Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons, Uncategorized

Sermon: Help Us!

March 29, 2026

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

As Jesus rode the donkey – maybe two donkeys, according to Matthew – into Jerusalem, the crowds gathered and shouted. They quoted Psalm 118, a song of thanksgiving and, quite possibly, related to an ancient religious procession from the city entrance to the area of the Temple at the city’s summit. They also called “Hosannah to the Son of David!”

That was a pretty bold thing to say.

As D. Mark Davis writes at LeftBehindAndLovingIt, “The word “Hosanna” is only found in the entry stories of the NT. The Greek term Ὡσαννὰ [Hosanna] seems to be a transliteration of the Hebrew הושיעה־נא [Hoshiana]. When הושיעה־נא [Hoshiana] appears in the OT, such as in Psalm 118:25, it was translated in the LXX as σῴζω [sodzo], “to save.”

Calling for help and aid doesn’t sound so bold, but calling for it from the “Son of David” was. “Son of David” was a royal title, indicating a legitimate claim to the traditional throne of Israel and Judah. It was just short of calling Jesus, “King Jesus,” and not all that short of it.

Bold.

It could well have been even bolder, because it wasn’t just the city’s residents in the city at the time. At JourneyWithJesus.net, Debie Thomas writes,

In their compelling book, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’ Last Days in Jerusalem, [Marcus] Borg and [John] Crossan argue that two processions entered Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday; Jesus’ was not the only Triumphal Entry.

Every year, the Roman governor of Judea would ride up to Jerusalem from his coastal residence in the west.  Why?  To be present in the city for Passover — the Jewish festival that swelled Jerusalem’s population from its usual 50,000 to at least 200,000.

The governor would come in all of his imperial majesty to remind the Jewish pilgrims that Rome was in charge.  They could commemorate an ancient victory against Egypt if they wanted to.  But real, present-day resistance (if anyone was daring to consider it) was futile.

When the crowds shouted “Hosannah! Save us! Help us!” to Jesus, they did so aware that the ones they wanted help against – the Romans – were present, armed, and prepared to bring violence just the other side of the city.

Help us!

A bold cry, or a desperate one, or sometimes maybe there isn’t much difference between desperate and bold.

Jesus chose an odd prophetic image to emulate with his donkey and colt. Jesus could have done things to look more like a traditional monarch. He might have sent his disciples to find a horse. He would have looked great on a horse. Everybody looks good on a horse – at least until it starts moving. After that it helps to know how to ride. It would have even matched a prophecy from Jeremiah rather than Zechariah.

If you want to look like a king, get a horse. Not a donkey.

They were bold and they were desperate, and they shouted, “Save us,” because even on a donkey Jesus was the best they had.

As D. Mark Davis writes, “I like how the word κράζω [kradzo] (cry out) is like an onomatopoeia, imitating the croak of a raven. It is used for both loud crowds and desperate people, like a woman crying out for help and Jesus crying out from the cross.”

Desperate people. A woman crying out for help. Jesus crying out from the cross. Matthew 27:46: “’Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’”

Help us!

I don’t know for sure what that crowd wanted. As with most crowds, I suspect there was a good range. Some hoped for that royal Messiah who would cast out the Romans. Others probably hoped for a new religious, but not political, leader who would do something about the priests. I’m sorry to say that religious leaders aren’t always the best of friends to the people they’re supposed to serve, in the twenty-first century or in the first century. Some might have been shouting “Help us!” because of their individual needs: Healing for an illness or injury, a word of assurance for the hopeless, a gift of food for the hungry. I suspect as well that some joined the crowd and shouted and waved palms because people get caught up in that kind of excitement even when they don’t know anything about what’s going on. “Who is this?” they asked, and there’s always plenty who don’t bother to ask.

Help us!

I don’t know whether Marcus Borg and John Crossan are right that Pontius Pilate entered the city on the other side as Jesus entered on the near side. It would have required some knowledge and planning to time things that way – which, to be sure, Jesus was certainly capable of. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. The crowd would have contrasted the Jesus parade with the Pilate parade. They would have noticed the distinct lack of soldiers. They would have noticed the complete lack of marching drummers and trumpeters. They would have noticed the replacement of the warhorse with the donkey.

“Crossan notes that Jesus rode ‘the most unthreatening, most un-military mount imaginable: a female nursing donkey with her little colt trotting along beside her.’” (quoted by Debie Thomas at JourneyWithJesus.net)

I’ll help you, said Jesus in his choice of mount, but not quite as you think, and probably not quite as you expect, and more than you dare to hope.

I am depressingly conscious of the number of people crying out for help in the world today. Some of them are near: people on this island, O’ahu, and Maui picking up from the wreckage left by floods and high winds over the last two weeks. There is a national UCC emergency offering for that, by the way. Look for information on how to contribute to it in the Weekly Chime on Tuesday.

