Stories

Story: Easter Egg Mystery

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

April 9, 2023

Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 28:1-10

The island creatures had heard about Easter eggs, and they could not figure it out.

“Why would you take eggs out of a perfectly good nest?” asked the ‘apapane.

“We went to such trouble building it in the first place,” said the ‘amakihi, which builds a nest that is much bigger than its eggs.

“You don’t need to build a nest at all,” said the Manu-o-Ku, which lays its egg precariously on a branch to balance there until it hatches.

“You’ve got to keep your eggs protected from the sea spray,” said the noio.

“You could always put your eggs on ledges higher up the mountain,” pointed out the koa’e kea, which was maybe a little bit of a mean thing to say to the noio.

“Or you could lay your eggs in Alaska,” said the kolea, but nobody else really wanted to think about that except for the ‘akekeke which does much the same thing.

“Why would you want to put color on them?” wondered the ‘io. “Our eggs are a nice blue when they’re new, and then they turn paler.”

“We like mottled eggs,” said the ‘akepa. “They’re harder for egg eaters to see in the nest.” Everybody looked a little puzzled at this, because the ‘akepa is bright orange and hard to hide from anything.

“We like mottled eggs, too,” said the i’iwi, and now everybody was puzzled but nobody said anything.

“I also don’t see why you’d hide the eggs,” said the pueo. “A nest in the grass is fine.”

“I prefer a tree,” said the mejiro.

“A palm tree,” said the myna.

“A beach,” said the honu, and everybody looked at her.

“Dig a hole, lay your eggs, and cover it over. That’s how to do it,” she said with assurance, and all the other turtles agreed. The birds were almost as confused about this as about Easter eggs. But that got them all to turn to… the chicken.

“What?” she asked.

“Those humans are using chicken eggs,” they told her.

“That doesn’t mean I understand what they’re doing,” she said.

They waited and they didn’t say anything.

The chicken sighed and said, “I really don’t understand what it all means, but I have seen what they do and how they feel about it. They take eggs that aren’t going to hatch – which makes no sense to me, because what good is an egg that isn’t going to hatch? – and as you’ve all noticed, they put bright colors on it. While they’re doing it, they’re smiling and laughing. They’re doing it together, so when one colors an egg, another one tells them how beautiful it is. When they’re done, they admire them together, and congratulate everyone for a job well done.”

“I guess that must feel good,” said the kolea. “What about the hiding?”

“The adults hide the eggs, and the young ones look for them. And when they do, they’ve got those big smiles again, and they’re laughing. They get excited to find the eggs they’ve colored and the ones the other keiki have colored, even if they aren’t going to hatch.”

“Oh, and they also hide and find eggs that aren’t real eggs,” the chicken said. “Those have food in them.”

Everybody nodded at this. Everybody likes to find food.

“I think the point is the joy,” said the chicken. “From beginning to end, these eggs are about joy. Coloring them, hiding them, finding them, and celebrating them. These eggs are about joy.”

They all nodded at this, too. Eggs are about joy for birds and turtles.

And, it turns out, eggs – Easter eggs – are about joy for human beings, too.

by Eric Anderson

I told this story to begin the children’s Easter Egg hunt on Sunday, April 9, 2023. Unlike stories told in worship, it was not filmed or recorded.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Keep it Humble

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

April 2, 2023

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

I imagine you have some idea of the story of the first Palm Sunday, probably because we just read the story. It’s been a year since the last one, though, so let me remind you of the basics. On Jesus’ last visit to Jerusalem, he sent two of his disciples to borrow a donkey for him to ride. As the donkey walked up into the city with Jesus on its back, people waved tree branches – palms, for the most part, I guess – and put their cloaks on the road to soften the donkey’s feet, and shouted a welcome to Jesus that also begged him to save them. It was a big, noisy, spectacle.

One thing the gospels leave out, however, is what the disciples said to Jesus when he told them to get a donkey, and what they said to each other as they were going to get it.

Here’s what I imagine they said to each other.

“Well, we lost that argument.”

“Have you ever won an argument with Jesus?”

“Well, no. But I was hoping this was the first time.”

“I was rooting for you. I mean, you were absolutely right. We should get Jesus a horse.”

“He said no.”

“I know he said no. But can’t you imagine Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a horse? It would be so cool.”

“Everybody would cheer. And then they’d follow him. He’d look just like a Messiah on a horse.”

“Yeah. And look! There’s a horse!”

Now I imagine the two of them standing there, looking at the horse.

