June 20 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Taking Faith for a Pivotal Spin

 

Imagine taking a virtual plane ride today and meeting me in San Francisco. I pick you up outside the terminal and drive you 30 minutes south to Moffett Federal Airfield, formally known as Moffett Navy Air Station.

 

I flash my military ID and we slide easily past the Smokey-Bear-hatted federal guards.  Just a quarter mile ahead, we pull curbside and walk across the lawn to the Moffett Chapel. In 2014, the chapel was restored to its original Spanish Colonial Mission church design found throughout California

 

I'm comfortable here. This is where, in 1994, I assumed my first Air Force active duty chaplain assignment. Three of us replaced the Navy chaplains when their branch vacated the base, or in naval terms, "Secured the watch."

 

Come inside with me for a moment. There's something I want to show you.

 

With a borrowed a key from our host, an Air National Guard chaplain, we easily walk through the double doors and into the foyer.

 

You take a sudden pause, breathless before walls of stained-glass windows. I explain that they are a story-in-glass highlighting the interfaith traditions of the Navy and Marine Corps.

 

But I didn't bring you here to admire the windows. We walk past the pews and onto the podium. We will pause reverently at the Protestant altar. Centered on the table is a Bible and glimmering cross. To the right and left, there are candles and offering plates. 

 

I've brought you here to show you what's behind all this.

 

We step forward into an alcove or recessed space where a larger cross is affixed on the wall aside banners that proclaim faith.

 

Oddly, I ask you to push on the cubby walls.

 

You're astonished that it moves.

 

With my assistance, we rotate what seems like a jumbo version of the lazy Susan contained in your kitchen cabinet.

 

Suddenly, we are standing under a crucifix surrounded by saint statues.

 

Voilà, there it is. Like a moving wall from a haunted house, we're standing in a Catholic church.

 

I push again, and we are share a Jewish altar with the Torah.

 

You say, "This is nice chaplain, but I'm undecided about faith. I suppose I'm spiritual, but not really religious." 

 

"No problem," I say. "Give that wall another push."

 

You do and are relieved to find yourself in neutral space. Nothing on the walls. No religion here.

 

Why have I brought you for a ride on the "Lazy" Altar?

 

To illustrate of how one might make a choice for faith.

 

No, it's not as simple as gyrating the Wheel of Fortune or spinning the theological bottle to determine where your doctrinal affections will lie.

 

You might begin the journey on one of the traditional altars of our fathers. But it may also take a spin in another direction, landing aside that of our spouse. And it's also legitimately OK to spin faith into something that represents our own journey. Or maybe you don't see faith has having finite definitions, so we choose to blend the moving altars.

 

But whatever you choose, deciding on faith is a serious business that requires us to become comfortable with the tensions that faith presents.

 

For instance, how does one explain the love of God in the midst of so much tragedy? Can you deal with the discrepancies of faith and the hypocrites that inhabit all faiths and philosophies? Can we repent of the sins of organized religions while at the same time reinforcing the humanitarian good they do?

 

I believe it's possible to keep the faith of our parents, but we can change out the theological accessories. For me, I follow the protestant faith of my father, but my worship isn't confined to a hymnal or a pew. Moreover, it means, that I accept his faith, but reject the bigotry sometimes found in evangelical faith.

 

For you, it might mean keeping your faith in the Crucified Christ displayed on the crucifix, but soundly rejecting the sins of the Fathers. It might involve rebuilding a place of worship that holds all women in high regard and safely shelters the children.

 

And if you are rotating the altar in search of generic worship, it doesn't mean that your new faith has to be cold, politically correct, and without feeling and humanity. It might involve a move toward inclusion of the conservative right side of the church aisle.

 

Finally, if your faith journey ever takes flight toward the San Francisco Bay Area, stop by Moffett Field Chapel and ask the "Smoky Hats" if they will let you take your faith for a spin. 

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This column is excerpted from my book "Tell it to the Chaplain." 