Others near us suffer from injuries or illness, from the pains of long-term disease, from the fogs and storms of mental illness. Some cope with grief, with feelings of failure, with the words of others telling them that they aren’t of much worth. Some cope with the oppression of violence, violence from those who claim to love them, or violence of those who are supposed to protect them. Let’s face it. Federal courts have clearly stated that a law enforcement agency of the United States is routinely abusing its authority, taking people into custody without due process of law, abusing those it has detained, and avoiding accountability before the courts.

If they do it in Minnesota and Maine, they’ll do it in Hawai’i.

Some of those crying for help are not so near. They live in some of the world’s poorest regions, vulnerable to famine or disaster. Or they live as a marginalized group of people in some of the world’s most oppressive nations. Those people might be identified by skin color, or by national heritage, or by sexual orientation. These people might simply be women.

Some of them are just people living in a place engaged in war. That includes the United States. The war has come home with grief for mercifully few families so far, but the only certain thing about armed conflict is that more families will grieve. It’s for certain that a lot more families are grieving in Iran, and most of them have nothing to do with the issues between the governments. That’s the great tragedy and the great immorality of war. Whatever the justice of the cause – and the American administration has made no coherent explanation answering the questions of just cause – the most just cause in the world inflicts horrendous suffering on innocents. During the Second World War, it’s estimated that twice as many civilians died as those in the military – and again, most of those soldiers and sailors and aircrew had nothing to do with the aggression of their governments.

There are a lot of people in the world crying, “Hosannah! Save us! Help us!”

Jesus, in the meantime, makes his way through our lives on a donkey, not a warhorse. Whatever the show on the far side of the city, the great gift is before us here.

How will he help? Not with military conquest. He didn’t do it in the first century. He’s not going to do it in the twenty-first century. Not with grandeur. He chose a donkey. Not with coercion. He didn’t force anybody to cheer him. Pilate almost certainly did.

The things that Jesus offers – nearness to God, richness of soul, abundance of life in this world and the promise of life eternal – just aren’t as grand or as compelling as the parade of Pilate. They don’t answer the cries of “Help us!” all that directly – but I ask you: if we all truly lived as Jesus calls us and as Jesus expects, would we be at war now?

I didn’t think so, either.

Help us, Jesus!

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes as he preaches – sometimes deliberately, and sometimes not. The sermon as he prepared it is not a direct match for the sermon he delivered.

The image is The Entry into Jerusalem by Jan Baegert (ca. 1505-1510) – Wuselig, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=104993708.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Humble Monarch

Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem was his first public act proclaiming he was the Messiah – and he chose the humblest possible way to do it.

Here’s a transcript:

This coming Sunday is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week, so I’m thinking about the twenty-first chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 21:1-11), Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem.

In Matthew, this was really Jesus’ first public proclamation that he was the Messiah. He had discussed it with his disciples, others had speculated about it, but here Jesus actually did something that people would recognize as a Messianic claim. Here Jesus did something that people would recognize as the act of a king.

It was still a somewhat peculiar choice. Jesus chose to have his disciples find a donkey, and in Matthew’s account they also brought a colt, so that he came into the city, matching not lots of other Prophetic or Psalmic descriptions of the arrival of a monarch. Instead, he emulated a prophecy of Zechariah. “Your king comes to you, humble and mounted on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

It is possible, even likely, that on the other side of the city another procession similar but much grander was going on. The Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, would have entered Jerusalem at about this time: his annual visit to coincide with the Passover. That would have included trumpets, that would have included marching soldiers, that would have included the governor mounted on a great big horse.

On the other side of the city, Jesus entered to the accompaniment of cries of “Hosanna!” or “Save us!” His humble beast strode over people’s cloaks and branches that they laid in the road. It was a distinct, dramatic, and telling contrast to what would have happened on the other side of the city.

If it’s big and grand and showy we have to ask ourselves: just how Christian is it?

I come out of a tradition which includes significant influence from the Puritan part of the Protestant Reformation. The Puritans, in addition to concerns about clothing and modesty and all the rest of it, were very concerned about humility. Not always, I grant you, once they got into power.

Jesus, even as he made a proclamation of power did so in the humblest way possible. The twenty-first century since Jesus: so far, at least, it is not a humble age. It is not an age that values humility. It is not an age that rewards humility. Pride and hubris get the attention. Pride and hubris get the rewards.

But pride and hubris are not the ways of Jesus. They are not or should not be the ways of Jesus’ followers. Let us come into this Holy Week faithfully following the one upon a colt, the foal of a donkey, humble and coming to us and hearing our cries of “Hosanna,” “Save us,” “Help us.”

This is our prayer, O Jesus.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, Sermons

Sermon: Without Pride or Privilege

January 11, 2026

Isaiah 42:1-9
Matthew 3:13-17

Let’s face it, leaders of religious movements are often peculiar. Moses liked to wander off up mountains leaving everybody unsettled. Elijah wore funny clothes and irritated the monarchs. Monarch-irritating turned out to be a characteristic of many of the “writing prophets,” including Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, and Ezekiel. Jeremiah’s reputation for telling people things they didn’t want to hear earned him the nickname, “Magor-missabib,” which translates to “Terror on every side.”