“What a great horse.”

“Very noble.”

“And… Jesus said no.”

“He did. We lost that argument.”

“Here’s the donkey he told us to find.”

The two of them looked at it.

“The horse was better.”

“The horse was a lot more impressive.”

“The horse was royal.”

“He’ll look like just anybody on a donkey.”

“They might cheer anyway.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Why do you suppose he insisted on a donkey?”

“I don’t know. I mean, you’re a king on a horse. On a donkey, you’re just anybody.”

“A humble anybody.”

“Really humble.”

I’m not sure all that many people value humility these days. There weren’t a lot of people who valued it two thousand years ago. I think it’s worth pointing out, though, that one person who chose to be humble was… Jesus.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

When I tell the story, it’s from memory – I can’t quite resist improvising in the telling!

The image is L’ânon de Bethphagé (The Foal of Bethpage) by James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.191_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957484.

Story: Dry Season

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

March 26, 2023

Ezekiel 7:1-14
John 11:1-45

A dry season had come to the ohi’a forest, and one ‘apapane was worried about it.

She still considered herself young, but she’d long since left the nest, and for most of her life things had been rather predictable in her forest. That is, there would be rain, and there would be sun, and there would be clouds, and there would be rain again. It was often hard to tell when any of those things would happen, but she knew that they would happen, and if it seemed to rain for a long time, the sun would come again.

That season, however, had been very sunny, and the nights had had mostly clear skies. Clouds had spread across the sky sometimes, but they’d been high up and they hadn’t been the sources of rain. She’d been accustomed to sipping water from the tops of leaves from time to time, but she hadn’t been able to do that for several days. That was all right; she could satisfy her thirst with nectar, but she could tell that the trees were beginning to suffer from the dryness themselves.

Trees that went into blossom produced fewer flowers. Other trees simply didn’t go into blossom, or seemed to be putting it off. She was doing all right for now, but she wondered – she worried – about what would happen if this went on. Would there come a day with no flowers at all?

She sang a sad little song as she settled into a branch to sleep overnight. It was a song about sadness and fear and just a hint of hunger and thirst. The ohi’a heard the song, and when it was done, the tree sang its reply in the breeze rustling its leaves.

The ‘apapane didn’t really hear the tree’s song, she was asleep. Instead, the song became something of a dream, and in the dream she saw the sun leaping from the horizon, speeding across the sky, and diving below the opposite horizon – and then it all happened again, faster and faster. She realized, in wonder, that she was seeing days race by in seconds. Those days included sunshine and clouds and rain, but each one took just a brief time before the sun was flying across the sky with the next day again.

Then, in her dream, came a series of days in which the sky stayed blue and the rain didn’t fall. Day after day, and in her dream she saw the flowers fade and wither on the ohi’a. She wondered if this was a sign that the end was near… but then, in her dream, the sun rose one morning behind clouds, and as the sun raced invisibly across the sky, the clouds streamed rain upon the waiting trees below.

As the dream went on, she saw long dry periods and long wet periods, but they both came to an end, turning to rain if they’d been dry and to sun if they’d been rainy.

“Do not fear, little one,” she heard the tree sing as the dream drew to a close. “Do not fear.”

She woke to see the sun rising again, now at its normal pace, and the tree now silent in the still air of the morning. She shook herself awake, and saw that overnight the tree had produced a new set of blossoms – not many, but plenty for breakfast.

“Thank you, tree,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard the tree singing or not. Still, it’s good to give thanks for breakfast.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I won’t fear.”

Good things and bad things come to us in life. The bad news is that the good things will come to end from time to time. The good news is that the bad things will come to an end, too. Do not fear, because the best news of all is that God’s love is the good thing that never ends.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories first, and then tell them from memory – well, memory and invention – which explains the differences between the text I prepared and the story I told.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Your Fault!

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

March 19, 2023

Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

The two i’iwi – I don’t know whether they were husband and wife or brother and sister or cousins or friends, but there was he and there was she – were very excited. Setting out early in the morning, they had found an ohi’a tree that had gone into full blossom overnight. From its lowest branches to the tip of its crown, it glowed bright red in the dawn. The scent of nectar – which I can’t smell, can you? But they could – wafted out among the other trees, some of which had a few blossoms, but nothing compared to this marvel.

They settled in to feed.

“Let’s keep this for ourselves,” said he to she.

“We’ll keep this for ourselves,” said she to he.

