pride

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: The ‘Alawi Who Was Noticed

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

August 31, 2025

Proverbs 25:6-7
Luke 14:1, 7-14

Up on the mountain slopes, there are a lot of very colorful birds. The i’iwi and the ‘apapane are the brightest in color, with those glistening red feathers and the contrasting black of their wings. They’re not alone, though. The ‘amakihi makes a pretty brave sight in yellow, and the ‘akiapola’au is brighter still. Add in the colors of the flowers on the trees and on the bushes, and the forest is a pretty colorful place.

And then there’s the ‘alawi. The ‘alawi isn’t brightly colored. It’s grayish green with some yellow tint on the belly. It’s not even a strong singer. It has a pretty plain kind of call. It’s so understated, in fact, that people went many years before making the connection between the old Hawaiian word “’alawi” and a bird westerners called the “Hawai’i Creeper.”

Mostly, this hasn’t bothered the ‘alawi at all, since they don’t pay much attention to what people think of them. But one of them did start to feel bad. In the midst of a forest full of bright red ‘apapane, orange ‘akepa, and yellow ‘akiapola’au, who would notice a little green ‘alawi?

“It’s a pity I’m so drab,” he told himself one day. “I’m going to change that.”

I have to admit that his approach had some promise. He was going to start wearing jewelry – that is, he was going to tuck a flower behind his ear, as we see so often from human women in Hawai’i. He was so clever that he came up with the idea himself – he really didn’t pay much attention to people.

There was, however, a problem. Oh, he could grasp flowers with his feet quite well. But when you want to tuck a flower behind your ear, it really helps to have, well, ears.

An ‘apapane watched him do this and asked, “Why? I mean, why?”

“I want to be noticeable,” he said with some embarrassment. “I don’t want to be drab.”

“I’m noticing,” said the ‘apapane, “and I guess you aren’t drab. But you do look silly. Is that how you want to be noticed?”

This might have gone on for a while, but it turned out to be another of those dry times in the forest, and it got harder and harder to find things to eat. For the ‘alawi that’s mostly bugs. Everyone in the forest was feeling the pinch in their bellies.

Our friend the ‘alawi, however, got lucky one day. He found a stand of trees that were better watered, and the flowers on them had attracted a good crowd of insects. He flew over to feed, but stopped. He didn’t want anyone else to be hungry while he ate his fill. So he started to call the ‘alawi’s plan song. That didn’t seem to attract anyone, so he found an ‘akiapola’au and brought him to those trees. The ‘akiapola’au whistled, and some other birds and some other birds and some other birds made their way over, sang their songs, and settled in to eat.

Hopping along a tree branch, the ‘alawi met the ‘apapane he’d seen a few days before.

“You found a way to be noticed, youngster,” said the ‘apapane.

“I did?” said the ‘alawi.

“You did,” said the ‘apapane. “We’ve all noticed you, and not for wearing a flower. We’ve all noticed you for being the considerate and compassionate bird you are. Well done. And thank you.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them without notes, so between memory and improvisation the story as I told it is different from the story as I wrote it.

Photo of an ‘alawi by Eric Anderson.

I’m Waiting

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, “Friend, move up higher”; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you.'” – Luke 14:10

Is it fair to tell you I’m waiting, Jesus?
Yes, waiting for you to return in power.
Yes, waiting for resurrection’s dawn.
Yes, waiting for the Day of the Lord.

But I’m also waiting for your advice to work.

For truly, and sadly, I’m just as proud
as ever I was. When others are honored,
a part of me waits to hear my name called
though I know that it’s not about me.

But Jesus, you know, it’s still about me.

I’ve no cause to complain. I’m aware
that the praise I’ve received is more
than I’m due. I know it, and know I should head
for the end of the room, and take my place there,

But Jesus, you know I don’t like to be there.

I like the limelight, the spotlight, the office.
I like the small pond where my frog looks big.
I like it, and sure I’ve received it quite often.
I’ve heeded the summons of, “Friend, move up higher.”

But Jesus, I don’t always think I should be.

I can’t say I’ve bidden the poor to my table.
I can’t say I’ve done all the work I could do.
I can’t say I’ve lifted the spirits beside me.
I can’t say I’ve always been guided by you.