Then and now, bullies like to give their opponents insulting nicknames.

John the Baptist, I should say, wasn’t any gentler to those who questioned him and his ministry. “You brood of vipers,” he called the Pharisees and Sadducees who came for baptism. “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” That was good advice, then and now, but I wonder how well it went over with those he called snakes. King Herod, whom John also criticized, found a way to express his displeasure later on.

John imitated Elijah in wearing funny clothes and irritating monarchs. He imitated the writing prophets in telling people things they didn’t want to hear. He imitated Moses by wandering off into the wilderness. People had to follow him; he didn’t go where they were.

He also looked to trespass on the territory of the priesthood, though that’s a little unclear. We don’t know if he told people that his baptism washed away their sins, or if it merely represented the repentance that washed away their sins. In the ancient Law, one sought God’s forgiveness through proper offering of sacrifices, through the agency of the priests. I’m pretty sure that John’s activities cut into, well, into their business. I’m sure some of the Sadducees who visited his riverbank were earnest seekers after learning, spiritual renewal, and forgiveness. I’m also sure that some of them were simply spies, trying to make a case that John was claiming powers he should not.

They didn’t arrest him. Herod did. John irritated the ruler faster than he irritated the priests.

So there was John, this peculiar religious leader, welcoming people into a public act affirming their repentance. There was John, proclaiming that the times were urgent and special. There was John, promising another person would come, blessed by God, who would be greater than he.

And along came a poor man from Galilee who wanted to be baptized, too.

Only Matthew told the story of this conversation between the two, John and Jesus. John asked, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” to which Jesus replied, “Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Only Matthew. Of the Gospel writers, Matthew paid more attention than the others to the difficult spots of Jesus’ story. Matthew was the one to tell us that Joseph planned to abandon Mary when she was pregnant – a difficulty that I’m sure Luke recognized but chose to glide over. Mark, Luke, and John all said that Jesus was baptized, but only Matthew made sure to pause for a moment to echo our question in John’s question: “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

Mark Allen Powell writes at Working Preacher, “John’s objection to baptizing Jesus is related to a difference in status. John recognizes Jesus to be the ‘more powerful’ one, the one he has been talking about for some time (3:11). John himself stands in need of what Jesus has to offer: a greater baptism of Spirit and fire (3:11); this is probably what he means when he says, ‘I need to be baptized by you’ (3:14).”

Jesus, however, would have John’s baptism and wouldn’t turn it around. His words, “Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness,” are the first he speaks in Matthew’s Gospel. It’s a tantalizing reply. It sounds pregnant with meaning, as if understanding will come to us at any moment. In the end, though, I usually find myself wondering, fulfill what righteousness? How did this moment move Jesus’ ministry along?

It did, that’s for sure. The Gospels make it clear that whatever Jesus had been doing before this, he did different things after this. We’ll read Matthew’s account of Jesus’ temptation in a few weeks, which he experienced just after his baptism. Matthew and Mark both wrote that Jesus remained by the Jordan near John until John’s arrest by Herod, and then returned to Galilee to take up his own preaching ministry.

We don’t know what the baptism meant for Jesus. It did change his life. Whatever lay in his days as a young adult, it washed away in the Jordan.

But I’m still back a few minutes, to that conversation between John and Jesus. Would it have been so wrong for Jesus to baptize John? Jesus was, we believe, the very figure John had promised. Jesus was one to baptize with the Holy Spirit. Jesus had power John did not.

Jesus also had the power to swallow his pride. He had the capacity to curb his privilege. He had the grace to be one of the people who wanted to change his life.

Dan Clendenin writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “Jesus’ baptism inaugurated his public ministry by identifying with ‘the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem.’ He identified himself with the faults and failures, the pains and problems, of all the broken people who had flocked to the Jordan River. By wading into the waters with them he took his place beside us.

“Not long into his public mission, the sanctimonious religious leaders derided Jesus as a ‘friend of gluttons and sinners.’ They were more right than they knew.”

Gluttons, sinners, those struggling to do well and not getting it right as often as we’d like: a friend to us. That’s what Jesus did when he won the argument with John. He got right down in the muddy water with us. Some of that mud just comes with living. We know that. We don’t worry too much about washing it away. Some of that mud came with us. Yeah. We rolled in it. We made it soupier or thicker and, God help us, we tried to smear it on other people, didn’t we? But yes. That’s our mud. It’s time to wash it away, John. It’s time to wash it away, Jesus.

We’ll probably pick up more tomorrow, but for today, we’re better than we were yesterday.

As Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “To embrace Christ’s baptism story is to embrace the core truth that we are united, interdependent, connected, one.  It is to sit with the staggering reality that we are deeply, deeply loved.  Can we bear to embrace these mind-bending truths without flinching away in self-consciousness, cynicism, suspicion, or shame?”

I hope we can. I hope we do.

Now. I have a problem. This morning I told the children a story about humility. Jesus’ humility inspired that story. Jesus’ humility and expansive love is the way of life I want to tell the children about, model for them as best I can, and watch them adopt for themselves.

