truth

Story: Fish Stories

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

June 28, 2026

Jeremiah 28:5-9
Matthew 10:40-42

I’m not a fisherman. You’re not likely to find me along the shore with a long fishing rod or standing in the shallows somewhere with a net. What I do know about fishing, however, is a piece of advice I’ve only picked up in recent years.

“It’s called fishing, not catching. There’s a reason for that.”

People who fish spend more time not catching fish than they spend actually catching fish, and that matches my admittedly limited experience.

The ‘auku’u doesn’t have much choice about whether to go fishing or not. If you want to eat, and your diet is basically fish, well, you’ve got to go fishing. For our young ‘auku’u here (you can tell she’s young because of her brown feathers and orange eyes; the older ones have blue-black feathers and red eyes), that wasn’t a problem. She liked fishing.

She liked catching better, but she didn’t mind fishing, at least if it led to some catching. The problem was that she wasn’t entirely clear on where to go to minimize the fishing and maximize the catching. That’s one of things you learn if you’re a young ‘auku’u, and she was still learning.

She knew two older ‘auku’u who were happy to give her advice. One was a cheerful uncle of a bird who was always enthusiastic about guiding her to good spots. The other was a rather gloomy auntie, and she was much more likely to say, “Don’t go to this spot; there’s no fish there.” The number of spots she could tell you had no fish in them was impressively long, but also downright depressing. The young ‘auku’u wanted to be told where to go, not where not to go.

So she tended to listen to the happy uncle.

It worked out less well than you’d hope. When she asked him, “Uncle, are there fish in that pool in the next cove?” he tended to say something like, “Oh, my, yes. I’m sure there are. Go have a good breakfast!” Reassured, she’d go see. Sometimes there were fish there, but more times than not, there weren’t.

She learned to ask him, “Have you checked that lately?” but he always said he’d checked it today, and strangely, the fish had often gone somewhere else by the time she arrived.

She did far more fishing than catching in the spots uncle suggested.

Gloomy auntie, on the other hand, didn’t get things wrong very often. There were times when uncle said, “Fish here!” and auntie said, “There’s no fish there,” and auntie had been right. When auntie said she’s found fish recently, there were always fish to catch there. She was always gloomy, but she was often right.

The young ‘auku’u asked her straight out one day: “Auntie, why do you and uncle tell me different things about fishing, and why don’t I find fish where he says more often?”

Auntie considered this question rather sadly, then said, “Niece, I tell you what I actually know about. I know the spots I’ve been to on the day, so I know when there’s no fish there. I might not always know where the fish are, but I can tell you where I haven’t found them.

“Your uncle, on the other hand, likes to tell happy stories, and he doesn’t check things before he tells them. Sometimes he’ll be right by pure chance, but most of the time he just doesn’t know and he says it anyway.”

The young ‘auku’u considered this. “Sunny stories are all very well,” she said to her auntie, “but fishing is fishing and catching is catching, and one of them will have me hungry and the other won’t. If it’s all right, auntie, I’ll ask your advice more than uncle.”

“That’s fine,” said auntie, “and when you have nieces and they ask your advice, try to tell them what you know, and not what you’d like to believe. They’ll eat better that way.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

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

Photo of an immature ‘auku’u (black-crowned night heron) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Good Advice

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
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.

Story: Truth and the ‘Akiapola’au

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

June 15, 2025

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
John 16:12-15

Birds are pretty honest creatures. They sing when they’re happy, and they screech when they’re mad. They give alarm calls when they’re scared, and they make hungry noises when they’re hungry.

An ‘akiapola’au  used to follow ‘elepaio through the forest to find food. The funny thing is that ‘elepaio and ‘akiapola’au don’t eat the same things. ‘Elepaio like bugs and spiders, which I don’t, to be honest. ‘Akiapola’au will eat those, it’s true, but they prefer the worms, caterpillars, and bugs that burrow into the wood of koa trees. It’s been noticed that a tree full of bugs and spiders is probably also one that’s full of burrowing insects, too. The Hawaiian canoe makers knew that, and the ‘akiapola’au knows it, too.

The ’elepaio could be trusted to tell the truth.

This one ‘akiapola’au, however, came up with a new idea one day. You see, while he was following the ‘elepaio, other birds were following him. He worried that they’d eat all the food before he did. The fact that none of them ever left the trees hungry didn’t seem to make a difference. He had to protect his food.

He thought.

Not that it was his food before he ate it, but anyway.

