Here are the my last two articles

STOP THE HATIN"


In my head, I've made this imaginary 9-1-1 call a
dozen times.

"Hello, 9-1-1? I'd like to report a drive-by hating."

"Can you identify the perpetrators?" they ask.

"Yes. The perps are news media pundits, mostly
men, with a long record of hate speech."

Most of you know the kind I'm talking about.

There are plenty of examples of hate talk from the
right and left. Glenn Beck, for instance, posed for
his new book cover wearing the hate-inciting Nazi
uniform. Bill Maher is fond of calling people
morons. Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken call
everyone who won't parrot their opinion idiots. And
my mom won't let me repeat what Howard Stern calls
people who disagree with him.

Some of these talking heads may be among your
heroes, but it's time people of faith unmask them for
the opportunists they are.

I know the type from the wrestling shows I watched
as a kid. It took me a few television seasons to
realize that, while the masked wrestlers were people
with amazing physical agility, they weren't true to
what they were selling.

The matches weren't really a contest of strength;
they were a fixed contest for ratings.


Pundits are no different than these "athletes." They
intellectually are agile, but they use their intellect to
accomplish dizzying acts of circular logic.

They don't want to open dialogue and find
solutions. They want to drop a match in your tank
and then charge you admission to watch the
explosion.

It doesn't matter to me which side of left or right you
are, if you think these wiseguys are about politics,
you don't understand the game. They have found a
self-sustaining source of wealth called hate, and
they are laughing all the way to the bank.

If 9-1-1 fails me, perhaps I could call the Centers of
Disease Control and Prevention to report an
epidemic outbreak of hate because these pundits
have infected everyone: our pastors, teachers and
media. The most innocuous people have become
carriers as they organize themselves for a tea party
or a coffee klatch.

If the CDC can't help me, maybe I should call the
Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and
Explosives to report the hate bombs being planted
by these pundits among our young. The result is
that college campuses are being marked with
swastikas, churches are being torched, and people
are toting guns to coffee shops.


Because none of these organizations can offer any
practical help, I'm calling on people of faith. No
matter what your religion, it's time to declare, "Stop
the hatin'; it ain't a helpin'!"

Tell these hate mongers to stop promoting causes
and start prompting conversations. Peel off their
bumper stickers. Turn off your TV and think for
yourselves. Pundits such as Rush may be right, as
he says, but there are more righteous ways to be
right. Maher and his camp may be brilliantly clever,
but there are smarter ways to bring change.

After you've kicked these showmen out of your
home, invite a neighbor in and start conversations
that speak to people's needs and seek solutions.
Then listen. Really listen.

I'm calling on people of faith to stop the hate talk
and find the wisdom in the words offered by the
Apostle Paul inColossians 4:5-6.

"Use your heads as you live and work among
outsiders. Don't miss a trick. Make the most of every
opportunity. 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).


2nd column follows.....

CONTROL YOUR OWN DESTINEY

A few years ago, a patient requested a visit with me.

During our visit, I learned he was nearly 60 with a
fixable heart problem.

His story was a lonely one. He hadn't made many
friends in life, and no one was visiting him. He'd
worked odd jobs, but derived little purpose from
working.

During our visit, he said his only surviving brother
had invited him to live in another state with him.
"But," the man said, "I don't think he meant it much."

Despite that small disclosure, the rest of the
conversation was like pulling teeth. Eventually, we
came to routine questions, and I asked him if he had
an Advance Healthcare Directive, commonly known
as a living will.

An Advance Healthcare Directive is a document that
tells the doctors what you want done if you become
incapacitated. Without the directive, doctors are
obligated to do everything possible to save your
life, even if those life-saving measures only delay
your death.

"No," he said, "but I guess I should get one. I don't
want to live on a machine."

With this assurance that he was ready to die, I
prayerfully concluded our visit and put in the
request for a social worker to bring him a directive.


Twenty minutes later, I was visiting another patient
when I heard it.

"Code Blue, 4 East. Code Blue, 4 East."

What were the odds it was him? I asked myself.
Surely not. He wasn't anywhere near death. It had to
be a coincidence.

Nevertheless, I quickly finished my visit and walked
to 4 East.

When the unit secretary told me it was the man's
room, I rushed to talk to the nursing supervisor
standing in the doorway.

She and I helplessly stood watching this typical
hospital procedure. It often involves a respiratory
therapist straddling the patient with palms flat on
the patient's chest, compressing the chest cavity
until a rhythmic pulse shows up. Ribs can crack.
The body often expels waste. All of this is done
repetitively with amazing speed.

From the doorway, I heard questions that often
precede the ending of CPR.

"How long?" a doctor asked.

"Twenty minutes," came the reply.


"Does he have a directive?" called another.

"No," said the nursing supervisor.

As they slowed their fervent pace, I told the nursing
supervisor of my earlier conversation with the man.

"I don't think he wanted all of this," I said voicing my
best guess.

Like a Navy chief repeating the captain's orders, the
supervisor shot back to the staff, "The chaplain says
the man wouldn't want this."