 

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter  or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net. 

 

All my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 13 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Buying What People Ain't Sellin'

 

On a hot summer day in 2018, my wife, Becky, and I were moving into our retirement home in Auburn, California, when Becky's sister, Melissa, stopped by to help us unpack. A few hours into the job, Becky put down her boxes and started making sandwiches for us.

 

A few hours into the job, Becky put down her boxes and started making sandwiches for us.

 

"Hey," she said to me, "I think the neighbors down the street are getting ready for a garage sale. Go see if you can find the yard tools we're going to need."

 

I peered out the window at our barren one-third of an acre. "What yard?"

"Go," she ordered.

 

I blinked. Given the opportunity to escape the tedium of unpacking, I needn't be told twice. I grabbed my car keys and suggested that Melissa come along.

 

A few minutes later, we pulled into an empty driveway where I couldn't believe my eyes. These were quality products, yet oddly enough, there were no customers. Stranger still, the homeowners were also absent.

 

"I wonder where they are," Melissa said as we got out.

 

"Probably inside taking a break from the heat." I shrugged. "I'd rather shop without the seller barking prices every time I touch something anyway."

 

She agreed and picked up a pair of Keen sandals. "Hey, I think these are a fit."

"Nice," I said. "How much?

 

"I don't know." She turned her attention to a bag of bedding. "They haven't priced anything yet."

 

We shopped for another five minutes before I decided to give the door a light knock, then reported back. "No answer."

 

Continuing our search, Melissa put aside the sandals to hide them from the mob we were expecting.

 

My eyes quickly fell upon a nice selection of yard tools ― Home Depot on a blanket.

"Wow, this is everything I need. Rakes, pruning shears and even a leaf-blower." I laid aside the best and returned to the front door to make a lowball offer.

 

I gave the doorbell an aggressive ring. This time, the dogs erupted with barking. I paused expecting human footsteps. Nothing.

 

I returned to my pile of tools, spouting the old garage-sale cliché, "No price tags, no bodies, so it must be free."

 

Melissa pointed to a small pile of sweepings at the edge of the garage. "Norris, I don't think this a garage sale. I think we've interrupted a garage cleaning.″

 

"That must mean …" My voice trailed.

 

"We're trespassing!" Melissa said.

 

Just then the house curtains jostled, either by canine snout or human hand.

I dropped the tools, and before anyone gave chase, we beat feet to the car.

The garage sale gaffe brought to mind three common platitudes.

 

First, the familiar triteness that says, "If the shoe fits, wear it," isn't necessarily true.

It only seems true because there are a lot of folks who'll force their images upon us trying to match their assumptions of us. They insist that the shoe fits us, so we chain ourselves to their preconceived impression.

 

Just because the proverbial shoe may fit, doesn't necessarily mean you have to wear it or own it. If you don't see yourself in the shoe, then drop the shoe.

 

The second platitude encourages us to pray that God will open doors for us. Well, the chaplain is here to testify that just because a door is open doesn't mean that God opened it. We need to ask God to help us discern whether the opening is a welcome pathway or a trap door. In other words, stay out of unmarked doors.

 

Finally, you can't buy what people ain't selling. At least that seems to be the pesky thought behind the Tenth Commandment: "You shall not covet your neighbor's house … your neighbor's wife, or … or anything that belongs to your neighbor" (Exodus 20:17 NIV).

 

When Melissa and I returned to report our failed grand-theft attempt, my diplomatic wife profusely apologized for her erroneous tip ― at least that's what I think she said in the midst of her hysterical laughter.

 

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Sign up to receive this weekly column by email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.

 

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

 

June 6 weekend 2025 spirituality column

The suspicious neighbor prompts self-reflection

If you remember my column on Valentine's Day about my FBI friend, Steve Dupre, you might want to hear the rest of the story of how we met.