So he developed the habit of tapping at tree branches that didn’t have bugs in them. ‘Akiapola’au do that to find where things have burrowed into a tree, but he started doing it, and then digging where he hadn’t found any. It attracted other birds. They’d come in to see.

And he’d fly off to some other tree where he’d try to find something he could actually eat.

The result was a fair number of frustrated birds, who’d look around where he’d been tapping and find fewer spiders and insects than they expected. They went to bed somewhat hungry.

He was pretty satisfied with his trick when his auntie turned up after a day of tapping on insect-free trees. “Nephew, why are you spending so much time hunting in trees without food?” she asked.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m drawing the other birds away from the good trees,” he said. “I don’t want to run out of food and be hungry.”

“So you’re lying to them?” she asked. “And before you say, ‘No,’ don’t think about lying to me.”

“I don’t think I’m lying to them,” he said.

“You’re acting as if there’s food where there isn’t. You don’t have to say a word. It’s still a lie. It’s a lie that’s bringing hunger to our forest when it isn’t necessary. There’s plenty to eat. Isn’t there?”

“I guess so,” he said.

“As for you, you’re spending so much time in trees without food: how hungry are you when you go to sleep?” she asked.

He realized that, in fact, he spent so much time in trees without caterpillars that he was hungry at the end of most days. His lie meant that he wasn’t eating enough.

“No lying, nephew,” said auntie. “It’s not worth it and it never was. Go find the trees with food in them, and share the word with the other birds around us. We’ll all be better for the truth.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, but I tell them from memory and inspiration. On this particular day, I’d happened to speak to one of the young people the night before on a video call, where I told him that I’d be telling him a story the next day.

Photo of an ‘akiapola’au (adult male) by Eric Anderson.

Guide to Truth

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 7 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.'” – John 16:13

May the Spirit of Truth visit me, O Holy One,
for I live squinting into trees, struggling to
discern the movements of the Spirit’s wings
from the motions of the tossing wind,
a wind which might reflect the Spirit, too.

I strain to disentangle fern and feather, branch and beak,
blossoming lehua from the nectar-feeder there.
Through magnifying glass and brightening screens
you’d think I’d recognize the truth above,
but still I struggle to keep focus on the Truth.

Perhaps I should lay down the lenses and
the sensors that record the light, set my ears
to listen to the Spirit’s various calls,
and find the Truth in other medium
than sight.

A poem/prayer based on John 16:12-15, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Trinity Sunday.

Blurry photo of an i’iwi in juvenile plumage by Eric Anderson.

Paragon

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

The God of Israel has spoken;
the Rock of Israel has said to me:
“One who rules over people justly,
ruling in the fear of God,
is like the light of morning,
like the sun rising on a cloudless morning,
gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.”
Is not my house like this with God?

– 2 Samuel 23:3-5

My eyes no longer see as far as they once did.
My hands are creaky, laid upon the strings.
My knees and elbows crack, and truth to tell,
I’d rather spend the day in memory than rule.

The time will surely shortly come when I
shall make my bed in Sheol rather than
within this palace of my grandeur. No more
shall Abijag console me with her warmth.

But then, no longer must I listen to
the not-so-welcome words of Nathan. There
are benefits to dying. Such as making peace
with shame and guilt (if not with those I slew).

And so:

Was not my reign a paragon of right?
(Ignore the tales of rape and sons’
rebellion, though another looms e’en now.)
Did I not shine as dew reflects the morn?

Who now will contradict my words? They’ll hold
them close and celebrate how wise I was
when, near the end, I sang the truth
that earthly power, even mine, is judged by God.

How will they know that as I played
my fingers caught upon the strings, my voice
was husky with the tears that streamed, because
I knew the truth and then composed the lie.

A poem/prayer based on 2 Samuel 23:1-7, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year B, Reign of Christ.

The image is King David by Peter Paul Rubens (by 1640) – Corel Professional Photos CD-ROM, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10324682.

Story: The ‘Io and the ‘Amakihi

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

November 10, 2024

Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
Mark 12:38-44

There is a lot to learn when you’re a young bird. Or a young human, of course. But this story is about a young bird.

He was an ‘amakihi, and he’d hatched, fledged, and flown. He’d toured around with a little flock of various forest birds, and he’d seen plenty of sunrises and sunsets. All in all, he thought he was pretty wise.

Then he saw a creature he hadn’t seen before. It was big. It was impressive. It soared along in the air on broad wings. He watched it from an ohi’a branch with awe. Such presence. Such grace. Such magnificence. Such size.

