discipleship

Story: Worthy Birds

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment
A small green bird perched on a larger tree branch.

June 21, 2026

Genesis 21:8-21
Romans 6:1b-11

During the summer, some of the birds in the Hawaiian mountain forests like to gather into flocks. You’ve probably seen flocks of mynas around Hilo, and one evening I saw a big flock of cattle egrets, which was impressive, and I’ve also seen flocks of seven or eight nene flying about. Did you notice that those flocks have something in common?

They were all made up of the same kind of bird. Mynas with mynas. Cattle egrets with cattle egrets. Nene with nene.

The mountain birds do their flocks differently. They gather birds of different kinds together, so you’ll have ‘apapane (probably the biggest number), ‘amakihi, ‘akepa, i’iwi (not all of them are solitary and territorial), and even mejiro. The funny thing is that the birds in these flocks don’t entirely share the same diet. Some of them mostly eat nectar and may eat a bug or two from time to time. Others, like the ‘alawi, don’t eat nectar at all and rely on bugs and caterpillars.

So when an ‘alawi joined the flock, one young ‘apapane got huffy about it. “What use is an ‘alawi?” he asked a friend. “They’re not like us. They won’t help us find flowers in blossom.”

“They’re good at finding bugs,” said his friend. “Just watch.”

“I like nectar better than bugs,” said the first bird, and while she watched the ‘alawi hunt along a tree branch – and find some tasty caterpillars – he flew off somewhere else.

“I don’t think we should allow them in the flock,” he told someone else on another day, who ignored him.

You see, the flock was having a rough time. It had been dry on the mountains, and the trees weren’t flowering much. That meant that nectar was in short supply, but it also meant that the bugs who ate the nectar weren’t available, either. The birds didn’t know where the bugs were, and they didn’t know where the flowers were, and they were feeling the pinch.

“Look at that ‘alawi,” said the grumpy ‘apapane again. “He can’t even find the bugs I don’t want to eat.” The other ‘apapane gave him a sad look and flew off without a word.

“What use is an ‘alawi to any of the rest of us,” he asked one morning amidst a group of ‘apapane, ‘amakihi, and a haughty i’iwi. “Let’s get rid of this one, I say. There will be more for us.”

“Oh, be quiet,” said the i’iwi. “We flock together to help one another. That doesn’t mean that every bird has to be helpful every day, or even every season. Heaven knows I haven’t helped anyone find any flowers this year, and neither have you, ‘apapane. Let the ‘alawi alone. He’s just living his life, the same as you.”

“When is he going to prove his worth?” demanded the ‘apapane.

“When are you going to prove yours?” replied the i’iwi.

There was silence for a moment, and then the rustle of wings. The ‘alawi, who they hadn’t noticed at the edge of the group, had taken off.

“For pity’s sake, you’ve offended him,” said the i’iwi, and flew off after him. The other birds followed, including the arrogant ‘apapane, who really hadn’t intended the ‘alawi to hear him.

To everyone’s surprise, the ‘alawi led them, straight as an arrow, to a grove of ohi’a trees in full blossom. Plenty of the nectar-feeding insects were there, too. They sent a couple birds back to fetch the rest of the flock, and then settled in for the best breakfast they’d had in days.

The ‘apapane hopped over to the ‘alawi and said, “I’m sorry for what I said.”

The ‘alawi turned him a bright eye and said, “I didn’t hear anything. I just realized I could smell flowers on the air.”

He hopped over to a neighboring branch and plucked away a tasty spider. “But don’t worry,” he told the ‘apapane. “You’ll show your worth someday, too. Not that you have to, of course.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. The story I wrote does not precisely match the story I told.

Photo of an ‘alawi (Hawai’i Creeper) by Eric Anderson.

Story: The Merciful Myna

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

June 14, 2026

Exodus 19:2-8a
Matthew 9:35-10:8

This may sound a little bit odd to you – it sounds a little bit odd to me – but one of the mynas that lives near our church decided to listen to the sermon. Without falling asleep, which is a nice trick. And as you know, I’ve been talking about God’s mercy recently.