I shuddered at the sound of my assessment being
repeated with such finality. I didn't know him very
well -- I'd only had one conversation with him --
yet I was the person in the room with the best
information. There definitely was something wrong
with this picture.

The attending staff gave a few understanding nods,
and the doctor seemed ready to end CPR.

"We have a rhythm," shouted the respiratory
therapist.

With that, the man rejoined the living.

The incident gave me pause. Had our staff given him
back a life he didn't want?

In hopes of getting some answers, I returned the
next day and discovered the incident had given him
a new perspective. It is a perspective few of us get.

He had peered over the edge of life and decided he
didn't like the alternative. More importantly,
perhaps, he'd decided that he was the best one to
make his future life (and death) decisions, not the
chaplain or the hospital staff.

Three days later, he went home with a pacemaker
and medication. I don't know if he found a new will
to live, but I know he left with a living will.

Burkes is a former civilian hospital chaplain and an
Air National Guard chaplain. Write
norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net.You
can also follow him on Twitter, username is
"chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.
com/norrisburkes.

speaking in FL and last three columns

Dear Readers,

This Saturday, March 20th, I'll be speaking at the 4th Annual Spring Praise Fest at the Riverfront Park at Cocoa Village, Florida The Fest will go most of the day, but I will be speaking about 8 pm. There's good information at www.SpringPraiseFest.com

On the next day, I'll also be preaching at Riverside Presbyterian Church, Cocoa Beach, for both services at 8:45 and 11. That evening, I'll be speaking again at 5pm at the church in a more informal talk

Here are my last three columns....

Disappointing a loved one can be worse than death

NORRIS BURKES • SPIRITUALITY • March 13,
2010

"Tell us about a time when you came close to dying,"
the hospital commander asked our staff during my
deployment to Balad, Iraq, last year.

It was one of the icebreaker questions he regularly
posed at our weekly staff dinner. The question came
during a particularly poignant week in which many
of those in our dining tent had spent moments deep
in the cavities of dying men.

At first, there was an uncomfortable silence. Our
stories felt as though they'd be an unworthy
contrast with those we'd saved, but the commander
assured us he was looking for some lighter stories.

Some responded with stories about car accidents. A
few spoke of serious illnesses, and one told of
domestic violence. However, most of the stories
concerned what medical folks call risk-related
behavior.

The phrase is usually rendered by lay people, as
being stupid.

When my turn came, the staff looked to me for a
more spiritual answer, but the truth is, I'm not much
different in the dim-witted department.

"When I was 13," I began, "I found a discarded bullet
on my father's disheveled workbench. Curious to
know if I might be able to separate the bullet from
its casing and obtain the gun powder to make a fire
cracker, I applied all the engineering finesse of a

13-year-old boy. I got a hammer."

I've since learned that an apparatus exists to do this
job. Sure, now they tell me.

Timing my experiment with my father's afternoon
nap, I placed the bullet on the sidewalk just outside
our garage door. Then, crouching from behind that
door, I reached around with my hammer in hand
and slammed the bullet several times.

The stucco-sided garage in our residential
neighborhood offered me no protection, but it
emboldened my stupidity. With each strike, I'd duck
back behind the garage door. Somehow, I operated
with the harebrained assumption that I could duck
quicker than a bullet could fly.

With one final blow, the bullet did what it was
designed to do. It exploded from the cartridge and
presumably landed safely somewhere.

"That was my first close call with death," I
announced to the medical staff around our table.
"My second came a few moments later when my
father, who was raised around guns, bolted through
the garage door asking what had happened."


As I stuttered my explanation, I recognized a look in
him that told me I might be closer to dying than I
realized. I expected him to pull off his belt the way
he'd done when I was a child.

But in adolescence, I faced something worse than
his belt: his disappointment. He was incredulous
with how close I'd come to killing someone. I'd truly
surprised him with my stupidity and disappointed
him in the worst way.
Later that day, when my mother returned with
groceries, my dad reported: "Let me tell you what
your son did today."

My father's disappointment that day taught me there
really are things seemingly worse than death, like
disappointing those who love you.

So, since that little incident, my prayer has always
been, "God, I know I have to die someday, just
please don't let it be doing something stupid."

The Christian Scripture adds that "it is appointed
unto men once to die, but after this the judgment."

If that's true, I can only pray that the judgment
pronouncement I hear following my death won't be
my wife mumbling over my grave, "Idiot! What an
idiot!"



Qualities to seek in a place of worship March 6, 2010

A woman approached me after a recent speech in Fort Collins, Colo., with a single question:

"How do I find a church? I'm so disappointed with my previous attempts."
Her question reminded me of an experience I had as a Baylor University ministerial student facing the same dilemma.

"Where are you going?" I asked my college roommate, Terry, as he readied to leave our pew in the middle of a sermon about the Church of Thessalonica.
"I need to find a relevant church where I can invite my friends," he said in a voice loud enough to awaken those not sharing our new pastor's interest in ancient cities.