So Jesus, I’ll wait, and I’ll pray that you call.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 14:1, 7-14, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 17 (22).

The illustration is The Parable of the Humble Wedding Guest (1782) by Bartsch, Adam Von (1757-1821), based on an unfinished drawing by Rembrandt van Rijn – http://hdl.handle.net/1887.1/item:1629982, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=99478604.

Of all the temptations to which I’m subject, pride is the greatest.

Story: The Soaring Hero

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

July 6, 2025

Galatians 6:1-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

If you go up to the summit of Kilauea, look around for some white birds with long white tails flying about. I mean, they might be there when you’re there, and they might not, but take a look. If they seem to be gliding about on the warm air that rises above the volcano, you’ve seen a koa’e kea, the white-tailed tropicbird.

Koa’e kea fish far out to sea, so they’re not flying about the volcano summit looking for food. They do like to nest on the pali, the cliffsides, around Kaluapele. And, unusually for this bird that’s found all around the world, they like to soar.

It’s not just at the Kilauea summit. I’ve seen koa’e kea soaring above the water pool below Wailua Falls on Kauai. Those birds certainly looked like they were having fun.

Something Kilauea has that Kauai doesn’t is hot lava. For these last few months, Kilauea has sent these amazing plumes of lava high into the air, and it’s been flowing out on the crater floor and raising it higher. It’s been impressive. So what have the koa’e kea been doing when there’s been hot rock of about 2,000 degrees flying in the air?

Well, they’ve been flying right next to it, riding the hot air rising over the pooling lava, and getting far closer to the lava fountains than I would ever go.

One young koa’e kea was particularly fond of soaring over the lava, and every time the jets spouted into the air, there he’d be. He liked to toy with getting closer and closer to the plumes. He was sensible enough to keep from getting burned, and he stayed away from the rain of hot rock and ash, but he got close enough to make all the other birds of his generation go, “Wow!”

A photo of a lava fountain with a white bird flying between it and the viewer.

“Wow! You got so close!”

“Wow! You must be brave!”

“Wow! You must be a hero!”

I’m afraid it went to his head. He started to strut when walking, which is a difficult thing for a koa’e kea to do. It’s built for flying, not walking. More than that, though, he started to look down his beak at his friends who wouldn’t fly as close to the lava as he would. “You’re not so brave, are you?” he’d ask. “When are you going to be a hero?” he taunted. He left a lot of bad feeling behind.

Even his flying showed how arrogant he was, and it wasn’t pretty. It just said, “I’m better than you.”

His father joined him as he soared one day. “You’re flying well, son,” he said, “but maybe you could turn down the attitude. It doesn’t suit you.”

“It certainly does,” said the son. “I’m the brave one. I’m the best. The rest can just deal with it.”

“You’re certainly brave,” said his father, “but do you know what ‘koa’ in our name means?”

“No,” said the younger koa’e kea, who spoke bird, but not Hawaiian.

“It means ‘hero,’” said his father. “We’re all heroes. And if you’re a little braver than most, realize that someone else is certainly as brave as you. Be glad that you can fly in the rising air, and take joy in all the wonder of it all. Others of our kind don’t get that chance, and plenty of other birds can’t do what we do at all.

“Be glad, son, but leave the pride behind. It doesn’t add to your happiness. It just hurts the ones who love you.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and interaction, so the way I told it is different from the way I wrote it.

Photos of koa’e kea and lava fountains by Eric Anderson.

Exultant

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.'” – Luke 10:20

Jesus – May I call you Jesus?
“Mister of Nazareth” doesn’t glide from the tongue.
Jesus – yes, Jesus – can I offer some help?
Your marketing skills are frankly first century.

You’ve got seventy people who are all on a high!
What things they accomplished!
What heights they’ve attained!
They may not have seen the fall of a devil,

But then, who has?

Now, Jesus – yes, Jesus – let’s get to brass tacks.
They’re open. They’re glowing. They’re all fired up.
That’s the time when the iron is hot. So strike!
Whatever it is that you’re selling, they’ll buy.

But Jesus – oh, Jesus, may I call you Jesus? –
why throw cold water on bright red-hot steel?
They’d follow you anywhere, until that sad moment
you quenched their enthusiasm at the power they’d found.

C’mon, Jesus, why?