I want the children to be followers of Jesus, and preferably better followers than I am.

What I can’t tell them, or you, or myself, is that it’s going to work out well for them.

Historically, humility, generosity, and mercy haven’t won too many battles. Partially because they don’t fight battles. Battles are fundamentally contrary to humility, generosity, and mercy. It’s also really hard to do when so many leaders prefer to project their pride beyond even the expected boundaries of their power.

You’ll find in The New York Times, “President Trump declared on Wednesday evening that his power as commander in chief is constrained only by his ‘own morality,’ brushing aside international law and other checks on his ability to use military might to strike, invade or coerce nations around the world.

“Asked in a wide-ranging interview with The New York Times if there were any limits on his global powers, Mr. Trump said: ‘Yeah, there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.’”

(Interviewers were Zolan Kanno-Youngs, Tyler Pager, Katie Robers, and David E. Sanger)

Quite aside from the legitimate questions of whether there should be and are limits on presidential power: that is not somebody who would have asked John to baptize him. It is not what Jesus ever said. It is not what a follower of Jesus should ever say.

But if anybody asks me, I’ve to admit: it works. Accept no limits upon yourself or your ambition or your greed, and yes, it works. It goes very badly for everybody else around you, but for you: It works.

I’d rather stand with Jesus in the Jordan. I’ll wait my turn – he was first, after all. I might catch the echo of the voice of God, or a glimpse of the Holy Spirit descending like a dove. It’s a bird. I’d love to photograph it.

But then, I’ll bring my muddiness down to John, and let him wash it away. I’ll climb up the bank (and pick up more mud, yes, but that’s all right) and, if I’m daring, I’ll tug on Jesus’ cloak and hope he tells me, “Come and follow me.”

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes while he preaches, sometimes intentionally, and sometimes accidentally. The sermon as written does not precisely match the sermon as preached.

The image is The Baptism of Christ by El Greco (c. 1608-1614), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=629486.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Without Pride or Privilege

Transcript 1/6/2026

Jesus joined all humanity in his baptism, and led us from those waters into the ways of service, humility, and love.

Here’s a transcript:

Hau’oli Makahiki Hou! Happy New Year!

And I also wish you a Happy Epiphany. I’m recording this episode of What I’m Thinking on the Epiphany holiday. Epiphany is one of the most ancient of the Christian celebrations. It recognizes the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. And so as we begin 2026, may we all find God’s love revealed to us, not just through What I’m Thinking, but in God’s movements in our hearts and in our souls.

I’m thinking about a way in which God moved in the heart of Jesus. That’s the third chapter of Matthew: Jesus’ baptism.

Unlike the other Gospels, Matthew described a conversation between John and Jesus. “I ought to be baptized by you,” John protested, “yet you have come to me.” “Let it be so for now,” said Jesus, “for this way we will do all that is required.” And so John baptized Jesus; he came up out of the water; he saw the Holy Spirit descending on him like a dove; and he heard those words: “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.”

Matthew emphasized something that the other Gospel writers, I think, understood but chose not to emphasize, and that was Jesus refusal to play into notions of power and of privilege. Instead, Jesus chose to fully join us in that necessity of recognizing what we have done poorly or sinfully, and that we need to take steps to wash that away, to set it into the past, and take on new ways.

Jesus did, indeed, take on new ways following his baptism: his baptism launched his ministry. But he didn’t need the baptism to begin it, now did he? And John made that clear.

Jesus did the thing even though he didn’t need to because he didn’t want to take a shortcut that the rest of us cannot. Jesus chose not to exercise any kind of privilege or pride. He chose not to live in hubris. He chose to give us an example of humility and of acceptance and of following the hard and sometimes painful steps that lead us towards a brighter future, that lead us towards doing fully the will of God. Jesus in the Jordan not only joined us; Jesus led us from the waters of baptism out into a life of full service, and faithfulness, and loving kindness.

It was an astonishing thing to do then and now.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, Sermons, Uncategorized

Sermon: Pride at Home

August 31, 2025

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

Of the classic “Seven Deadly Sins” – pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth – I am vulnerable to… all of them. Which makes me, I suspect, much like most human beings.

Of that list, however, the one I’m most conscious of as an ongoing problem is pride. You may have noticed that I have no problem in standing before you from week to week merrily telling you what you should do. It takes a certain amount of gall to do that. And I’ve got it.

Jesus took an ancient proverb about how to behave in the royal court – cautiously – and brought it home. “Do not put yourself forward in the king’s presence” became, when Jesus spoke of it, advice to take a seat at the edge of a wedding reception rather than heading for the family table. Jesus’ hearers didn’t spend time in royal courts, unlike those who assembled the collection of proverbs into the book we call, well, Proverbs. They knew all about the complexities of relationships in a Judean or Galilean village.

As E. Trey Clark writes at Working Preacher, “In Greco-Roman society, formal meals like this would often take place at a U-shaped table. Each guest would be assigned a seat at the table that demonstrated their rank or social standing—from highest to lowest. It would be deeply shameful to sit at the place of honor, only to be moved to the lowest place.”

