protection

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: Rocky the Honu

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

August 25, 2024

Psalm 34:15-22
Ephesians 6:10-20

A newly hatched honu isn’t very big. Two or three inches long. They spend their time feeding on the seagrasses in which they hide in the shallows of our island.

A kupuna honu is a lot bigger, up to four feet long and weighing over 300 pounds.

Our honu today was bigger than a hatchling and smaller than a kupuna. He was maybe a foot long, had well developed flippers and tail, and enjoyed both swimming in the ocean waters and in the shallows near the beach. And, like all honu, he liked sunning himself on the rocks or the sands.

But… he was worried about manō. Sharks. A good size tiger shark could be a real problem. He kept a wary eye out for manō as he swam along the reef, and he listened intently for the sound of water passing over their sleek fins. He had a good strong shell, he knew, but… well. Who could tell if that would be enough?

One day, though, he got an idea. He’d just seen a wave move some rocks up and down the beach. What if he could find some way to attach rocks to his shell? Corals and opihi and, for that matter, the sea grasses he liked to eat managed to stick to things. What might give him an extra shell?

I still don’t know what he found to do it, but he did find something sticky, and he covered his shell with it. Then he went to a beach loaded with loose stone, moving back and forth with the waves. As they went clattering down the beach, they stuck to his shell, and suddenly he was the best armored honu in history.

He rested on the beach for a while, delighted with his success. He napped in the sun. The rocks actually made him just a little warmer as the sun warmed them, which was really nice. When he woke up, he was hungry. So he started crawling down the beach into the surf.

He was surprised to find it really difficult to move along. The stones on his shell weighed him down, and his flippers strained to push him along. “It will be better when I get into the water,” he thought.

He was wrong.

As difficult as moving along the beach had been, swimming was worse. The stones dragged him right down to the sea floor, and he struggled to swim back up to breathe – honu aren’t fish, you know. They breathe air. Every time he caught a breath he’d be back under a moment later. Honu can hold their breath a lot longer than I can, but this was not good. Not good at all.

He struggled back to the beach until his tail was in the water and his head out of it, with waves lapping at his shell as he gasped.

“Too heavy?” asked a passing ‘ulili.

“Too right,” said the honu, who started scraping the stones off. The ‘ulili used his long beak to help pray them away.

“Thanks for your help,” said the honu, and the ‘ulili replied, “I’m happy to help, Rocky.”

Rocky the honu laughed, and he wore the name the rest of his long life, but he never wore any rocks again.

Armor has its price, you know. Sometimes its protection is too heavy for living. Sometimes we do best by relying on what we can carry.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them on Sunday morning from (occasionally poor) memory and (occasionally creative) inspiration. What you’ve just read will not match what I said.

Photo of a honu by Eric Anderson.

Strange Protection

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 8 Comments

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power; put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil…” – Ephesians 6:10-11

I’m grateful that the struggle is not with
the powers of blood and flesh. Not if
I’m to rely upon these items
for protection of my vital spark.

What happens to the righteous? Why,
they suffer, as do those who speak of peace.
A shield of faith is powerless against
an arrow, or a club, or fist.

Should I entrust my head to its
salvation? The logic doesn’t work for me.
I wish I thought an offense of the Spirit,
of the Word, protected anyone, but… no.

And worst of all, to recommend
I gird my waist with Truth, as if
the truth has ever carried any weight
when cut so easily by lies.

But then I see a brilliant coral
called “The Armor of our God,”
protected by no more than truth,
feebly anchored to its rock.

These corals can be shattered by
a careless underwater step,
the floating residue of sun protection, by
a current that directs its food away.

If coral, brilliant in its indigo,
can live its fragile life beneath the sea,
I might, perhaps, submit my life
to living with this unprotective armor,

Rooted in the truth, acting righteously,
striding ever toward the reign of peace,
with faith displayed before me, head
a-crowned with Christ’s salvific work,

Equipped to bring the Spirit’s Word
to those who might, in turn, take on
this truth, this righteousness, this peace,
this saving faith, this summons from our God.

Author’s note: I have no idea what I was going to write about before I found this photo of an “Armor of God” Zoanthid coral.

A poem/prayer based on Ephesians 6:10-20, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year B, Proper 16 (21).

Photo of an “Armor of God” variety Zoanthid coral by la.kien – https://www.flickr.com/photos/67619130@N07/6952012176/in/photolist-bAjT1U-ex665Z-ex6q1Z-8mZvs2-fgfi1z-4WFdDR-byjPn1-aoBVqF-4C8EsV-e35MjW-bMetRP-8AxwPo-8hRGc3-8zTVeH-8zTV8i-4KdVqj-4WKv3A-a6JBuH-4CcXgS-a68Ner-a6bDtY-a6bDEo-d8cXaC-8knfqw-8knfrL-adg9dt-eARtXV-eaP1mp-n3vueH-kdub15-e385Wo-6icch6-nxntwv-ne6ED7-69VkyF-eCZ3h3-fQbC2i-nPijbf-fHGFCK, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37054836.