So try it again. This is a disaster,
but you can recover. I know that you can.
Praise them for their power. I tell you, they’ll love it.
And then, O and then, what they’ll buy! What they’ll buy!

Oh, yes. What they’ll buy.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 10:1-11, 16-20, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 9 (14).

The image is “Christ Came into Galilee” by Phillip Vere. From “An illustrated commentary on the Gospel of Mark” by Phillip Medhurst, between 1791 and 1795. FAL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34448342. This isn’t an illustration of the return of the Seventy, but I really like the way Jesus’ extended hands seem to be pushing down on the emotional level.

The Year of the Lord’s Favor

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“[Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah:] ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.'”

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled
in your hearing.” Your own words, Jesus,
amazing them with graceful speech.
Until they turned upon you.

Remind us once again of what is grace.
I’m told that grace is strength, is force.
I’m told that power is right, and might is good.
I’m told that what we want we take.

Where is the news that sounds good to the poor?
Where is the vision for the ones who will not see?
Where is the freedom for the ones who are oppressed?
Where are the prisoners released into the light?

You did not speak the words of grace alone.
You needled them, you did, O Christ, until they burst
in rage, and nearly did the work of Pilate three years
earlier, by casting you to break upon a rock.

O, can we learn the lesson that you tried to teach?
We claim your name but do not tread your ways.
We leave the poor uncomforted, we close our eyes
to the oppressed, and those we free are those who’ve flattered us.

May there be good news for the poor.
May there be vision which will pierce the shade.
May there be freedom for those who have been bound.
Bring quickly, Jesus, the favored year of the LORD.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 4:14-21, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Third Sunday of the Epiphany.

The image is “The Rejection of Jesus in Nazareth” (“Prophets are not without honour, except in their hometown”); 18th-century tile panel by António de Oliveira Bernardes in the Igreja da Misericórdia, in Évora, Portugal, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=97133284.

Fighting the Storm

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

July 7, 2024

2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13

I like honu (green sea turtles). How about you? It’s just so comforting to me watching those sea turtles raise their flippers to the surface to breathe and look around, and then taking them down to snack on the seaweed, then turning themselves about like the most agile of dancers, then hauling themselves out on the shore to get a good solid nap in the sun.

I like honu.

It’s hard to believe that one could be a bully, but I’m afraid this story is about a honu who did become a bully. He’d shove smaller turtles out of his way as he grazed on seaweed. He knocked shells with honu who were in the spot he wanted to sunbathe in. Actually, he’d knock shells with a honu just to get it to move, then he’d nap somewhere else. He slapped other turtles with his flippers, he nipped them with his mouth, he’d slide over them when they surfaced to breathe, he… well.

He was a bully.

I’m sorry to say that, mostly, it worked for him. He didn’t have a lot of friends, and I guess part of the reason he was mean was that he didn’t have a lot of friends. But he ate a lot, and he got comfortable spots on the beach, and other honu didn’t pick on him, no they didn’t. So, as I say, it mostly worked for him.

Until, one day, he decided to bully the ocean.

The winds were strong and the surf was high that day. Rain lashed down from overhead so that even a honu found it difficult to tell where the sea top ended and the air began. Spray flew in sheets. Wavetops tossed careless fish into the air.

And this honu decided to go nap on the beach. I don’t think he expected to find sunshine there, but when somebody expects to get things his way all the time, who knows?

The problem was that the waves at the surface tossed him about, and when he dove down, the currents underwater dragged him back to sea. He was trying to get to one specific part of the beach, but the wind carried him along past where he wanted to go, and when he tried to swim back against it, he couldn’t – at least not from where he was. He lashed his flippers at the water both at the surface and deeper down, and in neither place could he make much headway.

Eventually he let the underwater current carry him back out to sea, where he surfaced and howled in rage – which is very rare for a honu – at the winds and the surf.

An older honu drifted by and said, “What’s the matter, youngling?”

He wasn’t that young, but she was a lot older (and bigger), so he didn’t quite yell back when he said, “The stupid wind and waves won’t get me where I want to go!”

