Jan 24-26 2025 column

What's it To You?

I first met Bill at Baylor University. He was a fellow ministerial student who imprinted his fraternity shirt with a mock Latin phrase, "Quid tibi est?" 

In 1978, Google was still a long way off, so my fellow pledges asked him to translate it. 

 "What's it to you?" he asked with some defiance.

"Oh, come on," we implored, "Just tell us what it means."

Regarding us as lowly plebes, he weighted his last two words, "What's it TO YOU?" 

The puzzle game went on a few minutes until we heard the literal translation – "What's-it-to-you?"

Game, set match. He had us.

But, I just shrugged it off becasue I'd dealt with folks like him in my past who were sanctimonious, always a self proclaimed expert who never offered any level ground to those of us who were searching. 

 

One of my earliest such encounters was a church youth group leader named Sherry.

She always flashed bright smile before she pitched her loaded question, "Have you received the gift of the Holy Spirit?"

 

The question is a fallacious one, much like the one "Have you stopped beating your wife?"

 

It was impossible to give Sherry a good answer. If I said, "Yes, I'm full of the spirit," she'd lay out her Bible like a religious yardstick to determine if my holy spirit measured up to hers.

 

If I said "No," I confirmed her first impression that I wasn't a good Christian.

 

Worse yet, a "no" answer brought the worst question, "Do you want to speak in tongues?"

 

This question was a reference to the ecstatic and unintelligible language spoken by thousands of people in charismatic churches. But, no, I wasn't ready for that one.

 

I bring up the examples of Bill and Sherrie because I suspect that some of you have been turned off religion by people like them. If so, you're the victim of the loaded questions fired by the pious church goers into innocent bystanders.

 

These inquisitors are trying to reduce your spirituality to some kind of test that only they can pass with questions such as: "Don't you believe in Jesus? Don't you want the spirit in your life?" or "If you were to die tonight, did you know you'll go to hell?"

 

How do you answer questions like that from folks like this?

 

Fellow columnist Carolyn Hax suggests that we regard people's "nutritional label" and ask if they are worth the time. If not, she says, "Friends with a low decency content need to be treated as junk food." 

 

I think this is true in our efforts to find a spiritual community too. Some people and places are just gonna be junk food, but we can also find quality people when we make the effort to look for them.

 

At the end of the day, spiritual junk food doesn't "fill" you any more than this woman's version of the "holy" spirit. You only encounter God through a spiritual relationship. And like all relationships, you ask questions, you must dialogue, you can even lose your temper, but you will also learn to laugh at yourself and forgive others.

 

In the meantime, to all you who've had someone discourage you from involvement with the local church, I leave with the strategy suggested in one more psudo-Latin phrase, "Illegitimi non carborundum."

 

The humorous phrase originated as an informal motto in the British Armed Forces.

It roughly means, "Don't let the idiots get you down," but if you Google it you'll find a more colorful version mock-Latin aphorism that is best left out of this family newspaper.

 

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All of 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.

 

 

 

 

 

Jan 17-21 2025

A Misspelling Affirms Best Spiritual Care

Lisa Nordlander was really the best boss I ever had. When she hired me from the active-duty Air Force, she encouraged me to put aside my Baptist identity and focus on affirming the unique spiritual needs of each patient.

I was so thrilled to go to work for her at Sutter Medical Center in Sacramento that I failed to notice the typo printed on my Spiritual Care ID badge.

It took more than a year, but in 2003, a patient noticed that the word Spiritual was missing two letters – "R-I."

The patient cupped a hand over her mouth and nose and said, "I probably shouldn't get any closer if you're from the "SPIT-ual Care Department." 

After we shared a good laugh, I skedaddled downstairs to have HR (Human Resources) correct the badge. 

Little did I know that twelve years later, the identifier "Spit-ual Care" might be appropriate for my new position as a staff chaplain at St. Joseph's Medical Center in Stockton CA. 

One summer day I entered the room of a patient recovering from minor surgery. The man didn't speak English, but his wife and granddaughter did. After introductions, I learned that the wife was also a shaman.

Shamans are spiritual leaders and healers in the earth-based spirituality of southeast Asia. So, with careful exploration, I asked what I might do to facilitate their faith traditions. 

"My grandmother wants to conduct a Hmong ritual." 

"Can you say more?" I asked.

"The rite involves my grandmother putting water in her mouth and spewing it on my grandfather's surgical site," the granddaughter said with little emotion.

"Excuse me for a moment," I said. "Let me ask the nurse how we can do that."

I dismissed myself and ducked into the nurses' break room to Google some understanding of the request.

