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Story: The Fishing Game

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

January 25, 2026

Isaiah 9:1-4
Matthew 4:12-23

One of the things that humans do, you’ve probably noticed, is play games. Sometimes they’re running around games, sometimes they’re tossing things back and forth games, sometimes they’re sit around the table and hope you get to move the number of spaces you want to move games. Sometimes they’re quiet. Sometimes they’re noisy. Hopefully they’re fun, because after all, that’s the point.

Humans aren’t only ones who play games. Lots of creatures do. We see it all the time, and probably sometimes without realizing that they’re playing a game. Even when we do recognize that they’re playing, we may not understand the rules.

Some ae’o – that’s the Hawaiian black-necked stilt – were organizing a game and no, I’ve never understood the rules. I know it had something to do with fishing and something to do with cooperating and beyond that, I’m at a loss. It doesn’t matter to this story, though, because this story is about getting the teams together for the game. Which needed teams. You’ve probably had to put together teams for a game, right?

It can be hard to do.

The two ae’o who were recruiting the teams had very different approaches. One of them basically flew and waded and strutted around and screeched at the ae’o that he wanted to be on his team. “You’re on my team! Get over there!” he’d call, usually without indicating where “there” was, and always without asking if they wanted to be part of the game or not. Some of them did want to play, it’s true, and a few wanted to be on his team, but fewer of them wanted to be on his team when they’d been screeched at like that, and even some of those who did want to be on his team couldn’t figure out where the team was gathering, so that didn’t work very well, either.

The other ae’o, it must be said, took more time at it. She went up to each bird, told them she was putting together a team, and asked them if they wanted to play. If they did, she asked them if they wanted to be on her team. And if they did, she invited them to come along with her while she went to ask the next bird. By the time her team was complete, she was being followed by a trail of ae’o, all of them ready to play the game.

The other team leader had finished screeching, but didn’t actually have a full team. Some were lost. Some had said no. And some had decided they had better things to do than be screeched at while playing a game.

Games are supposed to be fun. Which group of ae’o do you think had more fun?

Being a follower of Jesus is supposed to be a blessing. How do you think you might encourage people to follow Jesus?

This is just me thinking, but I think it would look a lot more like what that second ae’o did: one at a time, gently and lovingly, and with a growing flock behind to show that yes, this is how you can find blessing.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory combined with inspiration. The text above does not precisely match the story as I told it.

Photo of an ae’o screeching by Eric Anderson.

Story: The ‘Apapane’s Christmas Pageant (2025 version)

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

December 21, 2025

Isaiah 7:10-16
Matthew 1:18-25

I don’t know how it came into the ‘apapane’s head to organize a Christmas pageant. I don’t even know how he’d heard about Christmas, let alone a Christmas pageant. Nevertheless, he flew all over the island, searching for creatures to take part in the pageant.

He asked the I’iwi, who was feeling grumpy that day and didn’t say yes, or no, or anything at all.

He asked the ‘io, which was very brave of him. The ‘io said she might come and looked… hungry.

He flew down to the shoreline to ask the honu. She said no, she wasn’t going to swim up to the mountain forest, which seemed fair. A house sparrow said he might fly up after he’d finished his bath.

A saffron finch thought it sounded odd but said he might hang around for it. The ‘apapane asked a yellow-billed cardinal and a myna. They both looked doubtful, and then the myna started an argument with some other mynas that wasn’t over when he left to talk to more shorebirds.

The auku’u looked puzzled, but said he’d come. “I’m coming, too,” announced a kolea. “I’ve flown thousands of miles for this. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“If the kolea is coming, I’m coming, too,” piped up an ‘akekeke, and a hunakai said the same.

The koa’e kea announced that she would play Mary, because didn’t Mary have a long tail? The ‘apapane wasn’t sure, so he didn’t argue. An ala’e ke’oke’o asked if there was a good fish pond up in the forest, and when he was told there wasn’t, looked skeptical.