We do not live in a culture that operates the way Jesus’ culture did. The social sanction of shame and the social reward of approval are still powerful, but not as powerful as they were for Jesus and his contemporaries. Still, we would hesitate to cross certain lines, wouldn’t we?

As we enter the autumn, we’re approaching what I tend to think of as “fundraising dinner season” here in Hilo, because aren’t there a lot of them in November and December? Cheryl Lindsay, the UCC’s Minister for Worship and Theology, used to work as an event planner. She writes at UCC.org, “One of the last and most challenging tasks would often be completing the seating chart. Fundraising events, in particular, make this delicate and extremely political work. For events that worked on the first-come, first-served basis, it was a simple matter of tracking reservations in order. Most events, however, did not use that framework. Honored guests, corporate sponsors, organizational leadership were all statuses that needed to be considered in placement. Other relational knowledge, such as collegiality, also played a role. No one worked on seating assignments without having some insider knowledge and sensitivity.”

Having attended more than a few of these dinners over the years, I can attest to that.

Pride, however, isn’t just about putting yourself in a better social position. For me, at least, pride happens when I think I’m right. When I think you’re wrong. In and of itself, being right isn’t pride itself. It’s not hubris to say, “I know something that somebody else doesn’t.” It is, in fact, a likely experience for just about any of us in this fairly specialized work environment of ours. I’ve had training you haven’t; I’m going to know things you don’t. You’ve had training I haven’t. You’re going to know things I don’t.

It’s possible that I’m wrong about some of the things I think I know, even the things that I spent the most time learning. Possible? Let’s face it, it’s likely. I just don’t know what they are. We can all think of things we were taught as true that simply aren’t. The late British fantasy author Terry Pratchett used to refer to education as the process of learning less untrue lies, and there’s something to be said for that idea. I learned the rules of English grammar and they were first taught to me as fairly rigid things. My teachers didn’t mention that some of the best writers broke those rules. In physics, the work of Isaac Newton describes a lot of the reality that we could see and measure in the 18th century – but when we could measure even more things in the 20th century it no longer worked. Along came the ideas of Albert Einstein. Less untrue lies.

Then there are the things that people teach that aren’t true and never were true but people believed it. They still believe it. Things like the inherent moral superiority of this culture over that culture, of this gender over that gender, of this race over that race. Whether it’s Romans, Chinese, Indians, British, or Americans, those things never were true. But they were taught that way. And sometimes we believed them.

Some people still want you to believe them.

Don’t believe them.

You have worth. You matter. But not because of your nationality, the place of your birth, the heritage of your family, your gender, or even your training and education. You have worth because God created you and delights in you. You are special and unique, and everyone is special and unique because God created them and delights in them, too. Even the annoying folks who bring out their pride and tell you what to do as if you didn’t matter as much as they do.

Yes, they have worth. Just don’t believe them when they tell you how much more they’re worth than you are.

“But let’s face it,” writes Debie Thomas at JourneyWithJesus.net, “humility is a tricky thing.  We too easily conflate it with self-effacement, low self-esteem, and complicity in the face of oppression.  Even if we manage to define it in healthy ways, humility betrays us; the very instant at which I claim to achieve humility is the moment when it eludes me.  Worse, very little in our culture rewards or supports the humble.  Whether we’re talking entertainment, politics, sports, or even religion, we in Western cultures have an unhealthy admiration for the loudest, the biggest, and the greatest.  Whether we recognize it or not, we are known around the world for idolizing the superlative.  What would happen to our discourse if we shunned the word ‘best?’”

What would happen if we abandoned the ridiculous assertion time and time again that somebody is the “Greatest of All Time”? I hear it time and again, usually with the acronym “GOAT,” which confused me a lot the first few times I heard it without knowing that the letters stood for “Greatest of All Time.” I grew up on the Peanuts comic strip, in which the one to blame for a failure was often called the goat. I still have that in the back of my mind when somebody gets called the GOAT.

What would happen if we abandoned the notion that each of us has to be the best at something? I’m not the best preacher you’ll ever hear. I’m not the best photographer or poet or musician. That’s OK. I don’t have to be the best. More to the point, I don’t need to insist on being the best. I just need to strive to be better than I was yesterday, to approach the fullness that God imagined at my birth.

I also need to separate knowledge from power. I may be right about something, but most of the time that does not give me license to require it of you. It might not even be appropriate to try to persuade you of it. It might not even be appropriate to mention it. The exceptions are usually when somebody is being harmed. Then it’s time to say, “Somebody is hurting because of what you’re doing. Please stop.” In other matters, though, it’s not my place to tell you what to do.

You know. Like I’m merrily doing now.

As Melissa Bane Sevier writes at her blog, “If you are one of those people who thinks you deserve the best place at the banquet, think again.  You need to be humbled.  And if you are one of those people who thinks (or you’ve been told) you only deserve the lowest place at the banquet, think again.  You need to be strengthened—you need to accept your own privileged status as a child of God.