Shortly after they arrived, along came an ‘amakihi eager for breakfast. The two i’iwi promptly drove him away, determined to keep all the nectar for themselves. Another i’iwi appeared and they chased him off, too. As the sun slowly rose into the sky, the two birds kept others away as they appeared, sipping nectar in between to keep their strength up.

About mid-morning an ‘apapane sniffed out the nectar and the blossoms and the tree and flew straight into the walloping wingbeats of the i’iwi. “Go away and never come back!” shrieked the “he” i’iwi. “And don’t tell anyone else about this tree!” screamed the “she” i’iwi.

“Uh, oh,” said he to she.

“What?” said she to he, though she knew.

“That’s an ‘apapane. They’ll tell anybody,” said he to she.

“They’ll tell everybody,” said she to he.

Sure enough, the birds began to arrive in larger numbers. Before it had been just one at a time. Now they came in pairs, in double pairs, in sixes and sevens and eights. The two i’iwi zoomed around the tree, using their bright red feathering and bright red voices to startle other birds away. As she chased some ‘amakihi away, he noticed an ‘apapane – it as the same one who’d spread the word earlier – swoop in, settle on a cluster of blossoms, and get a good sip of nectar before he took off again, with the he i’iwi in pursuit.

“That was your fault!” said he to she.

“That was your side of the tree!” said she to he.

The birds kept coming – i’iwi, ‘apapane, ‘amakihi, mejiro, and I do know who all. They kept coming and no two birds in the entire world could have kept them all away. Still, the forest rang with the angry shouts of the two i’iwi.

“That was your fault!” said he to she.

“That was your fault!” said she to he.

In fact, they’d lighted on an ohi’a branch to better carry on the argument rather than chase other birds away from the tree. They didn’t even eat, despite the deep red blossoms glistening with nectar next to them.

“Ahem,” said a voice. They stopped their shrieks and turned to see that first ‘apapane, the one who’d spread the word, perched nearby.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s been a delicious breakfast.”

With one motion, the two i’iwi pointed their beaks at the ‘apapane and screamed, “This is your fault!”

“It might be, I suppose,” he mused, “but whose fault it is doesn’t get you any breakfast.” And off he flew.

The two i’iwi, hungry, throat-sore, and tired from all the morning’s chases, looked at one another, looked at the flowers, and had breakfast.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I tell my stories from my memory of the text I’ve prepared. Inevitably, it is different from what I’ve prepared.

Photo of an i’iwi by Gregory “Slobirdr” Smith – https://www.flickr.com/photos/slobirdr/32085166458/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93213259.

Story: The ‘Amakihi’s New Feathers

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

March 5, 2023

Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17

The ‘amakihi was concerned. He was about 15 months old, feeling something like an adult – I know that’s young for a human being but he was an ‘amakihi, and they grow faster. Come to think of it, they haven’t got quite as much growing to do. He could fly. He could find food. He could sing. All in all, he had a pretty good ‘amakihi life.

He didn’t want it to change.

His feathering was still that of a younger ‘amakihi, which is basically a medium green with some hints of yellow. Some birds might think it dull – the bright red i’iwi might say so – but he rather liked it. It matched the leaves of an ohi’a tree rather nicely. Sometimes he thought of that as safety from circling i’os. Sometimes he thought of it as a fashion statement. Anyway, he liked his feathers, their color, and their shapes.

He didn’t want it to change.

But… it was starting to change and he knew it.

Already he’d had a couple of his big wing feathers fall out and grow back, and more were coming. He’d been through feather molting before, and he knew what was coming. The wing feathers would go and grow, and then the smaller feathers on his head and chest. Even with the first wing feathers he could see the change in color. They were less green, more yellow, and he knew that when the new feathers came on his chest they’d be bright yellow in the sun.

And he didn’t want it to change.

He couldn’t think of a single thing to do about it, so he went to his grandmother. “Tutu,” he said, “what do I do? My color is changing and I don’t want it to!”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

“Nothing, but I like how I am now. I don’t want to change.”

“You don’t want to change?” she asked, and when he said no, she took to her wings and called, “Follow me!”

The first thing they saw was a butterfly flitting through the air. When they landed, there was a caterpillar on the branch. “One of these,” said Tutu, “made a big change to become one of those,” and she pointed her beak at the butterfly. “Do you think it was worth it?”

“To fly? Yes, I do,” said her grandson, and flew off after Tutu again.

They took a look at an ‘amakihi nest, where two young birds had hatched, grown, and taken their first flights over the previous several weeks. They were about ready to leave for a life of their own. “Did you want to stay in the nest?” asked Tutu.