Weeks before I purchased my two-story Elk Grove Calif. McMansion in 2002, the FBI raided my soon-to-be neighbor's home and arrested the owner, a Vietnamese man named Jimmy.

But when my moving truck arrived, I only knew the current occupant to be a hairdresser with limited English. Her junior high-age sons both played in our swimming pool with my son. However, as the sons aged, their family fights brought frequent visits from police.

Things moved to another level one day when FBI agent Steve Dupre knocked on my door with an IRS agent in tow. They presented their credentials and told me how Jimmy was on trial for robbing several electronics warehouses. When one of his victims died of a heart attack, Jimmy went to prison for 30 years, but Jimmy's common law wife remained in the home with his two sons.

Now the IRS was collecting evidence to take the house under the RICO Act. To accomplish that, they needed to stand in my bathtub and take evidential pictures over my neighbor's fence.

After their photo shoot, they reminded me to report any suspicious activity and then they left. My mind was a whirl. But watch the house I did.

One afternoon, I came home to see Jimmy's extended family hauling large suitcases being hauled into the home. Neighborhood rumors suggested that Jimmy hid money in the walls, so I assumed the suitcases were hauling their ill-gotten gain.

I contacted police, and law enforcement swarmed our cul-de-sac again. Soon they had one of the culprits in handcuffs.

An hour later, I got a knock my door. It was a pretty young Asian lady from next door.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Before I could I offer her a chair, she challenged why I called the police.

When I tried to explain my suspicions, she calmly inserted, 

"I think you're a racist. You only called because you saw a bunch of Asian people carrying suitcases."

"N-no," I stammered.

"Yes!" She insisted. "Those suitcases contained dresses and tuxes for my wedding tomorrow."

"Then why the arrest?" I dared ask.

"Our best man had an outstanding traffic ticket, so now he can't be in our wedding."

She'd hooked my chaplain's guilt. I'd done scores of weddings, but I had yet to ruin one.

There wasn't much left to do but profusely apologize and eventually walk her to the door.

I spent several days soul-searching and handwringing. Had I been racist?

It's not a question I can easily answer, then or now.

But I do know it's a question I continue to face in everyday events. There is no final answer. I must constantly reflect upon my assumptions and prayerfully examine the subtle interpretations of race that I place on people.

Yes, I said prayerfully. Prayerfully, because as the prophet Jeremiah says, "The heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful, a puzzle that no one can figure out."

The prophet insists that we must ask God to "… search our heart and examine our mind."

The recent elimination of DEI offers us much self-reflection on racism. But the thing I find most unsettling is the sudden deportation of brown refugees into the United States while welcoming the white South Africans.

Don't let the news intimidate you into being silent on the subject. Discuss, search and reflect on the changing meaning of racism and never hesitate to seek God's help in understanding yourself.

Finally, if you like tidy endings, the IRS took the house and sold it to a wonderful Honduran American. Steve Dupre became a fan of my column and drafted me into the FBI Citizen's Academy, but that's a story already told.

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Sign up to receive this weekly column by email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.      

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

 

May 30 weekend 2025 spirituality column

 

Mr. President, "Say Something Nice" this Sunday

 

Sunday, June 1^st is national ''Say Something Nice Day.''

 

The day was started in 2003 by fellow columnist, Mitch Carnell and Baptist laymen. Carnell conceived the day as one in which we might intentionally express compliments, appreciation, and encouragement to folks around us.

 

In his book, Say Something Nice: Be a Lifter at Work, Carnell calls for folks to take a two-part Civility Pledge.

 

• "Refrain from saying anything ugly, demeaning or derogatory to anyone."

 

• "Say something nice, uplifting or encouraging."

His tips may seem trite, but as a Chaplain, I believe this approach reflects the Apostle Paul's admonition in Colossians 4:5-6.

 

"Be gracious in your speech. The goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out" (The Message).

 

Sadly, we are living in days with an overreaching impact of social media. People seem to be out of the practice for saying something nice. And even though you might not follow social media or deem it important, it is impacting you in ways that aren't easily measured.

