Story: Love Achieved

October 4, 2026

Isaiah 5:1-7
Philippians 3:4b-14

The first thing a newly hatched baby bird does is to teach. Teach? Teach. A hatchling teaches its parents what it needs, what they’ll eat, what makes them comfortable. Even an experienced parent will learn new things from a new chick. A first time parent learns more than I can describe in a short story like this.

A parent – in this case a mother – learns a lot about parenting from their own parents, of course, and from other friends and family who know more about it. Our first time mother had eagerly sought her own mother’s advice, not just when she had eggs, but before that when she’d sought a husband.

“How will I know that I’m in love?” she’d asked her mother.

“Look for a bird who is kind, attentive, responsible, and lifts your spirits,” said her mother. “The bird will show you those things. That’s how you’ll know you’re in love.”

Mother’s advice had been pretty good. She’d found a kind, attentive, and responsible bird, and he had raised her spirits. They’d built their nest together harmoniously and they’d eagerly awaited the hatching of their three eggs.

Then they’d hatched, and the learning began.

The first thing she learned was that the three hatchlings were all very different. They sounded different. They were hungry at different times, except for when they were all hungry at the same time. One liked to cuddle near her head, another liked to be beneath her wings. And then they’d shift what they liked.

It was so confusing.

Most confusing of all was that her chicks didn’t show her the things that she’d looked for in finding a husband. None of the chicks showed much kindness to her or to each other, especially when they were hungry. None of them were really attentive. They were constantly looking off at different things. They certainly weren’t responsible, hopping out of the nest at random times before they were even close to having the ability to fly.

It was really frustrating. How was she supposed to love these little bundles of needs?

“How am I supposed to love my chicks?” she asked her mother, and launched into describing all the ways in which they weren’t like her husband, or like her friends, or like her parents or aunties or uncles.

Her mother, I’m afraid to say, laughed out loud. “Children aren’t like husbands,” she said. “You love them before they learn how to be kind, or attentive, or responsible. You love them by teaching them to be those things, and you love them when they try and fail to be those things. You love them by keeping them fed and warmed and comforted and safe. You love them by guiding them to become the kind of bird you want to be, and the kind of bird you would fall in love with.”

“This will change?” said her daughter.

“It can,” said her mother. “I won’t lie – there are ‘apapane who prefer to remain selfish and flighty and irresponsible. But it will change. You’ll be surprised at how fast it does.”

“Did I do the same thing when I was newly hatched?” asked her daughter.

“Of course you did,” said mother, “and so did I. But you grew into a bird I’m proud of and delighted to be with. Now if you could use some help with the chicks?”

“Oh, yes,” sighed her daughter. “They’re all hungry again, and I could use the help.”

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 and the story as I told it do not precisely match.

Photo of an ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: The ‘Apapane Who Deserved More

A brown bird with lighter belly feathers, and some red feathers starting to appear. perched on greenery with a red flower filled with nectar.

September 20, 2026

Jonah 3:10-4:11
Matthew 20:1-16

‘Apapane chicks don’t all behave the same way, just as human children don’t all behave the same way. You have loud ones and quiet ones, greedy ones and hungry-but-not-pushy ones, polite ones and brash ones.

This ‘apapane nest had an assortment. There was one who was greedy and pushy, and mom and dad had to push him out of the way quite often to feed his brother and sister. The sister was pretty pushy herself, but not quite willing to get into wrestling matches with her brothers. The last brother, though, was quiet and polite. He waited patiently for mom or dad’s attention, ate his caterpillars with every sign of appreciation, and even chirped, “Thank you.” Politely!

His parents had had a number of chicks by then, and most of them had been pretty pushy when mealtimes came along. They didn’t quite know what to do with a polite chick, but they made sure they he was fed the same as his brother or sister, despite his siblings’ best efforts to get in front all the time.