To his surprise, it landed in a neighboring tree, where it seemed to rest.

“What are you?” asked the young ‘amakihi.

“I’m an ‘io,” said the big bird. “Haven’t you heard about me?”

In truth, the young ‘amakihi had been told about the ‘io, but he hadn’t been paying attention. These things happen sometimes, have you noticed?

“I can’t remember hearing anything about you,” said the ‘amakihi with some truth. “What are you like?”

“Oh, I’m a very friendly bird,” said the ‘io. “I fly around overhead and watch out for all the other birds in the forest. All the birds are safe when I’m around.”

“That’s really great,” said the young ‘amakihi. “And what do you eat?”

“Oh, this and that,” said the ‘io. “Kind of like yourself.”

“You mean, bugs and nectar and fruit?”

“Kind of like that,” said the ‘io.

“I’m a little hungry myself,” said the ‘amakihi, “and this tree has been pretty well picked over. If you don’t mind I’ll see you later.”

“That’s fine,” said the ‘io, who fortunately for the young ‘amakihi wasn’t hungry at the moment. “I’ll catch you later.”

The ‘amakihi flew off, and the ‘io didn’t chase him, fortunately. A little later he found his grandmother, and told her about the bird he’d just met.

“The ‘io told you he protects the other birds?” said his Tutu.

“Oh, yes,” said her grandson.

“Don’t you remember what your mother and father said about the ‘io?” asked his grandmother sternly.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said the young ‘amakhi. “I may not have been listening all that well.”

“That wasn’t a good time to not listen,” she said. “Didn’t you notice the ‘io’s beak, and the talons on his feet? Do you think those are good for eating bugs and nectar?”

And she told him what an ‘io eats. He was horrified and pretty surprised that he’d survived that conversation.

“Those who are danger to you won’t always tell you so,” said Tutu. “Sometimes they’ll lie about it. Listen to the warnings of those who love you. We may not always be right, but we will always tell you what we know and what we believe we know.

“And keep an eye out for those ‘io.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, and I tell them from memory during Sunday worship. Therefore, the story you’ve just read will likely differ from the story as I told it.

Photos of an ‘amakihi (top) and an ‘io (smaller photo on right) by Eric Anderson.

Story: Attempt to Deceive

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

May 12, 2024

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
John 17:6-19

As I’ve said before, the ‘amakihi likes to eat lots of different things. I think it’s fair to say that the ‘amakihi likes to eat, and fortunately for the ‘amakihi, it has a wide range to its taste. Nectar is always good, and so are bugs and spiders, caterpillars, tree sap, fruits and berries. It will even eat pollen sometimes, which people with pollen allergies will find truly mysterious and a little uncomfortable.

But there was one ‘amakihi who didn’t eat nectar from ohi’a trees.

If that seems weird to you, it seems weird to me, too. There are a lot of ohi’a trees on the mountain slopes, and they have a lot of flowers. It’s a great food source for ‘amakihi and ‘apapane and ‘akepa and lots of birds up there. They’d happily perch near those flower clusters and merrily feed on the nectar while this one ‘amakihi watched.

He watched, and he felt sorry for them.

“Poor birds,” he told himself, “to be so desperately hungry that they’ll feed on ohi’a. I feel really sorry for them.”

Why, you ask, did he feel sorry for them, eating ohi’a nectar? Well, I’m afraid it’s because one day when he was young, and before he’d actually sampled any ohi’a nectar, he perched near an i’iwi. I’iwi can be kind of mean sometimes, and they will chase ‘amakihi away from a tree they want to feed at. This i’iwi, however, was feeling rather full and didn’t want to get up off his perch and chase this young ‘amakihi away. He decided to try words instead.

“Planning to feed at this tree?” he asked the young ‘amakihi.

“Oh, yes, uncle,” said the ‘amakihi. I’m afraid the i’iwi wasn’t happy to be called “uncle” by an ‘amakihi.

“You should search somewhere else if you want something good,” said the i’iwi. “This is a bad tree.”

“Ohi’a is bad?” said the young ‘amakihi.

“I’m afraid so,” said the i’iwi. “The nectar is sour, except when it’s bitter. When it gets old, it’s really bad. It will keep a bird going, of course, but nobody eats ohi’a nectar until they’re desperate.”

“Really?” said the ‘amakihi.

“Really,” said the i’iwi. “You can trust me. Go find something else you’ll like better. I’m sure it will be better for you, too.”