My search told me that the patient's wife was likely blaming "misplaced energy" for precipitating her husband's illness. She needed the water to perform an "extraction" that would remove the displaced energy that had invaded his body.

I slid my phone back in my pocket and stopped at the nurses' station for a consult.

"Can she spit water on the wound without risking an infection?" I asked the startled charge nurse. 

She thought for a minute and replied, "Yes. The surgical site is stitched and closed. Just use bottled water."

With that permission, I returned to the room and handed over the sterile water I'd picked up from the nurse. 

The patient's wife opened the bottle, held it to her lips and sloshed the water around in her mouth. Then she tilted her head and – "Plah!" – she spat a mouthful on her husband. 

I tried hard not to show scepticism by allowing my "inner Baptist preacher" to run amuck. 

I mean, what just happened? I saw no evil spirits come out of the man and there was no instant healing of the wound. I felt uneasy that this family was relying on such archaic beliefs amidst such modern medicine.

As simply as the shaman had begun, she concluded. I was thanked for intervening with nursing staff and given a dismissive nod.

I returned to my office cubicle where I sat wondering what I would write in this patient's chart. I wasn't entirely sure what I'd accomplished. 

However, as much as anything, good spiritual care had been merged into the Hippocratic Oath – "First, do no harm." I had not ridiculed the woman or passed judgment on her request. I had not put up barriers or implied that she was inconveniencing the staff.

But more concretely, I noted an observable change in contentedness within the family. Reverence for their request had helped build a sacred, nonjudgmental space for worship. 

Amid medical uncertainty, the family rekindled and celebrated their own truths. The ritual helped them navigate the harsh maze of medicine and restored meaning to their world. 

And that's what I charted. 

I was left with only one more thing to consider.

How would my new employer respond if I asked them to change my badge ID to read "Spit-ual Care?"

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This column excerpted from my book, "Tell it to the Chaplain." All of my books can be ordered on Amazon, but autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $15 each + $10 shipping to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

 

 

 

Jan 10-12 2025

Nothing, Yet Everything

 

In last week's column, I described in detail what it's like to go on a volunteer trip with Chispa Project, the charity founded by my daughter Sara, to start children's libraries in Honduran elementary schools.

 

When people ask me why they should volunteer or donate, I will often tell them about Justin, one of the earliest beneficiaries of Chispa. 

 

I first met Justin in 2018 when he was a 12-year-old student at Southwest Bilingual School in the mountains outside La Esperanza, Honduras. Back then, the charity consisted of my daughter, her assistant and the volunteer trips made by my wife and me. The manpower was far less than the 7 employees Chispa has today and the dozens of volunteers that come each year.

 

Every weekday, Justin and several of his classmates rode 5 miles on a school bus through twisted and rutted dirt roads. The only thing that sometimes impeded their determined journey was when heavy rains made it impossible for the bus to climb the 7 percent grade of cratered road. 

 

Maybe it was this tough terrain that inspired the school mascot to be named the Wildcats.  Fortunately, the first time I met Justin in 2018, I didn't have to ride in a bus. 

 

On that day, nearly six years ago, my wife and I were bouncing like popcorn in the backseat of the SUV my daughter Sara drove the Honduran roads to the school. Behind us, and on the roof, we carried the second part of the 1,300 books provided from stateside donations.  

 

Three hours later, Sara parked inside the school compound and we walked to the faculty lounge hoping to recruit help to unload. 

 

Inside, we met Edmundo, a science teacher who was writing his lesson plans for the day. I remember how grateful he was to see us because Spanish books are rare and costly to purchase in-country. Most children grow up without a culture of reading in the home.  

 

"As a kid, reading bored me″ Edmundo told us. "We had only reference books and I'd fall asleep reading them. The books you brought will inspire our students to read."  

 

"Muchas Gracias," he added. "De nada" I said. Literally translated, "It's nothing," an informal expression for "You're welcome."  

 

In a few minutes, Edmundo helped me enlist Justin and a gaggle of seventh-graders to unload the books.

 

It took about twenty minutes for us to carry the boxed books into the library where we watched the kids tear open the packaging, nearly inhaling the titles. 

 

One girl quickly settled with a Harry Potter book, while another began devouring Moby Dick.  

 

I remember Justin so well because he focused on the Steven Covey's book, "Seven Habits of Highly Effective Teens." 

 

Conversation with him was easy as he spoke excellent English he'd learned from being born in the U.S. His family returned to Honduras when he was 7. 

 

He asked me if the book would help him succeed. 

 

I allowed a "maybe," and he then turned to Frank McCourt's Pulitzer Prize-winning book, "Angela's Ashes." 