“Of course not,” he said.

“But that was a change.”

“I suppose it was,” he said.

“Life is filled with change,” said Tutu. “Some are big, like the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly, or the ‘amakihi that leaves the nest. Some are smaller, like the bright yellow feathers that are coming to you. Perhaps you’ll become a parent, and that’s a big change, and perhaps there will be a lava flow in our forest, and that’s a big change.”

“So what do I do?” he asked.

“Make the best new you as you grow and change,” said Tutu gently. “Find delight in new things where you can, and make delight when the new things come hard. You’ll always be a new you. Be a loving and caring new you.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I tell my Sunday morning stories from memory of what I’ve written. Memory and what’s written… rarely match.

Photo of an ‘amakihi in mature feathering 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=74674240.

Story: The Untempted ‘Apapane

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

February 26, 2023

Psalm 32
Matthew 4:1-11

I think you may have heard the story I’m not telling, the one about when the Tempter tried to tempt Jesus. He challenged him to turn stones into bread because Jesus was hungry, and Jesus said, “No.” He challenged him to prove he was the Messiah by jumping off the Temple roof, and Jesus said, “No.” He challenged him to rule the nations of the world by worshiping him, that is, Jesus worshiping the Tempter, and Jesus said, “No.” Then the Tempter went away.

But I’m not telling you that story.

I’m telling you what happened next, which is that the Tempter was angry and fed up and feeling like a failure. What do people do when they need a break? That’s right. They go on vacation in Hawai’i.

I promise you that most of the visitors aren’t angry Tempters.

But the Tempter walked the koa and ohi’a forests and tried to feel better about things, which wasn’t working. One of the problems with being a Tempter is that you never really do find peace inside yourself. So he decided that instead of peace, he’d find success. He’d tempt something, and this time he’d win.

He went searching, and he found an ‘apapane.

“’Apapane,” he said, “have I got a deal for you. I will give you the power to turn these stones into bread. Just do that, and you’ll never worry about being hungry ever again.” The Tempter demonstrated by turning some lava rock into bread. The scent rose into the air.

The ‘apapane gave it a sniff, and then flew a short distance to an ohi’a tree, where he sniffed at the nectar from a bright red blossom. He gave it a taste.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll stick to nectar.”

The Tempter was very disappointed with this, but not ready to quit. He brought the ‘apapane to the top of the highest tree in the forest. “All you have to do is prove that God takes care of all God’s creatures,” the Tempter said. “Throw yourself down from this tree, and let the angels catch you.”

The ‘apapane looked at the ground far below, stretched out his wings, and flew. “I think I’ve got that one covered already,” he said.

The Tempter realized that this temptation had been a bad mistake, and he was rattled. Still, he was undaunted. He was going to have a success. This time he swept the ‘apapane all the way to the summit of Mauna Kea, and there he showed the bird all the nations and forests and mountains of the world. “Worship me,” said the Tempter, “and all of this will be yours.”

The ‘apapane shivered in the cold, and pecked experimentally at a small bug on a rock. “I’d rather live in the ohi’a forest,” he said. “It’s warmer and things taste better there.”

At that the Tempter gave up, both on tempting an ‘apapane and on his Hawaiian vacation. I believe he went to sulk in Antarctica, where there’s a lot of empty space to sulk in.

The ‘apapane went back to the forest and, when other birds asked him about his adventure, simply said, “I just chose to be myself, to enjoy my life and its nectar. It’s not really much of a temptation to be something or someone else than myself.”

If you’re tempted, friends, choose to be yourself, the best and truest self you can be. Send the Tempter sulking to Antarctica.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write the story. I tell the story. In the telling, there are departures from the writing.

Photo of an ‘apapane in flight by Eric Anderson.

Story: The River Who Wanted to Be a Mountain

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

February 19, 2023

Exodus 24:12-18
Matthew 17:1-9

The river was a pretty good river. It had some charming waterfalls and some broad pools. It had earth banks solid rock banks and stony banks and down near where it entered the ocean, it had sandy banks. It made chuckling sounds over small rocks, roaring sounds as it fell, and seemed to create its own silence in its wide, slow sections. Anyone would say it was a pretty good river. – anyone, perhaps, except the river itself. You see, the river wanted to be a mountain.

It looked up to the mountain and envied its craggy sides and its lofty peak. It envied the clouds that wreathed its summit sometimes and the snowy crown they left behind. It envied the sheer mass of the mountain, so great that it pressed down the sea floor from which it had grown. It envied its grandeur. It envied its majesty.