The ae’o said she might turn up. If she felt like it. If she didn’t have anything else to do. The cattle egret said, of course he’d be there. One of his ancestors had been present at the original birth, hadn’t she?

The ‘apapane left the shorebirds to spread the word further and returned to the forest. The oma’o stopped singing barely long enough to say, “Yes.” The ‘alawi just looked nervous and kept hunting insects without saying anything.

He searched long and hard for an ‘akiapola’au, who asked, “What’s that all about?” After listening to the ‘apapane’s explanation, he gave a whistle and flew off into the forest. The nene just stared at him.

When it was pageant time, it was chaos. Creatures stepped into the clearing the ‘apapane had selected, then faded back into the trees again. Frightened chirps flew back and forth, and so did frightened birds. Mejiro and ‘elepaio peeped out from the trees. The mynas announced that they would be the angel chorus, then exploded into another argument.

“What do you need to settle down and play your parts?” shouted the ‘apapane from a tree.

“Is the ‘io here?” asked an ‘amakihi. “Yes,” said the ‘io from the sky overhead. “Are you going to eat us?” asked the ‘amakihi. For a moment there was silence. Then the ‘io said, “No. Not today. Today there’s a pageant to do.”

The ‘apapane spent the next hour answering the questions. The koa’e kea had just flown in from a lava fountain, and since she wanted to play Mary, she did. A kioea had flown up from the shore and wanted to play Joseph. “You’re a rare bird,” said the ‘apapane, so he did. The little ‘elepaio played shepherds while the nene played sheep. The I’iwi didn’t want to cheer up, so he played the grumpy innkeeper. The sleeping pig was cast as a sleeping cow and did it very well.

High overhead the ‘io provided the voice of Gabriel, while ‘apapane, ‘amakihi, mejiro, and mynas sang as the angel chorus. Seabirds and shorebirds took places as creatures of the stable.

When the time came, birds from other shores – a northern cardinal, a red junglefowl, and a pair of zebra doves – played the magi.

The ‘akiapola’au lay just one egg and very rarely, so a young one played Jesus.

When it was over, the creatures vanished back into the trees, leaving the ‘apapane alone in the silence. He’d answered every question, met every need, somehow.

The trees rustled in the breeze, applauding the ‘apapene’s Christmas pageant.

The End.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

On this occasion, I read from the prepared text (and still made a couple of changes).

Photos by Eric Anderson.

Story: The Best Flock

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

December 7, 2025

Isaiah 11:1-10
Matthew 3:1-12

An ‘apapane wanted to know what the best way to be a flock is.

There are plenty of examples if you journey around the island. He found an i’iwi, who said, “Keep it small, less than ten. And chase everybody else away. Speaking of which, ‘apapane, it’s time you got out of here!”

He checked with a myna, who said, “Oh, just get a few birds together.” “Yeah,” said a second myna, “but make sure they don’t argue.” “What do you mean by that?” demanded a third myna. “Don’t you get cross with me!” said the first, and the ‘apapane flew away as the mynas argued about… nothing.

The ‘akiapola’au, the ‘akepa, and the ‘amakihi said that it’s useful to join a flock because then some of the predators, like cats and such, get intimidated. “A good flock is one that keeps us safe,” they told him.

That sounded pretty good.

He looked in on the ‘akekeke, who said, “Just stay together!” He asked the kolea, who prefer to keep some distance from one another. He thought about asking some fish, but they weren’t coming to the surface to talk to any hovering birds.

It was the nene, however, who gave him the most to think about.

When he found a nene to talk to, they were gathered around one of their number who’d hurt her wing. The little group was hungry and rather footsore as they trooped along, looking for ‘ohelo berries (or pretty much anything they could eat).

“Why aren’t you flying?” he asked one of them.

“Because she can’t fly for a while,” said the one in front.

“Can’t you leave her while you go eat?” he said.

The nene looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind,” the nene said.