 

Justin asked me if McCourt's Pulitzer won him a lot of money.  It seemed a typical kid question, more so from those without money. While Southwest was a private school, money remains a concern for the middle-class parents who send their children.  

 

A few days later as we loaded up to leave, several children gathered to thank us. My eye moisture returned. 

 

All I can manage to say is, "De nada," because for all that's been given to me, it's nothing for me to do this for Justin and his classmates.  

 

And now, I ask the same "nothing" of you. 

 

If you join us on a volunteer trip, I think you'll find near no effort at all. If you can paint, organize books and negotiate a few stairs and uneven pavement, you're in. The flight is a few hours south from Houston, so we remain on Central Time. We've taken volunteers ages 3 - 83, because everyone has something to contribute!

 

Before boarding the plane home, the school faculty will present you with the typical "thank you" certificate and you will probably accept it with the customary "De nada." 

 

But we both know that the experience will be priceless!

 

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Copan Mayan Heritage Experience, March 5-16, 2025 

Spanish Immersion at Lago Yojoa, April 6-13, 2025.

See details on our website www.chispaproject.org/volunteer

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Donate at www.chispaproject.org/chaplain or send check payable to "Chispa Project" 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email me at comment@thechaplain.net Read more columns at www.thechaplain.net

 

 

 

 

 

Jan 3-5 2023

 

Come Fly With Me or Buy With Me

 

Not long ago, I spoke to a Spanish club, a group of women hoping to hone their Spanish skills and asked the attendees to "Come fly with me."

 

Not wanting my invite to be misinterpreted, my wife Becky, chimed in, "And me too."

 

A few older woman heard a reference to United Airline's 1968 campaign, "Come Fly with me." But the younger ones began humming the Jonas Brothers 2009 hit "Fly with Me."

 

"To clarify," I said, "I'd like you join us on one of the two volunteer trips to Honduras to help Chispa Project.

 

Of course, I was pushing the Spanish immersion trip on April 6-13. "But no worries, you needn't speak Spanish or have any particular skill; you just need to be willing to help out as needed!"

 

One woman seemed interested, but questioned the sparse accommodations, hoping to book her own hotel.

 

Well, you know me. I had an answer for her.

 

"Both trips have nice accommodations, but if you want the 5-star trip, then join us in March 5-16. It'll be an "immersive experience of volun-tourism that will allow you to explore one of the hidden gems of Honduras.

 

"Arguably the most beautiful colonial town in the country, Copan boasts traditional Mayan chocolate, the best Honduran coffee, and some of the most incredible and well-preserved Mayan Ruins."

 

Yup, I was reading from the travel brochure. 

 

If you've only recently joined my readership, you'll need to know that my daughter, Sara, started Chispa Project, pronounced cheez-pah, meaning "spark" in Spanish. Hondurans use the word to describe people with spark or drive.

 

Chispa has a simple mission: Sponsor children's libraries and equip them with quality books in Spanish by working side by side with Honduran community leaders and educators.

 

In the 80 schools where Chispa works, they build alliances with communities to design, fund and manage their own libraries. Community members also volunteer in the library project and raise a symbolic portion of the funding that ensures sustainability and ownership.

 

"What will we do during the volunteer week?" asked another.

 

"We begin the day after arrival by decorating library spaces that will make children proud of their school. We paint the walls with colorful murals, assemble bookshelves, and stock and catalog an entire library.

 

"Imagine us working together, rolling two coats of white paint on crumbling walls. The paint provides a bright pallet for those murals intended to inspire future readers.

 

The children will surround us, chattering the few English words they know. Their smiles go for miles as they read the picture books we bring."

 

Some in my group gave an empathetic sigh.

 

Finally, one woman asked the most common question about our trips "Is it dangerous?"

 

"That's a risk you will have to assess on your own. We safely welcomed volunteers from ages 3 to 83. I can also tell you that that my daughter, Sara, her husband and her two children spent several years in Honduras.

 

Unsure how many takers I'd persuaded, I added, "While the days are sometimes hot and long, I reward my volunteers with ice-cream cones."

 

I suggested additional questions might be answered on our website at ChispaProject.org/volunteertrip. "Read the details and fill out the forms," I said. "Watch the five-minute video and e-mail Sara or me with your questions."

 

And, finally, you know I made one more pitch –

 

"If you can't fly with me, then "Buy with Me!"

 

We still need help to buy the books for these trips. You can donate with a check or on our website at www.chispaproject.org/chaplain.