They all grew, of course, and they learned to fly. The pushy brother and sister alternated between pushing to the front and loudly squawking that it was too scary to fly. The polite brother kept his beak shut, watched his parents closely, and when it came time for that first leap into the air managed a very creditable first flight. His brother and sister protested that they would have been better if they’d gone first, but they hadn’t, so…

The days drew on, and it was time to leave the nest. Mother and Father continued to feed them from time to time, but they were finding their own food, and they were getting better and better at it. The pushier siblings did, in fact, excel in seeking out new blossoms, bugs and caterpillars. The polite one tended to follow along behind and not get in anyone’s way. He ate just as well, though.

They were out of the nest, and the rambunctious chicks were making a somewhat rambunctious life. The polite one stayed near his parents, and to their surprise, kept making occasional flutters with his wings at them. That was a sign that he’d like something to eat – but he was fully capable of finding food himself. One day Mother just had to ask.

“What’s the matter? Why are you asking us for food? Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all,” said the polite son. “I just thought it made sense.”

“You thought what made sense?” asked Mother, who didn’t know.

“I’ve tried to be a good son,” he said. “I’ve tried to be calm and polite. I’ve tried to learn things quickly and well. I’ve tried to treat you, my brother and sister, and all the birds well.”

“And I appreciate it,” said Mother, who still didn’t understand what that had to do with wanting to be fed.

“Shouldn’t there be a reward for that?” asked his fledgling son. “Like more feedings, perhaps?”

“Feedings aren’t a reward, son,” said Mother. “Your father and I love you, and we love your brother and sister, so we’ve given you what you need. And you’ve grown. You’ve learned. You’ve thrived. Nothing we’ve done was intended to reward any of you. We’ve seen to your needs.

“But now you don’t need what you’re asking for. You have our love always, and it’s bigger than you know. But you need to be your own bird, and that’s how we’ll love you today: by giving you what you need. Again. Go find your own nectar, and enjoy it.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in full beforehand, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. The story as you read it and as I told it are not identical.

Photo of a juvenile ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: Rules for Love

Two small yellow birds on stony ground.

September 6, 2026

Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20

The two saffron finches were young. They liked each other a lot. In fact, they liked each other so much that they called it love. They just didn’t know how. That made for a certain amount of disappointing conversations, and gifts that the other one didn’t enjoy, and careless words that launched long periods of hurt silence – saffron finches aren’t much for big fluttering fights.

One day each bird flew back to its parents with a question.

But not the same question.

“How can there be rules for love?” asked the young female. “He wants me to follow rules for love.”

“How am I supposed to love without knowing what the rules are?” complained the young male to his parents. “She just wants me to know what love is and do it.”

Neither set of parents really knew how to answer these questions. The male’s parents liked to know what to do and what not to do. They liked things to be orderly and predictable. They liked to say, “Eat these seeds, but not those seeds.” They liked to say, “Don’t fly when the clouds are a very deep gray.”

The female’s parents, on the other hand, preferred to start with a big idea and work their way down to the way to make it happen. They liked look at the clouds, consider the wind at the moment, and take an experimental flight to see if a storm was kicking up. They liked to try different seeds at different times to see if seeds changed with the season – which they do. They liked to start with the idea of love, and try things they believed would be loving, and, if they had to, make changes.

The male’s parents liked to know what to do to be loving.

In the absence of help from their parents, the young saffron finches fluttered at one another in confusion. “How can I know what you’ll like without a rule?” the male asked the female.

“How can a rule tell me what you’ll like next week or next month?” the female asked the male.

They were pretty well stuck.

“What are we going to do?” they asked one another.

It just happened that a kolea overheard. “Can you tell him the things that make you feel loved?” he asked the female. Well, she could, she thought. And she did. When she had, the kolea asked the male, “Can you make some rules or guides from that?” Well, he could. And he did.

“Now for you,” said the kolea to the male. “Can you assume that what she does, she does because she’s trying to show you she loves you?” Well, he could, he thought. And he would. “Can you tell her honestly and gently when something she does isn’t as loving as she hopes?” Well, he could. And he would. “And can you remember those things that didn’t work, and try new things that might work, and do the things that did work?” Yes, she could. And she would.

“It doesn’t matter whether you love from rules or from ideas,” said the kolea. “What matters is that you love, and trust in love.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

Photo of two saffron finches by Eric Anderson.