This myna woke up one morning and decided, “I’m going to be merciful today.”

The problem was, how could a myna be merciful? He thought about it while he had breakfast, and he couldn’t think of a thing. Mercy would be something like rescuing stranded sailors from a disabled ship. He couldn’t do that. Mercy would be something like healing a bird with a broken wing. He didn’t know how to do that, and there was also the fact that none of the birds around him had a broken wing. He was smart enough to abandon the notion that he could break their wing and then fix it.

“That wouldn’t be merciful,” he said to himself, and he was right.

While he was thinking, one of the other mynas jostled him and he hopped back and said, “Pardon me.” The other myna said nothing, just kept pecking at the ground.

A few minutes later that same myna bumped into another couple mynas and a screeching argument began. Our myna stopped thinking about being merciful and hopped over to calm them down. The bumping myna wanted to yell some more, but was persuaded not to. The bumped mynas wanted to whack him with their wings, but some gentle tones calmed them down.

“How am I going to be merciful?” he wondered.

A little later, he noticed a house finch hopping nervously about at some distance from the myna flocks. She looked hungry, but the ground she was on had already been picked over by hungry mynas. “Hop over here,” he suggested, and she gratefully did, and began to enjoy her breakfast.

“How am I going to be merciful?” he wondered.

A cat wandered along to the edge of the grass, and the mynas, finches, and sparrows didn’t notice until he spotted it and screeched, “Into the air, everyone! There’s a cat!”

They all took to their wings and settled again in branches and on roofs as the cat pretended to just be going from here to there, thank you, and walked away. Some of the other mynas wanted to peck and annoy the cat, but our wanting-to-be-merciful myna persuaded them not to.

The whole day went like that. He tried to think of ways to be merciful, and he didn’t think of a single one.

As the sun was setting he found an auntie and poured out the whole story to her. “You want to be merciful,” she said. “Don’t you think you were merciful when that bird bumped you and you didn’t get into a fight? Don’t you think you were merciful when you calmed the other birds down? Don’t you think you were merciful when you invited that finch to feed, or when you warned everyone about the cat?

“Mercy can be big and grand, nephew. Mostly, though, it’s small things that matter a lot. You won’t always get thanks for it; some may not even notice. But it’s mercy all the same.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full in advance, but I tell them from memory and inspiration, so the story you read does not precisely match the way I told it.

Photo of a common myna by Eric Anderson.

But I Can’t

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘As you go, proclaim the good news, “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.'” – Matthew 10:7-8

Give without payment, O Lord? But I can’t.
How will I eat, where will I sleep,
if I don’t have a contract or letter of call?

What do you mean, life has no guarantee?

Cast out the demons, O Lord? But I can’t.
I’m not sure I’d recognize a demon in person,
and surely I’m lacking the strength for such spirits.

What do you mean, my strength is in you?

Cleanse those with a skin disease, Lord? But I can’t.
Ask my dermatologist. My own skin’s a problem.
I cannot heal myself, let alone someone else.

What do you mean, bring healing, not cure?

Cure the sick, you say, Lord? But I can’t.
I’ve no more control over illness of body than skin.
Send the physician to those who are sick.

What do you mean, you are a physician of souls?

Raise the dead, you say, Lord? But I can’t.
If I had such power, I’d have used it already,
to hold all the loves that I’ve lost in my life.

What do you mean, give hope to the hopeless,
strength to the fainting? What do you mean,
pilot the rudderless, encourage the fearful?

What do you mean, breathe life into your Body?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 9:35-10:8, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 6 (11).

The image is The Sick Awaiting the Passage of Jesus (Les malades attendant le passage de Jésus) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2006, 00.159.118_PS1.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195961.

Watch… Me?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

[Jesus said,] “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'” – Matthew 9:13

Would you like to know what blessing is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what light is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what righteousness is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what love is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what honesty is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know faithfulness is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

If you watch me, says Jesus, you will find compassion.
You will find forgiveness.
You will find welcome.

If you watch me, says Jesus, you will find healing.
You will find inclusion.
You will find life.