 

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Donate at chispaproject.org/thechaplain or send check payable to "Chispa Project" 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Read more columns at www.thechaplain.net

 

 

 

 

 

Column Dec 27-29 column

Resolved to be Authentic

 

As I work though the 23^rd year of this column, I will confess that column writing isn't always an easy gig. It sometimes requires walking a fine line between expressing what I really think or simply spouting what entertains my reader.

 

As every columnist can testify, strong opinions can either sell papers or lose subscriptions.

 

If I play it too safe, I bore you. If I venture too far into religious or political topics, or share personal vulnerabilities and temptations, I run the risk of offending you.

 

That's why I've made this 2025 New Year's resolution.

 

I resolve that I will work harder this year to write with more authenticity. I won't focus on the popular or how I might improve the ups and downs of my readership, but on writing authentically.

 

To that end, today's column will preview upcoming topics of 2025 and how I see where God fits into politics, religion, family and personal struggles.

 

In politics, I will support voices of reason and grace. I don't subscribe to the argumentative style of liberal commentators like Rachel Maddow or conservative ones like Ann Coulter. Instead of focusing on the noise level, I look for the truth and tone.

 

As a chaplain, I promise I won't spout politics UNLESS, politicians start spouting religion.

 

Our social welfare system needs drastic reform. But from my end, I will promote faith groups that assume their responsibility to help the poor.

 

When it comes to gun control, I have no use for handguns, nor will I ever own a gun. However, if I felt the need to "protect" my home, I'd use the shotgun my pastor/dad used. He always said that a shotgun blast would either scare the intruder or stop him dead — all without killing a "friendly."

 

Of course, I obviously have opinions about religion. For instance, if there's a hell, Hitler is surely in it and Gandhi is certainly not. Heaven isn't an exclusive country club. I won't use my faith as a way to eternally divide people.

 

I love the Christian Bible, and I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God who came to reveal the entire truth about God. However, the Bible is not a final authority for history or science, and it's certainly not an addendum to the Trinity. Meaning, I use the Bible in worship services, but I don't "worship" the Bible.

 

I see abortion as a heartrending response to tragic problems. I will portray it in my columns as a decision between a woman and her doctor. BUT, while there are reasons for abortion, it ain't birth control. I support adoption, and those who know my story, know I live that belief.

 

Finally, in my personal life, I can be selfish sometimes. I've lost my temper with my children, and I've known temptation and depression. I've told some off-color jokes and have even known inebriation. I'm not proud of everything I do, but my shortcomings help me write this column — a column about meeting God in everyday life.

 

But, at the end of the day when I put the final touches on this column, I leave the most authentic word to my friend Popeye who said: "I am what I yam what I yam … And I'll never hurt nobodys and I'll never tell a lie / Top to me bottom and me bottom to me top / That's the way it is 'til the day that I drop. What am I? / I yam what I yam."

 

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

 

All of my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $15 each + $10 shipping to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

 

 

Column Dec 20-22 column

Definitely NOT the Best Christmas Ever

This is the time of year when writers like to recount their "Best Christmas ever."

Their stories often include a video of a slobbering puppy leaping from a ribbon-covered box or a marriage proposal, or my favorite, a deployed soldier surprising her family with an early homecoming.

But if you've read my column long enough, you'll know that this columnist seeks to fill the holes of the unexpected. So, today, I recollect my very worst Christmas ever!

I was only 4 years old, but savvy enough to ask my parents why our Charlie Brown Christmas tree was so bare. I didn't understand why my father, a poor ministerial student, had nothing to place under the tree.

However, I became cautiously optimistic on Christmas Eve when my dad called us one-by-one into his study cubby.

My sister came away with a new doll. My brother followed holding a kinetic car, the kind you roll backwards to wind up the energy.

Score! Seeing that kind of haul, my kinetic energy was pushing full throttle.

I approached my dad's desk and climbed into his loving lap.

"I have something very important to tell you," he said.

My little eyes reflected with the anticipatory joy of Tiny Tim.

"There is no such thing as Santa Claus," he said. "We celebrate the birth of Jesus at Christmas, not Santa."

My eyes blinked with tears. Could it get any worse for a preschooler than that?

Yes, actually, it could.

When I asked about my present, my dad told me that I'd be sharing the kinetic car with my brother.

"Does it get it any sadder?" you ask.

In fact, it did..

I joined my brother on the kitchen floor where we took turns sending the car careening back and forth like a game of catch.

Twenty minutes into the game, my 5-year-old brother began speculating on how the car mechanism worked.

"Let me take it apart," my brother begged with screwdriver in hand. I was curious, too, but I would only agree if he promised to restore it to working condition.

He promised.