The ‘apapane returned to his part of the forest, and gathered his friends and family and any other birds he could. Together they could find food and shelter. Together they could scare off some of the dangers. But most of all, he told them:

“A good flock is one where nobody gets left behind.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory plus inspiration. As a result, the recording of how I told it does not match how I wrote it.

Photo of four nene by Eric Anderson.

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.

We Have the Right

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

“This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate.” – 2 Thessalonians 3:9

We have the right to claim whatever we want.
We say.
We have the right to say offensive things
and sneer at those who hear.
We have the right to say to one, “Go here,”
and to another, “Go there,”
and they will go.
We enforce.
We have the right.

Are we any more than irresponsible,
mere busybodies,
tearing down the building of
a blessed community?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
do little for our neighbors?

Is it not true that we who say,
“The one who does not work,
we’ll let that one not eat,”
will underpay their workers?

Is it not true that Paul’s example,
sparing those he served from burdens,
that the greatest burden, ignorance of love,
might lift from them, is our greatest call to work?

Is it not true that we are Paul’s
“mere busybodies, not doing any work,”
not building up community.
How can we claim our right to eat?

A poem/prayer based on 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 28 (33).

The image is The Multiplication of the Bread and the Fish by Jacopo Tintoretto – http://catalogo.fondazionezeri.unibo.it/ricerca.v2.jsp?view=list&batch=100&sortby=LOCALIZZAZIONE&page=1&decorator=layout_resp&apply=true&percorso_ricerca=OA&locale=it, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=79669072.

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: A Tree Falls

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

July 20, 2025

Amos 8:1-12
Luke 10:38-42

The oma’o’s heart was in the right place, mostly. The physical heart was, of course, in the right place in his chest and beating regularly. His emotional and spiritual heart was maybe a little bit off to the side, because while he was thinking a little bit about another living thing, it has to be said that he mostly was thinking about himself.

It was a thinnish koa tree that he chose to protect. Its leaves were pretty thick even if its trunk wasn’t the widest. He liked the flavor of its flowers. There were some other birds that did, too, and he began to chase them away whenever he saw them. “I’m preventing them from over-feeding,” he said to himself. “That way the flowers can bloom and the fruit will grow.”

There were also bugs and caterpillars on the trunk and branches of the tree. Some of those he ate, because an oma’o will eat just about anything. Most of them he ignored. Oma’o might eat anything, but when there’s fruit around, they’ll eat that.

But he also wouldn’t let other birds approach the tree to eat the bugs, either. He chased away ‘apapane and ‘amakihi, ‘alawi and ‘elepaio. He even chased away the hook-beaked ‘akiapola’au after he caught one digging into the tree bark with its short lower beak.

“Stop digging into this tree!” he shrieked. “You’re hurting it!”

“This caterpillar in the bark is hurting it,” said the ‘akiapola’au. “I’m getting it out.”

“Not while I’m around!” shouted the oma’o, and chased the other bird away.

As the days went on, the koa leaves started to turn funny colors and droop. When the oma’o landed on a branch, it didn’t spring back up the way it had. Twigs dried up and fell away. Leaves littered the ground around the base of the trunk.

“That tree is sick,” said an ‘elepaio to the oma’o. “It’s got too many bugs. Let us help!”

“No,” said the oma’o. “You’ll hurt it.”

“Look at all those caterpillar tracks below the bark,” said an ‘akiapola’au. “Let us dig them out. The tree will get better.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near this tree,” said the oma’o.

Even he had to admit that things weren’t going well. He no longer ate flowers from the tree, because there weren’t any. He visited other trees for fruit. There were plenty of bugs to eat, but when he ate some, there were always more.

When a tree falls in the forest, it does make a noise. The birds hear it. And they cry about it.

The birds heard the oma’o’s tree fall. And they cried.

“Why are you crying?” the oma’o asked an ‘elepaio. “It was my tree, not yours.”

“I’m crying because that tree could have been a place to nest for decades,” said the ‘elepaio. “It would have sheltered my family in the rain,” said an ‘amakihi. “It would have fed my children and my grandchildren,” said an ‘akiapola’au.