The river wanted to be a mountain.

“Oh, I wish I could be a mountain,” it said in the musical rippling of the water over stones.

To the river’s surprise, the mountain heard, and to the river’s greater surprise, the mountain replied. “Why do you want to be a mountain?” it hummed with its deep, rumbling voice.

“I’d like to be as tall as you,” said the river. “I’d like to touch the sky. I’d like to see all the earth around me. I’d like people to look up to me with awe.”

“You’re nearly as tall as me,” pointed out the mountain. “Water that falls on my peak comes down to you – you and other rivers on my sides. Water you carry to the sea rises up to touch the sky. Between the oceans and the clouds, your waters cover all the earth. And you know that people look at your falls and pools with joy.”

“Yes, but I’ve heard stories,” said the river, “about times when God had special things to say, and those things were said up on the mountains. God spoke to Moses on a mountain, and Jesus taught on a mountain.”

“That’s true,” said the mountain. “I’ve heard those stories, too. And I’ve heard another story. Did you forget that one?”

“Which one?” asked the river.

“I’ve heard that before Jesus taught on a mountain, he was baptized. In a river.”

The river was silent, because that was a familiar story, too, and in its envy, it had forgotten it.

“I guess it’s not so bad to be a river,” said the river.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said the mountain. “Can I send the water that falls on me your way?”

“You can,” said the river. “And I’ll send it on to the ocean.”

The mountain stands, and the river runs, and both have their place in the life of the world, and in the stories of the Bible and our faith.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

The story in this recording is told from memory of the text above. Sometimes the memory isn’t perfect, and by “sometimes” I mean “always.”

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Sighing on the Wind

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

February 12, 2023

1 Corinthians 3:1-9
Matthew 5:21-37

“What is love?” the little girl asked her mother at bedtime, but she fell asleep before she heard the answer.

“What is love?” chirped the coqui frog outside her window.  She slept on.

“What is love?” crowed the rooster, who had no idea what time it was and didn’t care whether he crowed at sunrise or the middle of the night.

“What is love?” sighed the dove, and “What is love?” hummed the saffron finch, and “What is love?” purred the cat lying below them.

“What is love?” The question flew about the island, from creature to creature, from voice to voice. ‘Apapane sang about it on the mountain slopes and noio screeched about it above the waves. Pigs grunted it in their shelters and mongoose chittered it in their burrows.

“What is love?” asked the sheep and the pueo and the nene and the dogs. “What is love?” rumbled the mountain and “What is love?” sighed the clouds.

It was the wind who whispered it into the ear of the ‘io. Whispered it, and whispered it again, until the ‘io took wing and cried with a great voice, “Love is what lifts you up! Love is what carries you! Love is what makes you a home!”

The ‘io cried it, and the wind sighed it. The ‘apapane sang it and the pigs grunted it. The nene honked it and the chickens clucked it.

Outside a little girl’s window, a coqui frog chirped, “Love is what lifts you up. Love is what carries you. Love is what makes you a home.”

She woke suddenly, though whether it was the coqui’s voice that waked her I can’t tell you. “Mama!” she called, and both parents hurried to her room.

“I know what love is!” she said, and her mother said, “But of course. I told you when you asked me:”

And the two said together: “Love is what lifts you up. Love is what carries you. Love is what makes you a home.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

In the recording above, the story is told from memory of this text. I had no illusions that I would remember all of the creatures I’d put in the story (or the order), but I remembered more of them than I’d expected!

Story: Deep Dives

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

February 5, 2023

Isaiah 58:1-12
Matthew 5:13-20

I believe that I have mentioned schools before. A couple of my stories have visited nene school, and we’ve heard a little bit about ‘apapane learning to fly and ‘amakihi learning to sing. There are several species of fish, of course, that have made the ultimate commitment to lifelong learning, because…

They are always in schools.

This story is not about birds or fish, though it does take place in the water. This is about a honu school. Green turtles hatch on beaches, of course, and then the little turtles head down into the water. When they’re small they stay in shallow water, but as they grow they venture further out. That’s when it’s time to learn about deeper diving to graze on the seaweeds below or to hide from a hunting shark. That’s when I imagine a honu might go to school.

The teacher of this particular honu class was mostly feeling pretty satisfied. The students were cheerful and respectful. They were kind to one another and to her. They encouraged one another and they kept an eye out for one another. There hadn’t been a single episode where a student had got lost on the reef; someone always called before one wandered out of sight.