“Watch the youngling there,” said the older honu, and he did. A younger, smaller turtle, one that he’d bullied any number of times, had positioned himself in a place where the combination of wind, waves, and current would carry him toward the beach. He made just the smallest of adjustments with his flippers as the water bore him along. Just at the beach, he dipped down to slow himself in the current going back and to avoid being thrown onto the shore from the top of a wave. Then he slid onto the shore, and slowly moved up on his now-active flippers.

“You can’t bully the sea, youngling,” said the older honu. “You shouldn’t bully anything, but especially not the ocean, which won’t notice you at all.”

It took him a long time to learn that lesson deeply, I’m afraid, and he spent a number of storms tossing about in the surf. Eventually, though, he learned that sometimes you don’t fight, you follow. And when he did, he fought less with other honu, and a bully learned to do better.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

Due to a technical error, the story was not recorded this week.

Photo of a honu (who showed no signs of being a bully) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Not Doing So Fine

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

June 30, 2024

Lamentations 3:22-33
Mark 5:21-43

He was the oldest pueo in the nest. He was the best. He did things right.

At least, that was his opinion.

It wasn’t his younger sister’s opinion, but that frequently happens with younger brothers or sisters. They tend to think an older (or a younger, come to think of it) sibling can’t do anything right. Oldest children, however, or oldest fledglings in this case, tend to think, “I’m right. I’ve got this. Depend on me.”

And before you ask, yes, I was the oldest child in my family.

To his sorrow, it turned out his mother didn’t think he did everything right, either. She wasn’t like his sister, who didn’t think he did anything at all right. No, Mother was far more specific. She didn’t like the way he flew, or hunted for food, or caught it. “You’re beating your wings too fast,” she’d tell him. “You’re not paying enough attention while you’re circling,” she told him. And, of course, “You’re coming down too fast.”

The problem was that everything she told him happened to be correct. He was an overeager flier, and he tired himself out. In that fatigue haze, he didn’t look carefully for mice on the ground, and he’d miss them. So far his dives to catch prey hadn’t been complete disasters, but they weren’t getting better, either.

“I’m doing fine,” he hooted at his mother.

“No, you’re not,” she hooted back.

Exasperated, he flew off alone, without his mother or his sister, to avoid her steady barrage of corrections.

That worked. Well, it stopped the criticisms. At least the ones he could hear with his ears. His mother had succeeded, however, in creating some mother memory in his head, and he could still hear her telling him to fly slower, look more carefully, and for pity’s sake, control your dives.

But he didn’t change any of that. Which is why, after missing several swoops and getting hungrier and hungrier, he made a desperate dive for a mouse and crashed right into a bush. He crawled out, leaving behind several feathers in the process, and found his little sister waiting for him.

“Are you OK?” she asked, and she meant it.

“Mostly,” he said, feeling rather bruised.

“You need to talk to Mom,” she said. “Actually, you need to listen to Mom.”

He knew he did, but he also knew how much he’d annoyed her. “I don’t think she’d help me after all I’ve put her through,” he said.

His sister shook her head. “She absolutely will,” she fussed at him. “Go ask Mom for help. Say you’re sorry. But ask her for help. She will.”

They flew back together, and he did say he was sorry, and he did ask for help, and he finally started following her instructions, and he finally started to learn.

His sister couldn’t resist telling him, “I told you so,” but he was grateful to both of them anyway.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

https://www.youtu.be/zvsb71f7Gx0?si=pzEHtO0S-okrJxiW&t=795

I write these stories in advance, then tell them from memory. I improvise a lot.

Photo by Bettina Arrigoni, via HarmonyonPlanetEarth – Pueo (Hawaiian Owl)|Saddle Rd | 2013-12-17at17-45-012Uploaded by snowmanradio, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30241884

Story: The Best

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

October 1, 2023

Philippians 2:1-13
Matthew 21:23-32

She was the best. Everybody knew it. When young koa’e kea began learning to fly, they aspired to fly like her. She was the best.

Koa’e kea move awkwardly on land, and so did she, but the grace with which she’d take off had everyone gasping with amazement. One moment she was stationary on the ground, the next moment she was in the air, moving as if she’d never been anywhere else. When fishing, she would dive straight down, and only stray to the side to intercept the moving fish in the water below. Her take-offs from the water were as seemingly miraculous as her take-offs from land. One moment bobbing in the waves, the next moment climbing to the skies.