 

So, I think it's important to keep ourselves informed of how our leaders are using their accounts to get their message across, particularly during the holidays like this past Memorial Day.

 

As a retired Air Force chaplain, this day is one I use to reflect on the many doors I've knocked on to bring my regret for the loss of a loved one who died in service of our country. I've shared our nation's flag with the family as I watched loved ones lowered into our country's soil.

 

So, I think it matters when our president, hours before laying the wreath on the tomb of the unknown soldier, he defiled the day by posting this tone-deaf message: "Happy Memorial Day to all, including the scum that spent the last four years trying to destroy our country through warped radical left minds."

 

These holiday messages have become infamous since he was elected.

 

Absent of gratitude, he proclaimed "Happy Thanksgiving to all, including to the Radical Left Lunatics who have worked so hard to destroy our Country, but who have miserably failed."

 

His Grinchy message on the day we celebrate the birth of Christ was, "Merry Christmas to the Radical Left Lunatics, who are constantly trying to obstruct our Court System and our Elections."

 

I know he knows how to say nice things as evidenced this past New Year's when he told a Newsmax reporter "I just want everybody to be happy, healthy, and well." That's nice.

 

So I was surprised that on Easter he made no mention of our Risen Lord, instead posting, "Happy Easter to all, Radical Left Lunatics who are fighting and scheming so hard to bring Murderers, Drug Lords, Dangerous Prisoners, the Mentally Insane, and well-known MS-13 Gang Members and Wife Beaters, back into our Country."

 

A week later he joked to the media: "I'd like to be Pope." Then days before Cardinal Robert Prevost had been elected  and named Pope Leo XIV, White House social media accounts posted an AI-generated image of the president as the Pope.

 

In Mathew 15:11 Jesus said, "Listen and understand. What goes into someone's mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them."

 

In his day, some might've called Jesus a "Radical Left Lunatic," but these days approximately 2.4 billion of us Christians call him, "Lord."

 

Claude Mitchell "Mitch" Carnell, Jr., Ph.D., 88, of Charleston, South Carolina certainly knew how to "Listen and understand." The words that came out of his mouth did not defile. Carnell met his Lord on Feb 1,2023.

 

As our president celebrates his 79^th birthday this month, I'm praying the words coming out of his mouth will stop defiling himself and others. I think we should all manage to Say Something Nice this week.

___________________________________________________

Sign up to receive this weekly column by email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.     

 

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 23 weekend 2025 spirituality column

For Safety's Sake, Live Your Life

 

I often felt that if I hadn't become a chaplain, I'd have become a safety officer.

 

For example, whenever I volunteer with Chispa Project in Honduras, I'm the guy who steadies the ladder, double checks that the lunch produce is washed correctly and then I police the perimeter for bad guys. (Bad guys don't mess with Chaplain Safety Officer.)

 

The irony is that my interest in this subject comes from the tragedies I've witnessed in my chaplain career. In death's aftermath I've offered comfort to those whose loved ones were accidentally struck, shot, suffocated, burned, poisoned, fallen or electrocuted.

 

From those tragic encounters, I've developed a preoccupation with safety that my children say has cost them some of their freedoms. I've always made them wear hats in the sun, helmets on the bike trail and seat belts in the car. For safety's sake, I've made them chew slowly, run quickly and sleep adequately.

 

They learned pretty well, but never did I realize just how much their training might come back to benefit me.

 

In 2011, when my daughter, Sara, was living in Denver, my wife and I flew there for a weekend visit. We had no agenda. Just a little rest and relaxation.

 

Following our late-night arrival, we were ushered into our accommodations, a garage conversion with an open-flame furnace. Playing the fastidious safety inspector, I checked to make sure that Sara had vented the heater properly through a nearby window. She had. Then, I tested the smoke and CO2 detector. Everything worked properly.