“At God’s table, every place is the same.  There is always enough to go around.  There is always room for you.  Be strong and be humble.  They are not mutually exclusive.”

Pride might feel good for a while. Self-respect, one that knows we have limits, feels a lot better for a lot longer. Pride might make big changes in the world around us, and some of those might be improvements – but in the long run, people who act out of pride will ignore the consequences to those around them, will even adopt cruelty as a means to their ends. Pride might build a family, a business, or even a nation, but these are families, businesses, and nations with a crumbling foundation. It may take centuries, but they will fall.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric makes changes while preaching, so the prepared text above will not precisely match the sermon as he delivered it.

The image is “A Parable – Where to Sit” by Cara B. Hochhalter, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59048 [retrieved August 31, 2025]. Original source: Cara B. Hochhalter.

Rev. Eric Anderson Pastor's Corner, What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Pride of Place

Jesus’ advice to wait until people of power and influence notice you won’t help you get wealth or status in the world. It will help you build a relationship with God.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the fourteenth chapter of Luke’s Gospel (Luke 14:1, 7-14), in which Jesus shared a Sabbath meal at the invitation of a leader of the Pharisees.

This wasn’t terribly uncommon in Jesus’ life. He was a respected and well known teacher. As he traveled, the leaders of the local synagogues (who would have been out of the Pharisaic tradition): they wanted to meet him. They wanted to talk with him. They wanted to learn from him. They probably wanted to argue with him — because that’s what Jewish leaders did in the first century, was have conversations and discussions and arguments about the theological and spiritual questions of the day.

So Jesus accepted the invitation and he watched as other guests found their appropriate places around the tables in the room. It was a hierarchical society (ours is more hierarchical than we like to admit), and so people knew what their place was, at least in a social setting such as a Sabbath meal.

Jesus reminded them of a piece of wisdom that came out of the ancient Hebrew Wisdom tradition, that when you are invited to a banquet go and sit in a lower place than your social standing would entitle you to, so that your host may then invite you to come higher. Jesus followed that, however, with a somewhat different set of advice. Instead of inviting your social equals or your social superiors to a dinner, invite the poor. Invite the disabled. Invite the people who cannot invite you back. Invite the people who cannot improve your social standing.

That, said Jesus, is the way to gain credit, favor, with God.

I have to say that as advice for gaining social, economic, vocational, or political success in the twenty-first century, it’s terrible advice. If you go and sit far away from those in power, those in power will happily ignore you. Those in power —we’ve all seen this — they favor those who are in their face, who are noisy, who are obvious, who make themselves known.

Jesus’ point was that that is not how it is with God. God sees each and every one of us with a clarity that we cannot equal, a clarity that we cannot imagine. So God knows those who are quiet just as well as God knows those who are obvious. God knows those who are humble as well as or even better than those who are prideful.

If you want material success, it’s terrible advice. If you want a depth of spirit, if you want the opportunity to open your heart to God, if you want to follow the way of Jesus, then it is the advice to follow, these are the things to do. You will be seen by God. You will be called close to Jesus’ heart.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Written in Heaven

July 6, 2025

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

“Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!”

They must have been stoked. Sent out without luggage or even a change of clothing – let’s not think about that for too long – the seventy (or seventy-two, the oldest copies of Luke don’t agree) had been told to bring peace, healing, and teaching to the villages of Galilee where Jesus planned to go. Imagine how nervous they’d have been. Will we find welcome? Will we find words to say what we’re supposed to say? Will we bring peace when we arrive? Most of all: when they bring us somebody who’s sick, will they receive God’s healing through our hands?

The answer to all of those, including the last, was, “Yes.” “Even the demons submit to us! How cool is that?”

Jesus, the great motivational speaker of the first century, then seems to have forgotten everything he knew about motivational speaking. Right? The thing to say was something like, “Well done! You’ve accomplished great things! And look, I’ve got even greater things that you can do! You know you can! Let’s go out and make Judea Great Again!”

But Jesus didn’t do that.

“You think you did great things? I saw Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lighting. Don’t get excited about spirits that come out when you call. That’s small stuff. Calm down. Chill out.”

I don’t think he’d have been a hit on the motivational speaker circuit.

If you want to get excited about something, rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

Well, what does that mean? The phrase only appears once in the entire Bible, right here, so we haven’t got a lot of help. If I ask the question, “Whose name does God know?” the answer I give myself is, “Everyone.”

Rejoice that your name, like everyone’s name, is known by God.

Again, it’s a tough sell for a motivational speaker.

And it’s exactly what Jesus said. The Good News of God’s reign is not about power, even over evil. It’s not about accomplishment, even of healing. It’s not about me being better than you. I’m not (you probably knew that). It is about all of us being held in the heart of God.

Rejoice that you’re held in the heart of God.

When I was in school, I liked to work for extra credit. I’d answer those optional questions on tests; I’d write a few extra paragraphs when invited. Those came with rewards. They’d bring up my average grade. They might even impress the teachers – at least, I thought they did.