When young koa’e kea tried to race her, they rapidly fell behind. When they tried to turn more sharply than she, they either skittered away or fluttered helplessly down until they’d caught themselves and controlled their flight again. She landed so gently that her legs barely flexed. From time to time she’d gently roll through the air. Those who imitated her went through day after day of struggle, turning this way and that and descending rapidly, until they finally mastered those subtle movements of the feathers. Then they’d roll, but never with the same grace and power.

When she wanted to relax, she’d catch the rising air above Halema’uma’u Crater, soaring in rising circles with barely a wingbeat, higher than any of the other koa’e kea dared to go, a spot of white against the blue sky.

She was the best.

One young koa’e kea was determined to be her successor – in fact, to fly even better than she did. He studied every move she made. He exercised his wings. He spent hours facing into the trade winds and seeing what happened when he moved this feather like this, or that feather like that. He was going to be the best.

There was one difference, though. He announced it.

“I will be the best!” he said at some point during just about any conversation. He knew he wasn’t the best, not yet, but every koa’e kea on the mountainside knew what he aspired to be.

As for the best flyer among them? She said nothing, did nothing, but flew her best over the ocean, and over the pali, and over the mountain. When someone asked her help or advice she gave it (she was a willing teacher), but there was never a word from her about who the best flyer among the koa’e kea was.

There were plenty of words from the younger one. “I’ll be the best!” he said. “I’ll be the best very soon!” And indeed, that seemed like it might be true. He was taking turns almost as sharply as she. His take-offs were almost as magical. When he soared, he rose nearly as high.

So his grandmother took him aside one day. “Grandson,” she said, “I am very proud of you. You are the best flyer of your generation, and you may become the best flyer of us all. I’m so proud of all your hard work.”

“I’ll be the best,” he said.

“But one thing, grandson,” she said, “will prevent you from being the best if you keep doing it.”

“What’s that?” he asked. “Is it the way I hold my tail on takeoff? I’ve been working on that.”

“No,” she said. “It’s the way you keep talking about becoming the best.”

He was confused. “If I’m the best, or nearly the best, shouldn’t I say so?”

“Does the best flyer among the koa’e kea need to say it?” his grandmother asked.

As he thought about it, he realized that she never said a word about it. Even when she was doing something showy – like those rolls through the air – she never did it in a way that upset the other birds. She relaxed through those rolls, and in those rising circles, so that nobody ever thought her skill was a taunt or an insult to them. It was just an expression of her joy in flight.

“No, I don’t think she does,” he replied.

“You’re more than a good enough flyer,” said his grandmother, “that you don’t need to say a thing about it, either.”

It took a while to break the habit – bad habits are hard to break, aren’t they? – but on the day that his soaring circle reached higher than hers, he said nothing about it. She did – she congratulated him on his skill – and the two of them were the wonder of the koa’e kea of Hawai’i Island, rising, turning, diving, and soaring so beautifully that everyone else watched in wonder and in awe.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories first, and tell them from memory – which means things change. Today that includes the addition of sound effects.

Photo of a koa’e kea (white-tailed tropicbird) by Eric Anderson.

Moses’ Seat

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

To be quite truthful, Jesus:
I cannot really claim to know
just what you meant by “Moses’ seat,”
and what you meant to say about
authority, interpretation of the law,
or representing God. For certain
we have called a host of people “Lord,”
or “Teacher,” “my Professor,” “Mom,” or “Dad.”

Whatever may be true about the Truth
Divine, how cloudy and obscured it is
when heard from human tongues or hands!
Just like a cosmic game of “Telephone”
in which the loss of clarity means life for some
and death for many more. But Jesus, we
have heard your words through intermediaries,
assembled generations after you had taught.

From you to eager followers who did not, I know,
take notes, from them to others who, perhaps,
would write a word or two, to others yet
who finally recorded what they heard on reeds,
on parchment, vellum, paper, with a press,
and on to me today reminding me once more
that greatness is the act of service,
and hubris is just asking to be tumbled into dust.

Once more my memory returns to a great soul,
who truly in her life embodied what you said
was great, whose smile was the mirror of her soul,
who sparked new life in all who saw her,
who heard her words, who knew with her such joy.
I’m sure she was a human, not a plaster saint,
because her passing pains me still, and woe, ye world,
that misappraises pride for what what is truly great.