Misled by the i’iwi, the ‘amakihi avoided ohi’a from that day on. Eventually his mother noticed, and he told her the story.

“So one i’iwi told you this story, and you never checked it with anyone else, or tried ohi’a yourself?” she asked him in surprise, “even when so many other birds eat its nectar every day without signs of complaint?” Put that way, it did sound a little odd.

“Come along, son,” said Mother firmly. “You need to try what you’ve been avoiding, and see what you think yourself.”

Of course he found it delicious, which was a good thing to learn. But he also learned that some birds, and some people out there, will lie to you when it serves them, and sometimes you need to test their stories with the ones who love you and with your own experience, to learn the truth.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, then tell them from memory – well, lack of memory plus improvisation. The video does not match the text you’ve just read.

Photo of an ‘amakihi in the midst of ohi’a blossoms by Eric Anderson.

Story: It Starts with Truth

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

September 17, 2023

Romans 14:1-12
Matthew 18:21-35

They were building their first nest together as an ‘apapane couple. An ‘apapane nest is a pretty impressive piece of engineering, taking a week or even a day or two more. That’s a lot of grass and twigs and moss to move.

They weren’t the only ones, of course. In a tree not far away his sister and her husband were also building a nest, their first one, too. They’d got started a little earlier, so their nest was taking shape while the brother’s nest looked pretty ragged. Everyone was having trouble finding the grass and moss and twigs for their nests, and flying farther to find them.

That’s when he got his clever idea.

When his sister and her husband (and his own wife) were away looking for more material, he flew quickly over to his sister’s nest. He pulled out a particularly nice twig that would be perfect for his own nest and flew back. When his wife returned she found him proudly settling that twig into position.

“Well done!” she said.

“There’s more,” he said.

They both flew off, she to search the forest and he to his sister’s nest. Before his wife came back he’d made three trips to it, taking grass and moss as well as another good structural twig.

“Where are you finding this so quickly?” his wife wondered.

“I found an old nest that nobody’s using,” he said.

“Oh, good! Show me and I’ll come, too.”

“I wish I could. This was the last of it,” he told her.

But he went back to his sister’s nest again for more.

He was careful to make sure his sister and her husband were absent. It was clear that they had had a difficult time replacing the things he’d taken. They were still ahead in their nest’s construction, but not so much as before.

He pulled a piece of moss from his sister’s nest and turned around. There, sitting silently on a nearby branch, was his wife.

“Abandoned nest?” she said.

“I’ll stop with this one,” he said.

“That’s not enough,” she told him. “You have to put that piece back, first of all. Then you have to wait for your sister and her husband and tell them what you’ve been doing. Then you have to help them build this nest that you’ve been stealing from.”

“Isn’t it enough that I just stop and let it be?” he asked.

“No, it isn’t. It’s nowhere near enough. You’ve been pulling their nest apart and you need to help them put it back.”

“Couldn’t I just do that? Leave out that I’ve been taking things?”

She gave him a very sharp look indeed. “She’s your sister. Do you think she’d be content with a lie?”

He admitted that she wouldn’t.

“Ask anyone among the ‘apapane,” she said. “We can live together when we make mistakes and make amends for them. We can’t live together with lies. It begins with truth. So tell the truth.”

He told the truth. His sister had some true and truly angry things to say to him about it, but she did accept his help in repairing the damage and, during family gatherings, was sometimes heard to say, “It begins with truth. Thank you, brother, for the truth.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, but I tell them from memory rather than reading them. As a result, they change.

Photo of an ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: The ‘Apapane Who Lied

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

July 30, 2023

Genesis 29:15-28
Romans 8:26-39

Generally, ‘apapane are pretty honest birds. They give warning calls when there’s danger near, they sing “Waiting for the rain to end” songs when it’s raining, and they sing “Oh, look what I’ve found!” songs when they’ve discovered a tree particularly rich in ohi’a blossoms.

One day an ‘apapane had a different idea. He had sung his “Waiting for the rain to end” song when it was cloudy, not raining, mostly because he was sure it was going to rain. Even though nothing ever fell from the sky, a number of birds, ‘apapane but also i’iwi and ‘amakihi, took shelter for a few minutes. It didn’t take long for them to come out again when the rain didn’t happen, but it started him thinking.