The challenge, says Jesus, for those who would follow me,
is when people would know about
blessing and light, righteousness, love.
When people would know about
honesty, faithfulness, healing, inclusion, and life:
What will they see when they watch you?

And I ask:
What will they see
when they watch me?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 5 (10).

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Bully’s Progress

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

May 17, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what do I do?” asked her nephew.

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

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

Looking Carefully

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments


For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. – Acts 17:23

Not looking carefully, I typed “Kiijubg” as first word
for the title of this poem/prayer.

It’s not a word I’ve seen before; I’d struggle to define it,
and truthfully it’s definitely not the word I meant.

But Shaw once wrote that when a thing is funny, search it for a hidden truth
(and promptly replied to himself that it takes all the fun out of it).

That fierce and fascinating man from Tarsus, though offended
by the shrines to idols all about, found one shrine

Which honored Agnostos Theos (perhaps); enough to base
a sermon on, to find a common root within a verdant forest

Of complex and disparate devotion,
and twist a cord to complement relationship

Between the human children worshiping the God of Jacob,
and the human children worshiping Olympians.

If Paul had looked less carefully, perhaps his ire for idols
would have leapt to his lips.

Instead his plea for understanding fell on ears
which heard. Some scoffed, it’s true,

But if he’d launched into a diatribe against the shrines,
what could they do but scoff and turn away?

For anger, like a hand misplaced upon the keys,
makes meaningless its words, however filled with hope.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 17:22-31, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Sixth Sunday of Easter.

The image is a photo of the “Altar of the unknown god” ca. 90-110 CE, discovered on the Palatine Hill in Rome (not Athens) in 1820. Photo by Sailko – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56294298. The inscription can be translated, “Whether sacred to god or to goddess, Gaius Sextius Calvinus, son of Gaius, praetor, restored this on a vote of the senate.”

Story: Courage

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

May 3, 2026

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

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

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

He was afraid of the water.

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

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

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

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

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

He loved her for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

Photo of an ala’e keokeo by Eric Anderson.

Gate

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep.'” – John 10:7

It’s not your most compelling image, Jesus. In
a section where you said, “I am…”
three times, how many hold this one in memory?
To say the truth, I barely do.

And yet a gate is comforting. It guards a home,
a sheepfold, or a soul from harm.
It’s hardly perfect, since a thief may climb the wall:
They’ll have to work to work their ill.

The beauty of a gate is not protective force,
but its capacity to swing,
admitting those outside who’ve recognized the voice
and come to claim their place and home.

You tell us you are gatekeeper and gate. May we
remember that the gate is you,
and when we close it, we usurp your power, your
authority. and you yourself.

May we have faith and wisdom both to hold the gate
wide open for the gathering flock
and only close it in the most compelling circumstance,
then open it with welcome love.

A poem/prayer based on John 10:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday of Easter.

Photo of a gate by Eric Anderson.

Story: The Colt

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

March 29, 2026

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

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

Surprise! It’s Palm Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me help,” he said plaintively.

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

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

Angels Hovering ‘Round

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments
In the center of a large dramatic landscape of mountains and clouds, two smaller figures speak to one another. One, in pink, is Jesus. The other, in brown, is Satan.


“Then the devil left [Jesus], and suddenly angels came and waited on him.” – Matthew 4:11

He challenged you, Jesus.
Summon the angels! They won’t let you fall.
You won’t have a bruise on your heel,
Nor a strike from a snake.

You said no. No to bread.
No to flight. No to glory
(that fails to transcend
all the kingdoms of earth).

Then he left. And who came?
Yes, the angels. The angels.
They were hovering ’round,
And they brought you relief.

Well, Jesus, I’m tempted.
So tempted, you know,
so hungry and weary,
confused and distressed.

Where are the angels?
Will they tend my bruises?
Will they feed my hungers?
Where are the angels, Jesus the Christ?

“There are angels hov’ring ’round.”

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 4:1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, First Sunday in Lent.

The image is Weite Gebirgslandschaft mit der Versuchung Christi (Vast Mountain Landscape with the Temptation of Christ) by Jan Brueghel the Elder – dorotheum.com heruntergeladen am 30. September 2012, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21801997.