Ten minutes later, with wheels, chassis and motor spread on the kitchen table, the car was humpty-dumptied.

Saddest, worst, most disappointing Christmas ever, right?

So, why would I write about a Christmas memory worthy of Debbie-downer?

As foul as it was, it still points toward some spiritual takeaways of Christmas.

First, Christmas needn't be all about materialism, about what we buy or what we consume. It might also be about sacrifice.

My sacrifice fed my brother's mechanical mind. He explored the workings of the tiny engine, gaining early insights into motion, potential energy and kinetic energy. He may have failed the car restoration business, but he became an electronics repairman and later started his own electronics business.

Second, my worst Christmas inspired me to share what we are given. Christian scripture reminds us, "To whom much is given, much shall be required."

I didn't get much, but in sharing it, I perhaps inspired greater generosity. For years to come, my brother modified other gifts into things much more interesting.

One year he rigged a toy tank to burst from a record player box and shoot rubber bands. Another year, he removed the capacitor from an old radio to make an electric shock device capable of repelling the school bullies.

I've shared this sad story with my wife many times over the years. So, last week I told her I'd have my best Christmas ever if she'd give me a miniature Schnauzer puppy for Christmas.

At first she said no, but after reading this column, she assured me that our neighbor would likely "share" his new puppy.

So much for the worst Christmas ever.

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

 

All of my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $15 each + $10 shipping to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.  

 

 

 

Column Dec 13-15 column

Preaching to the Choir

 

If anyone has ever tried to convince you to get religion, change religion, or even lose your religion, then you'll probably relate to this column. 

 

In the early 1980s I was attending Golden Gate Seminary, just outside San Francisco, when I went to work as an advertising intern for the Marin County Independent Journal.

 

It was there that I spent every weekday afternoon constructing newspaper ads with a colleague I remember as Jeannette. 

 

Within a few days, I was pleased to learn that Jeannette was a Christian like myself.

 

Actually – not so much. She was an overly-zealous member of the Church of Christ, who was soon peppering me with daily theological questions. 

 

"Do you believe in the Bible?" she'd ask.

 

"Yes," I said, without mentioning I was currently making a C- in my seminary New Testament class.

 

"If you die tonight, do you know where you will spend eternity?" 

 

"Oh, don't worry about me. I tried to tell her that she was preaching to the choir. I was born, bred and baptized into the Baptist Church."

 

She remained unimpressed, so I tried cajoling her with teambuilding. I suggested that since we are both Christians, we should double-team our four-pack-a-day supervisor, Jerry. 

 

"I'm not sure Jerry is going to hell," I'd joke, "but he sure smells like he's been there." 

 

She remained unamused by my flippancy and unconvinced by my steadfast confessions of faith. She thought that baptism in her church was the only way I could possibly become a Christian.

 

Apparently, I needed an extra helping of Jesus.  "In fact," she said, "you'd better hurry because Jesus is coming back soon." 

 

Of course, Jeannette wasn't looking for answers. Her queries were embarkation points to invade into my faith space. 

 

So, one afternoon, I decided I had enough of Jeannette's Jesus.

 

I pulled her aside to tell her that if my faith didn't pass her saintly litmus test, then I guess I'd be joining Jerry in the smoking section. 

 

But soon, I realized that my witticisms hid a shameful guilt. 

 

The truth was that I recognized her style as the one I'd used as a ministerial student while scouring the minority neighborhoods surrounding Baylor University for new converts.

 

Jeannette's approach offended me. I felt I was too smart to have my own techniques redirected on me. That meant that, more than likely, my previous "converts" were also too smart for that. 

 

If my story rings a familiar note with you, perhaps it's an indication that we should take a spiritual pause as we enter this time of political transition in this country.

 

Perhaps we might consider how easy it is to employ our holier-than-thou techniques when trying to convert people to our views on everything from religion, guns, abortion, immigration, marriage or war. 

 

Consider the folly of how we often approach people like we are guests on The Dating Game. We hold our political, personal, or religious questionnaires in hand while we gently, or in most cases, not so gently, probe folks for the right answers hoping to get a match.

 

Or worse, we're just playing the game to expose their "wrong answers." 

 

Jesus believed in keeping it simple. If you love God, he said, you have to "Love your neighbor as yourself."

 

This means accepting your neighbor without all of our qualifiers such as religion, politics, race, favorite rock bands and boxers or briefs.

 

I never passed Jeannette's litmus test of faith, but given the current political climate, people of faith might consider discarding the litmus test and practice a bit more neighborly love.

 

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

 

All of my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $15 each + $10 shipping to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.