That’s a pretty good class.

There were two students, however, who were giving the honu teacher something of a headache, and for completely different reasons. One student insisted on trying things before he was ready for them. She’d set the class to dive to a particular depth, and he’d say, “I can dive deeper than that!” and promptly set out to do that. The problem was that sometimes he could dive deeper, and sometimes he couldn’t. He was still learning how much breath to take in; he was still learning how to feel the water movement in the deeper sections. He’d come back to the surface scared and panting, and ten minutes later he’d shout, “I can dive deeper than that!”

That was one headache.

The other student was entirely the opposite. “Let’s dive to this depth,” she’d say, and he’d shake his head. “I can’t do that,” he’d moan, even when he’d done that same dive the day before. “Let’s go just a little bit deeper,” she’d say, and he’d come right back to the surface.

That was two headaches.

Imagine now that she’s encouraging the one who’s not confident about his dives while the one who’s overconfident about his dives is diving and she had to go rescue him.

That’s three headaches.

When class was over one day she took them over to the beach for a rest and some one-on-two instruction. “I need for the two of you to work at a steady pace,” she said.

“But I know I can dive deeper!” said the first. “But I don’t think I can dive deeper!” said the second.

“Both of you can dive deeper,” she told them, “but this is something you learn to do by degrees. You make a little progress, and a little progress, and a little progress. If you don’t go a little farther, you don’t make progress. And if you go too far, you also don’t make progress. It’s like eating a big piece of seaweed. You take little bites until you’re not hungry any more.”

“You mean I really can dive deeper?” asked the second one. “Yes,” she said.

“You mean a little bit farther means I can dive farther tomorrow?” asked the first one. “Yes,” she said.

I wish I could say that both of them followed her advice in each class from then on. They didn’t. But they did better, and they did better with each passing day. Both of them learned to take those deep dives of the honu, and both of them were grateful they’d take it just a little bit at a time.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

Photo of a honu (in shallow water) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Simple Song

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

January 29, 2023

Micah 6:1-8
Matthew 5:1-12

Male ‘amakihi sing a very simple song. They also have a more complex song, and the female ‘amakihi sing that one, too, but when a male ‘amakihi is looking for a female ‘amakihi hoping that they’ll build a nest and a family together, he sings the simple song.

It’s basically a series of tweets strung together.

Not what you’d call complicated.

Ages ago, though, I can imagine that it might have been… more complicated. In those days the ‘amakihi would have sung songs that rose and fell, that stopped and started, that got louder and softer. Those are things that the ‘apapane do to this day. In those days, I imagine the ohi’a forest ringing with songs, echoing from the trunks and the branches, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in cacophony, and rarely quiet. Can you imagine that?

The thing is, it would also have been confusing. With ‘amakihi singing complicated songs, and ‘apapane singing complicated songs, and who knows what other birds contributing their own complicated songs, I can imagine ‘amakihi finding ‘apapane and ‘apapane finding ‘amakihi. It’s not a big issue, briefly embarrassing for both of them, but I can imagine that there was one young male ‘amakihi who decided he was tired of being mistaken for an ‘apapane.

“What about if I come up with something different from the ‘apapane?” he asked his elders.

“No one would come to you,” said the elders.

“Nobody is finding me now,” he told the elders. “I won’t be losing anything by trying something else.”

Some of the elders got huffy, which happens sometimes when they’ve been caught not thinking clearly.

“I’m going to try it,” he said,” and some of them huffed at him. With a complicated song, of course, and an ‘apapane turned up to see if there was somebody looking for her.

The young ‘amakihi found a good branch and began to sing his simple song: just a note repeated several times. It was loud. It was bold. It was impossible to miss even with all the complicated ‘apapane and ‘amakihi songs about. A couple of female ‘apapane turned up, intrigued. But best of all, along flew a young ‘amakihi hoping to find a husband and build a family.

“Nice song,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m glad you kept it simple,” she said.

“So am I,” he said.

I don’t know whether anything like this ever happened among the ‘amakihi and the ‘apapane of Hawai’i Island. To be honest, probably not. Still, the simple song of the ‘amakihi has worked for them for a long time, and there are simple things that people can do that would work pretty well for us as well: Honesty. Caring. Fairness. Respect. Faith. It’s amazing how often we make it all complicated, and find that things fall apart, when Jesus’ words to “Love one another” are simple, clear, and would do so much to make a better world.

by Eric Anderson

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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=74674240.