Story: One Loves

Most of the frame contains a massive lava fountain, but also visible is a white bird with black bars near the end of its wings and a long thin white tail.

July 19, 2026

Psalm 86:11-17
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

The koa’e kea (white-tailed tropicbird) loved to fly. She loved to fly over the sea, and to hover over the water before diving to capture a fish or squid. She loved to fly over the land as well, to feel the thermals lift her wings as she crossed from sea to shore. And of course, as a koa’e kea from Hawai’i Island, she loved to fly around the Kilauea summit, with all the excitement of the rising hot air and, from time to time, the thundering lava fountains.

When Kilauea has fountained recently, she’s tried to be there.

“You can’t love all of these,” said a grumpy friend. “Love isn’t like that. You love some things, but that means that you don’t love other things. You can’t love all those different airs.”

“But of course I love them,” protested our koa’e kea, but her friend repeated:

“You can only love one. Just one. Love is for one. Pick just one.”

That’s all her friend would say.

How was she to choose? She couldn’t imagine. Yes, flying over the water could be more challenging, because sometime the spray would leap toward her, but she liked that. Flying over bare rock gave her a lift, and flying among and around trees and branches gave her a thrill.

She supposed that she probably loved flying around a lava fountain the best, but that was mostly because it didn’t happen that often. She flew over water every day. Lava only fountained once or month or so. If it happened every day, it wouldn’t so special, and she thought she’d probably love it, but not quite as much.

And besides, as much as she loved flying around the fountains, she still loved the other flying. How could she choose one? She just wanted to weep.

“What are you sad about?” asked another friend, one who wasn’t quite as grumpy as the first friend.

“How can I choose what kind of flying to love?” she asked, and was very surprised when her friend said:

“Why would you?”

She explained what their other friend had said, and he shook his head in unbelief.

“Love is bigger than that,” he said. “I love all sorts of things and all sorts of birds. Sometimes I love them in different ways. I love squid, but I love to eat it. I love my parents, but I’m not going to eat them.”

The two birds laughed at that.

“I think you’ve got enough love in you for lots of things, and lots of birds, and lots of different kinds of air and flying. Besides, it’s all the same in the end. It’s the world we were given, and I say we can love all of it.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” said our koa’e kea. “I’ll love all of it. Come fly with me. Let’s have a lovely time.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory and improvisation. The story as I wrote it is not identical to the way I told it.

Photo of a koa’e kea in flight near a lava fountain by Eric Anderson.

Wholehearted


“I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever.” – Psalm 86:12

My heart is fractured, God.

Let’s face it, it’s been broken by
the disappointments and betrayals of
my all-too-human life. What mortar can
rebuild the broken soul?

My heart is fractured, God.

My heart is torn by contradictions, pulling me
from one side to the other. If
it were a matter of but two directions, I
could manage – but it’s more than two.

My heart is fractured, God.

Not all my inclinations and desires
content me, God. I know that some are sin,
and know you know which other ones are sin,
that I am happy to delight in.

My heart is fractured, God.

How can I give you thanks
with a whole heart? My heart is shattered in
the bony cage which carries it.
I sing a wild cacophony of praise.

My heart is fractured, God.

But you, O God, are merciful.
Your grace abounds beyond imagination. You
forgive and heal and give me strength. Someday,
perhaps, I’ll praise with a heart that’s whole.

A poem/prayer based on Psalm 86:11-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternate Psalm Reading for Year A, Proper 11 (16).

The image is A Paper-made “Broken Heart” by Sakazaki at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=55764723.

Watch… Me?

[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.

Looking Carefully


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

A bird with black feathers and a white bill, with a white forehead shield, swimming in gray water with droplets visible on its back.

May 3, 2026

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

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

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

He was afraid of the water.

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

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

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

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

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

He loved her for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

Photo of an ala’e keokeo by Eric Anderson.

Story: Good Advice

An 'elepaio: a small bird with mottled brown and cream feathers perched on a branch.

April 26, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

Photo of an immature ‘elepaio by Eric Anderson.

Gate

“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.