Stories

Story: Teacher’s Example

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

November 16, 2025

Isaiah 65:17-25
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

It’s been a while since I’ve talked about nene school, which hasn’t changed what’s gone on there a bit. Goslings have gone to school, they’ve learned about advanced eating and flying, and some of them have wondered about becoming nene teachers themselves.

There was a time when there were just two nene teachers. Both of them were solid at the job. They could coax a timid flyer into dramatic aerobatics. They could coach a fussy eater into finding a much wider diet – sort of a nene version of heavy pupus. They held their students’ attention. They taught their lessons. Best of all, the students learned.

That’s the mark of a good teacher, when the students learn.

One of the students noticed something else, too.

Both teachers taught that it was important for nene to care for the flock. If you see a storm coming, they said, warn your neighbors. If it looks like a mongoose might be close to a nest, drive them away. If you found a good clump of ‘ohelo berries, call your friends over. Take care of the flock. The other members of the flock will take care of you.

That was an important lesson, and they mentioned it every day.

One of the teachers, though, seemed a little confused about its application. When her students were learning about finding food, she was very helpful. “Look for these colors as you’re flying about,” she’d say. And when they found some, she gave them lots of praise. “Well done, my friends!” she’d say to the beaming young nene.

And then she’d eat the food they’d found.

The other teacher did things differently. He was helpful about finding food, too. “These are the colors to watch for,” he’d say. “Make sure to look side to side.” And like his colleague, he had good things to say to his students when they found that tasty clump of ‘ohelo. “That’s exactly right,” he’d tell them. “Well spotted.”

But then he said, pretty much every time, “Call the other students in. Is anybody hungry?”

As I said, one of the students notice this, and one day he asked his parents about it. “My teachers help me a lot,” he told them, “but when we find food, one of them eats it. I suppose that’s OK; she is the teacher, after all. But the other one invites us to share. Which one am I supposed to learn?”

His parents looked at one another, and then they looked back at him. “Which one makes you feel better?” they asked. “Which one makes you feel like you’re an important part of the flock? Which one seems to be strengthening the flock as a whole?”

“Well, that’s easy,” said their son. “It’s the one who invites us to eat.”

“So which example will you follow?”

He thought about it.

“I spotted some ‘ohelo a few minutes ago,” he told them. “Are either of you hungry?”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full ahead of time, but I tell them on Sunday morning from memory and inspiration. The recording does not match the prepared text.

Photo of two nene in flight by Eric Anderson.

Story: Flowers and Friends

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

November 9, 2025

Haggai 2:1-9
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Life isn’t always easy in the mountain forests. Sometimes it gets really wet and uncomfortable, and while feathers are pretty good at keeping you warm and dry, they’re not perfect. Sit in the rain long enough, and an i’iwi will feel pretty cold and wet.

Worse, though, is when it gets dry, because the trees and the plants rely on water. When there’s been no rain for a good while, they have to save their energy. It’s like when you’ve been running around a lot and need to rest for a while. The way a tree rests, or another kind of plant rests, is to hold off on making flowers or fruit. When there’s more water, then it’s time to bloom.

The birds can mostly cope with that. The ‘elepaio eats bugs, and lots of the bugs eat things other than nectar. The ‘apapane and the ‘amakihi eat lots of nectar, but they can make a good meal from worms and spiders. They miss the nectar, but they can feed themselves.

The i’iwi has a rougher time. They will eat bugs, but they’re built to eat nectar, not bugs, and when the flowers aren’t blooming, they get hungry.

It was dry on the mountain. And the i’iwi were hungry.

As I’ve mentioned, while some i’iwi don’t get along with other birds, some i’iwi get along just fine. So there was a little flock of ‘apapane and ‘amakihi and ‘akepa that were worried about their i’iwi friend, who wasn’t saying much, but she was clearly getting hungrier and hungrier.

“What can we do?” an ‘amakihi asked an ‘apapane, who replied with a bird shrug, because he didn’t know, either.

“What can we do?” an ‘elepaio asked his friend the i’iwi, which was the same question but had the advantage of being asked of the right bird. Unfortunately, she didn’t know either.

“You’ve showed me where you’re finding some bugs to eat, and that’s helped some,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’m not as good at catching them as you. I don’t think you can get me more food any better than that.”

“I still want to help,” said the ‘elepaio, and all the other birds did the same.

“You know how you can help?” said the i’iwi. “Stay right where you ware. Stay close to me. Show me you care.”

“How will that help?” asked the ‘apapane, who had a very practical mind. “You can’t eat that.”

“Perhaps not,” she said, “but when you’ve done all you can to help me eat, I’m glad to have your company. It may not feed my stomach, but it feeds my heart.”

So they perched there together in the same tree. Sometimes one or the other birds would sing, and once the ‘amakihi caught a spider and gave it to the i’iwi, who ate it with a hearty “Mahalo.”

Mostly, though, they sat in friendship, friendship that fed the heart even better than flowers.

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 when you watch it will not match the story when you read it.

Photo of an i’iwi (who hopefully isn’t hungry) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Honu Up a Tree

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

November 2, 2025


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

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

Never?

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

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

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

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

All in all, not where she wanted to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

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

Story: Remember

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

October 26, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he remembered his grandmother.

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

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

He loved his grandmother.

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

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

That’s how both of them would be remembered.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

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

Story: Hold On

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

October 19, 2025

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

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

Those birds are called woodpeckers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on.

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

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

Story: ‘Apapane Faith

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

October 5, 2025

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

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

At least, most of the time they do.

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

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

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

So he stopped flying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s right, Tutu,” he said.

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

“Grandson, are you an ‘apapane?”

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

“Do you believe that you have wings?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you believe in your feathers?”

“They’re right here,” he said.

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

“I’m not sure,” he said.

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

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

by Eric Anderson

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

Photo of a young ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: Aloha for the ‘Iwa

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

September 28, 2025

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

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

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

Except for one bird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

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

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

Story: Peace

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

September 21, 2025

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1
1 Timothy 2:1-7

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.

Photos by Eric Anderson.

Story: Grand

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

September 14, 2025

1 Timothy 1:12-17
Luke 15:1-10

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.

Story: Considering and Preparing

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

September 7, 2025

Philemon 1:1-21
Luke 14:25-33

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.