 

Becky and I said our good nights and settled in for a cozy winter sleep, snug under blankets, basking in a glowing heat.

 

About 2 a.m., we were jolted from bliss with a high-pitched alarm. I saw no smoke, so I focused my squinting eyes on the CO2 detector. Carbon monoxide levels were pushing high enough to send us singing in the celestial choir with Jesus himself.

 

We immediately turned off the heater, opened all the windows, and retreated to the living room, shutting the garage door behind us. After 20 minutes, levels returned to normal, and we re-retired to bed with a double scoop of blankets — sans heater.

 

If you're anticipating my point here, you're probably looking for me to quote the Christian Scripture, "It is appointed unto a man once to die and after that the judgment."

 

Those familiar with this Scripture often use stories such as these to admonish people to live full throttle, seize the day and live every day as if it were their last.

 

There is some wisdom in those truisms, but honestly, I don't want to live every day like it's my last.

I also need some days to be "regular." I need days that start with a decent breakfast, some time in my pastor's office and a drive home with takeout pizza to watch "Amazing Race" with my amazing wife.

 

Nothing wrong with that. We all need some routine days where we hold those whom we love, exhale gratitude for the life we are granted and refuel our needs for the next day.

 

Perhaps today wasn't your best day. If today was only average, then I say, be content that you had no close calls with death that threw you into an existential funk. You don't need to always be prompting yourself with the morbid thought that this day might be your last.

 

But more than anything, I say, "For safety's sake, live your life. There will likely be a tomorrow."

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As you read this, your "safety officer" is staying home while Chispa Volunteers prepare to fly into San Pedro Sula, Honduras where they will help Chispa Project start a new elementary school library. Please pray for their safety and success as you also consider volunteering or how you might contribute.

 

Read more at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteerContact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643, Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail 843-608-9715. All my books can be purchased on Amazon or on my website, WWW.thechaplain.net

 

 

 

May 16 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Wondering What Others Think of Me

 

Do you ever wonder what people think about you? I do and, most especially, I wonder what my readers think of me. 

 

My speaking events often give me multiple opportunities to discover what my readers think of me.

 

For instance, last week, I spoke to a Rotary group, where a few readers made some surprising conclusions about me based solely on my column mugshot.

 

"You have a lot more hair than your picture shows," observed a friendly bald man.

 

Thank you, I guess. Honestly, I wish I had more.

 

A woman in earshot observed that I seemed taller than my column portrait suggests.

 

Really? I thought. She deduced this from a thumbnail photo?

 

Following her, another woman gathered her gumption to tell me, "You aren't as fat as you seem in the newspaper."

 

For the record, I'm 185 pounds, standing 6 feet, 1 inch. Add an extra half inch if all my hair is mussed by the wind.

 

As I was testing my microphone at another event, two men approached me. The first one inquired if I was a "good speaker, not boring." While the other quite impatiently demanded that I start my presentation early, before our meal was finished. 

 

Answered in the order asked, "Yes" and "No."

 

But after the talks I was happy to hear the audience move out of superficial observations.

 

"I appreciate your humility," said one gentleman.

 

However, while I signed books, another reader added, "This is like meeting a rock star."

 

I'm not making any of this up. They really said these things. But I do realize that my "celeb" status never really matters to my audiences.

 

What mattered to people wasn't my height, hair or eloquence. Above the trivial observations, the thing that mattered most to them was how well I listened. 

 

I listened as a man and wife spoke of their son returning from a combat deployment in Iraq, only to lose him to a cancer likely caused by his exposure to the burn pit (the open-air combustion of trash in military deployment sites.)

 

One man put a lot of trust in me as he unloaded his helplessness in dealing with his wife's third cancer treatment.

 

Another man told me of his failing marriage while another expressed his powerlessness to find effective treatment for a schizophrenic son.

 

The whole thing got me thinking about the manner in which Jesus rolled into his community speaking gigs.