Jesus didn’t give extra credit. Even to those who’d gone the extra mile.

Your names are written in heaven. That’s enough, you know. In fact, that’s what there is.

It’s not just school that insists on extra credit. So many parts of our lives scream out, “Here are the great ones. Here are the heroes.” On the weekend of the Fourth of July, American pride in country can be earnest and uniting, but it can also be prideful and jingoistic. C. S. Lewis wrote, “I once ventured to say to an old clergyman who was voicing this sort of patriotism, ‘But, sir, aren’t we told that every people thinks its own men the bravest and its own women the fairest in the world?’ He replied with total gravity—he could not have been graver if he had been saying the Creed at the altar—’Yes, but in England it’s true.’ To be sure, this conviction had not made my friend (God rest his soul) a villain; only an extremely lovable old ass. It can however produce asses that kick and bite. On the lunatic fringe it may shade off into that popular Racialism which Christianity and science equally forbid…”

[Found in “The Four Loves” in The Beloved Works of C. S. Lewis (New York, Inspirational Press), 1998.]

We don’t have any recent experience of that, do we? A combination of American patriotism and Christian belligerence that betrays the best ideals of both?

Well, maybe we do.

If casting out demons doesn’t make a difference in God’s love for us, then how much difference does it make to be British? Or Japanese? Or American? Or Hawaiian? Yes, it makes a lot of difference in human relationships, but are we held differently in the heart of God?

No. It doesn’t seem that we do. All our names are written in heaven. That’s enough to rejoice in.

We still get to participate in bringing that good news to others. Jesus asked for laborers; Jesus got seventy to go out and do the work. It wasn’t complicated. It could be challenging, but not complicated. He kept it simple. Visit the village. Accept hospitality. Share your peace. Heal as God enables you. Move on to the next. It’s simple.

“It’s amazing how often I needlessly complicate the Christian life,” writes Debie Thomas at JourneyWithJesus.net.  “’But what does God want me to do?’ I groan. What is God’s will?  How shall I hear God’s voice and discern God’s plan?

“Are the answers really all that hard?  Do justice.  Love mercy.  Walk humbly.  Pray, listen, learn, and love.  Break the bread, drink the wine, bear the burden, share the peace.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.

“Get off your high horse and get in the water.  Sit down at the dinner table and speak peace to those who are feeding you.”

Rejoice that you, and they, have our names written in heaven. We are known by God. We are valued by God. We are loved by God.

Written in heaven.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

Pastor Eric writes the sermon in advance, but he also makes adjustments as he preaches, so what he wrote does not precisely match what he said.

The photo of a koa’e ula (red-tailed tropicbird) is by Eric Anderson.

Rev. Eric Anderson Sermons

Sermon: Weakness

July 7, 2024

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

“For someone says, ‘His letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak and his speech contemptible.’”

When Paul wrote what we call the Second Letter to the Corinthians, he and the church in Corinth had been arguing both at a distance and in person. He had made what he described as “a painful visit” to the church, and had followed it with “a painful letter,” which doesn’t seem to have survived for us to read. Apparently that had led to the anonymous comment somebody passed along to him: “His letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak and his speech contemptible.”

Isn’t it nice when people tell you things like that? Yeah. Not really.

Things were going better by the time Paul wrote this letter, however. Paul’s colleague Titus had visited Corinth and brought Paul a glowing report of improvements in the church there. At least one person whose actions or teachings had disturbed Paul had been disciplined somehow – I rather hope it was the one who made the “weak and contemptible” comment – and Paul promised to come back and spend some better time with people he loved.

Mind you, not all was forgotten. Paul still felt it necessary to remind the Corinthians of his qualifications as an apostle with that mix of hubris and humility visible throughout the apostle’s writings. As Celeste Kennel-Shank writes at The Christian Century, “This passage is classic Paul. He fully displays the qualities that make him admirable or annoying, or both at the same time.” He had spent a good portion of chapters ten and eleven boasting of his education, his call, his labors, and his sufferings as an apostle, salting the passage with his realization that the entire exercise of commending himself was foolish.

But was it foolish?

It’s campaign season in the United States of America – residents of other nations might be forgiven for wondering if it’s ever not campaign season in the United States of America – and commending oneself is what candidates do. “I’m the best.” “I’m the smartest.” “I have the best ideas.” “I’m right.” American political candidates would not write, as Paul did in the next verse following our passage today, “I have been a fool!” If a candidate has a physical ailment, they minimize or hide it. I leave it to you to come up with examples on our ballots. I’m struck by a subplot of the television series The West Wing, about a fictional President of the United States and his staff. Said President, Jed Bartlett, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and until forced by circumstances, hid the information from the public and from members of the administration.

I grant you that Hollywood isn’t life, but great heavens, haven’t we seen this over and over again among politicians and public officials?

In contrast, the Apostle Paul wrote that he suffered “a thorn in the flesh.” We don’t know for certain what he meant by this. He may have suffered an injury or an illness. He may have referred to a persistent opponent. One theory that has some wider support is that his vision was failing, perhaps originating with his loss of sight near Damascus. We can’t really know from what we have.