A day or two later he found a lovely ohi’a tree just dripping with nectar and already attracting a number of the bugs he liked to eat as well. He told some members of his family and a few close friends to wait for him in a certain spot, while he flew over to a place where there were trees with a few blossoms on them, but nothing like what he’d found on that one tree.

There, surrounded by mostly greenery, he sang his “Oh, look what I’ve found!” song.

When he heard wings approaching he flew off low to one side and circled back around to where his friends and family were.

“Somebody’s found something,” said his sister. “We should go see.”

“I just found something better,” he said. “Follow me.” And they did.

As a result, their little group of ‘apapane had quite some time enjoying the nectar-rich flowers before other birds discovered it – as a result, I should say, of them singing their own, “Oh, look what I found!” song.

He repeated the trick a few days later when he discovered another very nice tree, and about two days after that, and a couple days after that, and he was very pleased with himself.

He was caught, of course, and that was by his grandfather. There were rumors going about that some of these “Oh, look what I found!” songs seemed to be overly optimistic at best and downright deceptive at worst. Grandfather had perched at the top of a tall ohi’a and heard the early morning call from a group of trees he knew was pretty sparse for flowers. He looked for the flash of red and black wings, and when he spotted it, he followed. To his surprise, they led first to a little flock of his own family, and then to a tree that glowed red in the morning light.

As the birds fed, he perched next to his grandson. “Come,” he said, pointing to a neighboring tree. “We need to talk.”

When they both had landed on a branch with enough flowers for a breakfast that wasn’t nearly as extravagant as the other tree, the younger ‘apapane wanted to know what it was about.

“Grandson,” said the elder. “You’ve been lying.”

“Not to you, tutu,” protested the younger one. “Not to any of our family or my friends.”

“I appreciate that,” said grandfather, “but truth isn’t just for family or friends. Truth is for everyone.”

“What’s the harm?” demanded the grandson. “Everyone is getting fed. I haven’t prevented anyone from finding good trees. I mean, I haven’t driven anyone away.”

“You’ve misled them – and concealed that it was you doing it,” said grandfather.

“Well, sure. Because then they wouldn’t trust my song,” said the younger one, and that was when he realized.

“Because I wouldn’t be worthy of trust, would I?” he asked.

Grandfather said nothing.

“Because I haven’t been worthy of trust, have I?” he asked.

Grandfather and grandson sat quietly for a few moments.

“I’ll be worthy of trust, Tutu.”

“I know you will.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I tell these stories from memory of what you’ve just read – without a manuscript or notes. Inevitably, it varies from the text I’ve prepared, as it does today.

Photo by Eric Anderson

Author’s note

I found myself with a real quandary in developing a story that comments on Genesis 29, a text with so much that just makes me stop and go, “That’s not right.” Bringing its themes to children (or even to adults) looked impossibly difficult. Finally I settled on one theme of Jacob’s saga, something that happens again and again to cause pain and distress to the people involved: deception and lies. Thus this story about lies and truth.

Another World

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

“If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting…” – John 18:36b

O Lord, a disingenuous remark, perhaps?
There was some fighting in the garden when
you were arrested, yes? When Malchus lost
an ear, which you restored with just a touch.

It’s funny how nobody mentioned that
before the Roman governor. It’s like
the movie. “They cut off my ear!” “Your ear?
Your ear is fine.” “Well. It got better.”

In the best taste? Well, no, perhaps. You told
your old friend Peter to re-sheathe his sword,
then he and they decamped while you
were taken to the priests and then to Pilate.

Now, Pilate knew quite well just what to do
with you, Messiah. Crush the serpent’s head;
the rest will follow it to death. What need
a trial for pretenders to Israel’s throne?

What need? The need for truth, of course,
the truth that you defined Messiah unlike those
before, or those to come. You refused
to found your throne upon a frame of shattered bones.

Instead, you said, your reign’s foundation would
be truth itself, and truth its sign, and truth its aim.
To which the governor would scoff, attention gone,
the bitter question, “What is truth?”

Another world you rule indeed, Messiah King,
where those in power seek to rule in truth.
In this our world – and Pilate’s too – the truth
is clay to be reshaped as fits the day’s desire.

May we, unlike the governor who left the room,
his question echoing unanswered, give
the time and concentration to discern the truth.
Truth’s Author waits for us to ask – and learn.

A poem/prayer based on John 18:33-37, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 29 (34), Reign of Christ Sunday.

The image is What is Truth? Christ before Pilate by Nikolai Ge (1890) – http://www.picture.art-catalog.ru/picture.php?id_picture=7515, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=426635.