Looking around, the oma’o realized that not only had he hurt the tree he’d called his own, he’d hurt all the birds around. Not only that, he’d hurt future generations.

When a tree falls in the forest, the sound of its fall echoes into the future.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory (plus improvisation), so it does not match the text you just read.

Photo of an oma’o by Eric Anderson.

Story: The Molting ‘Apapane

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

May 25, 2025

Acts 16:9-15
John 14:23-29

He wasn’t the oldest among his siblings, cousins, and friends from nearby nests, but he was one of the first to molt from his young feathering to his adult colors. He’d had gray feathers on the chest and brown on his head and back, with black on his wings and tail. They all did. It made their games of hide-and-seek pretty difficult, because those colors melded into the shadows on the tree branches pretty well.

As I say, though, he was the first among them to start losing some of those brown and gray feathers, and start to gain the red feathers from head to tail. Frankly, it wasn’t going well. Loose feathers itched, and so did the new feathers as they grew in. They also didn’t fall out evenly. He found himself with a grayish belly blotched with the new red feathers.

“You look ridiculous,” said one of the young ‘apapane who played hide-and-seek with him, and, well, he felt ridiculous.

“Can’t you hide that?” asked another of the ‘apapane. He was a cousin, but he could be mean, even to a cousin. Our young ‘apapane couldn’t think of how.

“Go clean that up,” ordered one of the bossier young ‘apapane. She was one of those who thought she knew best for everybody else. But he still didn’t know how to take care of it, so he kept his perch and tried not to cry.

“Knock it off,” said the smallest of the young ‘apapane. All her feathers were still brown and gray, and she looked like she’d just been groomed by the finest feather-settlers of the forest. Everybody assumed that she was talking to the young bird with the splotchy red.

“Yeah, knock it off,” said the one who’d started this by calling him ridiculous in the first place.

“No, you knock it off,” said the smallest ‘apapane. “And you. And you. And all of you.”

She shook her wings and continued, “First of all, what can he do about it? You all know that our feathers will change from what we’re wearing to what our parents wear. Did you think that happened overnight? Didn’t you realize that it’s going to take time and that there are rough spots along the way?”

As it happened, none of them had thought about it.

“What are you going to do,” she demanded, “when this happens to you in a week or two? Are you going to make everybody going through this fly away, or are you going to help them when it itches and tell them it will be all right? What would you want for yourself?”

She asked that last question straight at the bird who’d ordered the molting ‘apapane to go clean that up. She didn’t say anything until it became clear that she had to answer.

“I’d want help,” she said.

“How about the rest of you?” demanded the smallest ‘apapane. They all admitted they’d want help.

“And that’s what you’ll get,” she said. “We’ll start with our friend here.”

“So how are you?” she asked. “Does it itch today?”

That’s how that generation of ‘apapane made it through their molt.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. What you have just read will not match the way I told it.

Photo of a juvenile ‘apapane in molt (at least that’s what I think it is) by Eric Anderson.

Who Are the People of Spirit?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

May 13, 2025

[Verse 1]

Simon Peter went to see a man
A Roman centurion with power in his hands.
“Speak to us, Peter, we’d like to hear news
of a new way of living, one we can choose.”

[Chorus]

Who are the people of Spirit?
Open my heart to see.
Who are the people of Spirit?
Is it you? Is it me?

[Verse 2]

Simon Peter told his story to them
How a crucified brow bore a bright diadem.
Then he gasped as those Romans, unashamed
Displayed in their bodies the Spirit unchained.

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]

Simon Peter brought the Council the word
That even in Gentiles the Spirit had stirred.
“Who am I, who are you, to hinder our God?”
In the grace of the Spirit their spirits were awed.

[Chorus]

© 2025 by Eric Anderson

Watch the Premiere Performance

I first performed this song during worship at Church of the Holy Cross UCC in Hilo, Hawai’i, on Sunday, May 18, 2025.