 

He was certainly a crowd favorite wherever he spoke. On a hillside, he outlined some very coherent thoughts in his Sermon on the Mount. He was the banquet speaker for a hungry crowd of five thousand.

 

But where he really wowed the crowd were the moments he listened to individuals. For example, he shielded a woman about to be stoned for adultery. He befriended a polygamous woman shunned by a gossipy town. He spoke forgiveness to a follower who denied him.

 

You don't have to wonder what people thought about a guy like that. Jesus heard the pain in their lives. He didn't use his personal comparison to bring his pain into their story. He didn't dismiss their pain or discount it. He listened and made it a part of his own pain.

 

Given a choice between being a better speaker or a better listener, I'm thinking I want to be more like Jesus, the listener guy. How about you?

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Sign up to receive this weekly column by email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.     

 

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 9 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Flying on a Wing and a Prayer

Amidst the Cinco de Mayo celebrations last Monday, I couldn't avoid thinking of May 6, 2009, the day I returned from deployment in Iraq on a chartered World Airways DC-10.

After spending four months serving the wounded at the Air Force Field Hospital in Balad Iraq, my only thoughts on final approach into Baltimore/Washington International Airport, were of home.

Our landing attempt was anything but welcoming as our plane bounced like a porpoise on the waves. Security cameras recorded a large puff of smoke from our wheels. Eyewitnesses would later tell FAA investigators that they thought the plane was going to flip.

A second bounce delivered at an estimated 3.2 Gs and plastic ceiling molding fell on us as oxygen generators swung like piñatas. Several seat backs snapped backward while passengers along the left windows watched the yellow centerline, and I watched our wing drift over the grass.

We sailed back into the air as the cockpit voice recorder captured pilot Craig Gatch asserting: "8535 heavy declaring an emergency go-around."

When we regained some altitude, my fellow passengers spoke in muffled voices. No one wanted to be the first to cry, but clearly no one wanted to die without protest. Some were praying or holding hands or just staring at their feet.

I rested my forehead on my seatback to pray, even as I wondered if I heard a judgmental voice in it all. My shortcomings felt as though they were being weighed on the scale of a spiritual assayer. Was there a deity somewhere with a one-piece eyeglass assessing my life with a doubtful squint?

Had I been a good husband and dad? Or had I been too absent, physically and spiritually? Was it OK to feel scared? Or should I gather my wits and start a rousing chorus of "Amazing Grace?"

I kept praying, spending the next few minutes asking God, "What about all these passengers?" A soldier was about to meet his new son for the first time. An airman was trying to make a marriage work again. They all wanted another chance. Would they get that chance?

In a center aisle seat, catty-corner from me, a young officer was wiping her tears. I stretched across the aisle to offer my hand as a reminder she wasn't alone. I wanted to hold it until we landed, but the awkwardly angled reach caused me to break loose and rejoin her hand with the chaplain assistant sitting beside her.

As we reapproached the airport, the flight attendants told us to grab our ankles and lower our heads. Then the pilot added his instruction to "brace for impact!" But instead of impact, we landed as calmly as if we were sailing across a mountain lake.

Slowly we looked up from our crash/prayer position and started clapping like we had never expected another tomorrow.

Before we deplaned down portable stairways, five people were removed for medical care, including the first officer with a broken back. Behind us, debris littered an unusable runway.

Few of us could make much sense of the incident. Many would say to me things like, "Chaplain, we expected to die in Iraq, but never in Baltimore."

FAA investigators declared the plane a total loss because the main spar was broken, (the structural member that supports the wings.) 

This meant our pilot literally risked losing our wings during his 10-minute go-around. But I suppose that's what airmen mean when they describe a harrowing flight as "flying on a wing and a prayer."

Even today, my airplane remains at the airport where its continentally stippled for parts. For those curious, I posted links to the security footageand the accident report on my website

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This column is excerpted from my book "Hero's Highway."   

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.   

All my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.