June 27, 2009
Would your spirituality pass sniff test?
BY NORRIS BURKES
FLORIDA TODAY
Since returning from Iraq last month, there have been two things I have enjoyed immensely.
First, wearing civilian clothes. Second, taking private showers.
In Iraq, we only had two clothing choices: our military uniform or our fitness uniform. The fitness uniform -- a T-shirt and shorts -- was the most comfortable choice. We wore it for sleepwear, gym wear, casual wear and, most of all, bathing wear.
I wore my fitness uniform roughly 130 times as I traipsed to the public shower facility, about 100 yards from my room, each time without incident.
Except for that one incident.
It was a day I was particularly distracted after a 12-hour shift. I was trying to squeeze in a quick shower and dinner, all before rushing to the theater for a movie.
During my walk to the shower, I began to suspect that the fitness uniform I quickly grabbed for my theatre attire might be the "pajamas" I'd used the past several nights.
Being unsure, I did what many of you do -- although you'd not likely admit it in a newspaper column. I gave the clothes the sniff test.
Oh, come on. Don't act like you're better than everyone. You know you do it.
Sniff. Yep, I'd slept in this one too many nights. Nevertheless, I decided to continue to the shower and put on a fresher set before the movie.
At the shower facility, I piled my "pajamas" on the bench that was full of identical fitness clothes and hopped in for my five-minute shower.
Before I say more, you should know that without my glasses, I'm blind as the old cartoon character, Mister Magoo.
After the shower, I grabbed my fitness uniform from the bench, but not before administering one more sniff test.
Suddenly, the smell magically had improved. I was pleased because this would save me changing time.
I slid them on and quickly realized two things.
First, I hadn't adequately dried myself. Second, these shorts were awfully big.
Had I lost weight?
Highly unlikely.
Would the owner of these now-dampened shorts soon emerge from the shower and try and squeeze into my shorts?
Could I get out of his shorts and into mine and then exit the facility before he emerged?
Amazingly, and thankfully, the answer to that question was yes.
I know you must be wondering what spiritual point could I possibly be making.
Well, I might have to stretch this one a bit, but it helps to remember that sometimes our spiritual clothing will stink more than our neighbors'.
When this happens, it helps to do the sniff test.
That's right. Jesus preached the sniff test. You have to read between the lines, but he was pretty clear when he urged us to remove the plank from our own eye before trying to extricate the splinter from someone else's eye.
But I think the most profound spiritual point is the same spiritual point I've made in a number of my columns.
God wants us to laugh at ourselves, because he most surely does.
You can contact Chaplain Norris at norris@thechaplain.net or visit his Web site at www.thechaplain.net.
Expectations can lead us to false assumptions
BY NORRIS BURKES
FLORIDA TODAY
Last month, Bob, a Sacramento reader, wrote to ask what I thought about the American military burning Bibles in Afghanistan.
I not only answered his e-mail, but I wrote last week's column on the subject
Unfortunately, for some unknown reason, Bob has been unable to read my reply. I know this because of the note he sent me on May 23:
"I sent you mail, asking for an explanation on 'Burning Bibles in Afghanistan.' I was an ardent reader of your column, but since I haven't received an answer and was naive enough to expect one, please accept my apologies for cluttering your mailbox."
Bob, Bob. Where are you? In the language of the CBers, "Have you got your ears on?"
I did reply. In fact, I wrote three e-mails and a column -- I got nothing. Our words are passing in the darkness of the cyber night.
What do we do when we perceive that we aren't being heard?
I know what I often do. I start scriptwriting. Scriptwriting is what we do when people don't respond the way we predict. We write a storyline that comfortably explains what has happened.
It's not an especially healthy way to communicate, but it generates good fiction.
For instance, I feel sure Bob is blabbing to friends using this script I wrote for him:
"Norris Burkes is rude and arrogant. He thinks he's too good to reply to his readers."
Scripts are something we conjure in our heads to replace healthy conversations. We write these scripts because we are afraid to have clarifying conversations with people.
For instance, we don't want to ask our boss why she hasn't given us the promotion, so we write scripts about why she's so stingy. We imagine she'll say something like, "You don't deserve a promotion because I like your colleagues better."
We don't want to ask our teenager about her sex life. So we compose scripts that unfairly predict her answer. "Mom, it's none of your business!"
Along with scriptwriting, we use a characterizing label. My favorite label for someone who cuts me off in traffic is, "Moron!" "Idiot" is my second favorite.
I won't tell you the label I picked for Bob.
We use labels and scripts to silence the opinion of others. The whole process is like forging a prisoner's confession. With confession in hand, we put on the judge's robe to pronounce the sentence.
It works well.
I'm wondering whether we could avoid scriptwriting and labeling if we'd bother to take a few extra minutes to our own assumptions and ask for clarification.
I did this after getting Bob's second e-mail. Turns out, Bob is 86 and the veteran of a few wars. I might give him some credit.
It's possible he forgot reading my reply. Or it's possible that his e-mail settings aren't right, and my reply was junked.
So, I've taken a moment to stop scriptwriting and labeling. I've decided that Bob is worth the effort and I'll try to reach him one more time. I think I owe him that. After all, he's inspired two columns.
You can contact Chaplain Norris at norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net.