We don’t know what Paul suffered. What we do know is how Paul responded to it.

He took it as a caution not to become “too elated,” which reflects some profound self-understanding on Paul’s part. His letters reveal an ongoing struggle with ego, pride, and hubris, one which he sometimes lost. He used the “thorn in the flesh” as a psychic and emotional tool to help him contain that monumental ego. As Israel Kamudzandu writes at Working Preacher, “…in our prayer life and faith walk with God, there are some afflictions we have to live with and endure, for in them we will experience God’s grace. Deliverance is not just positive and instant, but God’s presence in our suffering is the answer we most need.”

That “thorn in the flesh” led Paul to prayer, and not just to speaking to God in prayer, but to listening to God in prayer. God said to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”

Of all Christian assertions, from the creative power of God to the guidance of the Holy Spirit to the resurrection of Jesus Christ, this might be the most profound and the most challenging of all. “Power is made perfect in weakness.” Historically, Christians have struggled to live this one. We tend to favor embrace of power. We like the victory psalms of the Old Testament, and the victory stories like the Exodus, David vs. Goliath, the Resurrection. The Revelation to John makes a lot of people uncomfortable, at least up to the end where the forces of God are triumphant and the new heaven and the new earth emerge.

Our hymns resound with triumphant lyrics. “I Sing the Mighty Power of God.” “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” We grant remarkable titles to our leaders: “Reverend,” meaning “revered one;” “Bishop,” meaning “overseer;” and “Pope,” meaning “father.” When we imagine the coming of the reign of God, how many of us imagine something like a great army of angels marching down from heaven?

But it’s funny. That’s not what it looked like when somebody said, “the reign of God is at hand.”

What it looked like was someone whose power, while evident to others, could be discounted and dismissed by the people he’d grown up with. What it looked like was someone who, while entrusting healing power to his companions, directed them to rely entirely on the hospitality of others for their sustenance and shelter. What it looked like was someone who, though claiming a title of temporal power, Messiah, suffered the humiliating death of a common rebel.

That’s what it looks like to see power made perfect in weakness.

The Apostle Paul, for all that he knew what power made perfect in weakness was, and for all his self-awareness, well: I don’t think I can say that perfectly succeeded in making power perfect in weakness. I also think he knew it, and I think it annoyed him that he couldn’t do it.

I also think he knew that Jesus did do it, and that he rejoiced that Jesus did it, and that he urged us, one and all, to try to do what Jesus did, and I think he knew that we’d probably fail, too.

Let’s give it a try, though, to set aside this affection for power. Mahatma Gandhi is reported to have said, “The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace.”

As we go through this campaign season, let’s decide not based on who will maximize the power of their office, but who will best resist the temptations of that power. As we make our choices for our day’s activities, let us choose the things that will lift others up rather than what only benefits ourselves.

And let us be honest about our limits, our ignorance, and our sufferings. In them we find those places through which God’s healing power can flow, perhaps to us, perhaps to others, perhaps to the entire world. We may think of them as weaknesses. God thinks of them as the openings for healing.

Amen.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Sermon

We had some technical difficulties this Sunday, so there is a brief interruption in the recorded sermon, but it is brief rapidly resumes.

The image is Conversion on the Way to Damascus by Caravaggio – Self-scanned, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15219516.

Rev. Eric Anderson What I'm Thinking

What I’m Thinking: Perfect Power

The Apostle Paul knew, and Jesus lived, the truth that power is made perfect in weakness.

Here’s a transcript:

I’m thinking about the twelfth chapter of Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 12:2-10).

Second Corinthians to modern eyes reads as a pretty contentious letter. In it, Paul wrote that he had already sent a “painful letter,” and you and I might be excused for wondering how could that letter have been much more painful than Second Corinthians?

One of the issues that clearly lay between Paul and the church was the issue of Paul’s own authority, yet here in chapter twelve, Paul almost refrains from boasting about himself. He would boast of someone who had received extraordinary revelations, he says, but not about himself. That seems like it’s a backhanded reference to himself.

Then Paul said something much deeper and more significant. If I would boast, I will boast of my weaknesses, he said. Boast of the hardships, boast of the sufferings, boast even of some kind of illness or disability that he says kept him from being “too exalted.”

Well. That is a statement counter to the culture of his day and, for that matter, our day. We embrace power, celebrate power, seek power, try to exert power. It has to be said that the Apostle Paul himself frequently asserted power and attempted to wield power; it’s so clear from his letters. But it’s also clear that he knew the truth, that if he was still subject to the temptations of power, he knew better; that ultimate power is found in weakness and if the Apostle Paul did not necessarily live that way, he knew of someone who had: and that was Jesus.

In Jesus, power indeed was made perfect in weakness.

So even as the world around us continues that search for power and embrace of power and idolization of power, let us remember, and strive to live as those who know that power is made perfect in weakness, and in so doing more closely follow Jesus Christ.

That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Send me an e-mail or leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.