow’s flowers will bloom. Today’s seeds fly so that tomorrow’s trees can grow.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory and improvisation during worship on Sunday morning. The story you read does not precisely match the way I told it.

Photo of a juvenile ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: Surprise

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

April 5, 2026

Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18

Sometimes a bird on the mountainsides just takes a liking for a particular ohi’a tree. I don’t know whether the nectar tastes better, or if you get a particularly crunchy kind of bug, or if there’s something else that gets a bird excited.

This is about an i’iwi who had a favorite ohi’a tree.

He like other trees as well. When the mamane were in blossom, he’d happily sip from those flowers as well, but as far as he was concerned there was nothing better than his favorite ohi’a tree. The flowers were the right color red, he thought, and they’d get that lovely gold tip as they blossomed. Sometimes there weren’t any flowers on it, of course, but that just meant he’d develop an appetite as he waited for them to bloom again.

It was his favorite tree.

I think you know, however, that sometimes trees in the ohi’a forest die. Sometimes the wind blows them down. Sometimes an earthquake from the volcano shakes the soil loose beneath them. Sometimes an eruption knocks them down. And sometimes, I’m very sad to say, they get very sick very quickly. Their leaves fall and, all too often, no leaves grow ever again.

The i’iwi’s favorite tree got sick.

He didn’t notice at first. He noticed it didn’t have any blossoms, of course, but that wasn’t unusual. A tree can’t bloom all the time. But then he noticed that some of the leaves were browning and dropping away. It looked like the tree was trying to grow new leaves, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of them. The i’iwi realized that the tree was in bad shape.

He shouted out his frustration to the world.

He carried on with living. But he decided it would make him too sad to see his favorite tree get sick and maybe – probably – die, so he spent his time in other parts of the forest. There were good trees there. None of them were his favorite tree. None of them could ever be his favorite tree.

One day, however, the forest’s blossoms were scarce in the groves he’d been browsing. The pattern of flowers led him, tree by tree, toward his favorite tree. He didn’t really want to go there, but if that’s where the nectar was, that’s where the nectar was. Eventually he found himself flying right toward his favorite tree.

It was covered with bright red ohi’a lehua.

Imagine his surprise. He was sure the tree was dead, but it had survived, and it had even thrived. He flew around it, singing for joy. He settled onto a branch and lowered his long curved beak into a flower. The nectar tasted like heaven, even better than before, he thought.

This story is about Easter, but it’s not about mistaking who’s alive for someone who is dead. No. this story is about Easter because it’s about surprise. That i’iwi knew, knew to his soul, that his favorite tree was no more. Jesus’ friends and disciples, Simon Peter and Mary Magdalene, they knew that Jesus had died – as he had.

Both a Hawaiian bird and Mediterranean human beings learned that the world has more surprises in it than they’d imagined. An ohi’a that got better. A Savior who rose again to new life.

Happy Easter!

by Eric Anderson

Regrettably, there was a technical problem this morning, and the story was not recorded.

Story: All the Things

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

April 5, 2026

Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18

You’ve heard, I know, that there are some birds that winter with us here in Hawai’i, and that they fly to Alaska for the summer. Those birds might prefer to fly on a big jet, like you and I, but they use their own wings, even though some of them are pretty small birds. The kolea are the best known, but we’re also saying farewell to hunakai, ‘ulili, and ‘akekeke in the next month or so.

An ‘akekeke getting ready to fly looks like, well, it looks like an ‘akekeke does most of the time. It hops around the sands and stones and grasses near the ocean looking for crabs, worms, small fish, and basically anything it can eat.

A little flock of ‘akekeke noticed, however, that one of their number never seemed to pause much. Oh, she’d rest when she needed to, but the rest of the time her beak was pointed down, following her eyes constantly searching out the next worm, or small fish, or crab. She’d pause when she’d really filled herself up, but even with that she was hunting far more than her family or friends.

“What are you up to?” they asked her.

“I’m getting ready for the big flight,” she said.

“We all are, but we’re not eating all the time. You’re eating all the time. Why?”

“I want to make sure I can get all the things before it’s time to go,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” they asked her. “You can’t eat all the things. There’s too many things to eat to do that. And where would you put them?”

“I know,” she said, “but I’m going to look for as many as I can find, and who knows? Maybe that will be all the things.”

Why do I tell you this story? Well, it’s because out there along the walkways of the church there are Easter eggs. Some of them are ones you colored yesterday, and they look amazing. Some of them have sweets in them, and the sweets (not the plastic eggs) taste amazing.

What’s important, however, is that we find all the things. All the dyed eggs. All the plastic eggs. All the eggs you can use to make egg salad. All the eggs that have goodies in them.

Be like the ‘akakeke this morning. Find all the things!

by Eric Anderson

I tell two stories on Easter Sunday. I told this one just before the keiki began the annual Easter Egg hunt, where it is really important to find all the eggs. For the record, they did!

This story was not recorded.

Story: The Colt

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

March 29, 2026

Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 21:1-11

Today’s story doesn’t take place in the forests of Hawai’i. Nor does it take place in our time. It starts in a small village not far from Jerusalem, and it takes place on a day we’re familiar with because we celebrate it each year.

Surprise! It’s Palm Sunday.

He was a very young donkey. He’d only lived in one place, and he’d only really experienced one other creature, and that was his mother. He drank his milk and experimented with grass and hay and basically thought that life was pretty good, if a little dull.

On that day, however, a couple strangers came by and began to untie his halter and his mother’s halter from the fence. “What’s going on?” he asked his mother, who understood human language better than he did.

“These men say that the Lord needs us,” she said with some surprise.

“What does that mean?” he wondered, and his mother didn’t know, either.

Mystified, they followed the two strangers to a group of strangers. They put cloaks over his mother’s back and over his back, and then one of them sat on his mother while his friends cheered.

“What’s going on?” he asked his mother in some fright.

“They’ve asked us to carry Jesus to the city,” said his mother. “Just walk by me and everything will be fine.”

Off they went. One of the men led his mother along the road, though she seemed to know where she was going anyway. He trotted alongside – his legs were shorter than his mother’s, so he had to go faster to keep up.

As they made their way down a hill, other people began to gather along the road. They began to shout at Jesus and his companions. Some of them took their cloaks off and laid them on the road in front of the two donkeys. Others had taken branches from the trees and were waving them in the air as they shouted. Some of the leaves covered the road and the cloaks, and as the donkeys’ hooves stepped on them, they made a lovely scent rise.

“What are they saying?” he asked his mother, a little frightened by all the shouting.

“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord,” said his mother with wonder in her voice. “And they’re calling, ‘Help us! Save us!’”

The little donkey didn’t know how they were going to do that. He didn’t even know how he was going to help his mother carry Jesus. Abruptly, he knew that the thing he wanted most in the world, in fact, was to help his mother carry Jesus. He nuzzled up to her side.

“Let me help,” he said plaintively.

She said nothing at all, because Jesus reached over and rested his hand on the little one’s head. Just his hand. It didn’t weigh much at all. Jesus even scratched him behind the ears a little. But he proudly carried that hand along the way, through the city gates, and up the streets as the crowds grew and kept calling out in joy and with need:

“Help us! Save us! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them from memory (and a certain amount of improvisation). The story as you read it is not necessarily as I told it.

The image is The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem by Master of Maderuelo (12th cent.) – photographed by Zambonia 2011-09-29, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17158568.