With that, Terry bolted from the pew with his red-faced roommate chasing behind him. After all, he had the car.

If you are like Terry and have bolted from your share of spiritual communities, let me recommend three qualities to look for in a church, synagogue, mosque or other place.

Look for a place that will reach up, reach in and reach out.
While those titles were popularized by the book "The Passionate Church: The Art Of Life-Changing Discipleship" by Mike Breen and Walt Kallestad, the concepts have been around since the early church.

Reaching up means we initiate a conscious contact with God. This is worship. I consider things like music, Communion and prayer as up-reach. This is the place most people talk about a heavenly feeling. If we place too much emphasis on up-reach, however, we become like the old saying, "Too heavenly minded, and no earthly good."

Reaching in involves the strengthening of relationships between the members. Some churches do this through small groups or religious education. These groups come together for regular study of devotional material related to their tradition's religious book. When a church spends too much time on reaching in, they become cliquish, egotistical and self-absorbed.

Reaching out means the church helps those outside their walls: spiritually, socially, financially and medically. My home church gives 10 percent of its income to the community. Once my pastor even gave away "spiritual stimulus money" to the parishioners and asked them to reinvest it in the community.

In my opinion, many churches have a dismal record in outreach. In an effort to compete with the business world, they have expensive buildings and high salaries and there is little left to give to those less fortunate.
Reaching out must, of course, be balanced or the church might as well become the Red Cross.

Good outreach is how a church grows and gets better at its mission. As I studied church growth in seminary, I was surprised to learn that most people come to church, not because they love their leader, the music or the pretty building. More than 70 percent come because a friend or neighbor reached out and invited them.

Wow, this is exactly what my Terry told me about wanting a church where he was proud to invite his friends. Like me, he wanted a place where his friends could hear a message with life-changing potential.
Where did Terry take me that night?

We squealed out of the church parking lot in his Chevy Nova. We drove as far out of academia as we could get and turned into the gravel parking lot of a Baptist church in a little Texas town called Lacy Lakeview.

It was there we were relieved to find a church that was willing to reach up to a God of grace, reach in to teach God's forgiveness and reach out with love toward all.

Faith can't exist apart from doubt February 27, 2010

I stood at the podium of a local organization this past week ready to speak about the miracles I'd seen while working as a pediatric chaplain.

But the truth was that I really didn't feel qualified to say anything at all.
My daughter lay in a nearby hospital, and I was in great need of a miracle myself. She was admitted on the previous evening with a preexisting health condition that is sometimes fatal.

With my wife by her side, the danger passed, and I made the speaking engagement at my family's urging.

Still, a few friends advised me to cancel, and for reasons they didn't know, canceling was a tempting idea.

It was tempting, because I was out of gas. It was one of those times when I was feeling as tested by God as I could possibly be. I wanted to yell, "Hey God! Enough with the tests already. Put the thunderbolts down and step away from the chaplain."

I carried into the speech a nagging feeling that all my spiritual wisdom was worthless. With a hospitalized daughter, it was appealing to tell people that God hadn't been much help that weekend.

In the military we call this sell-out attitude, throwing someone under the bus. And that day, I was looking for a Greyhound.

I suppose Jesus knew something of enticing thoughts, because there's an oft-quoted Bible verse describing Jesus as being "tempted in all points, yet without sin."

Most of the time, people quote the verse when they are dealing with a temptation of the flesh: lust, money or stealing. However, I rarely hear this verse referring to the temptation to doubt God.

In his book, "A Grief Observed," C.S. Lewis describes his struggle with this common nemesis of doubt as he observes the very painful death of his wife from bone cancer.

Interestingly enough, Lewis doesn't struggle with the temptation to doubt the existence of God. Instead he describes his temptation to declare that God exists, but he's "not worth knowing."

He wonders, "So this is what God is really like, the Cosmic Sadist. The spiteful imbecile?"

The next morning after Lewis got a second wind of God's spirit, he wrote, "God always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize that fact was to knock it down."

From the podium, I too had a second wind. As I spoke, I found a gentle cadence in my voice and a peaceful resonance in recounting stories where I'd seen God do some miraculous things in the lives of people.

When I finished, several people told me they felt like I'd come just for them. I've heard people say that before, but that day it affirmed my calling and my place. It was a cathartic moment as I'd shed my reticence to speak by bringing the same caring tone to my audience that I myself needed.
While my temptation to doubt wasn't as strong as the doubt C.S. Lewis experienced, one must know that faith cannot exist apart from doubt because if you don't doubt, you become certain.

And certainty may even be a greater temptation than doubt, because when you're certain, you merely create a god in your own image.

Burkes is an Air National Guard chaplain and former civilian hospital chaplain. Write norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You can also follow him on Twitter, username is
"chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.

speaking in FL and last three columns

Dear Readers,

This Saturday, March 20th, I'll be speaking at the 4th Annual Spring Praise Fest at the Riverfront Park at Cocoa Village, Florida The Fest will go most of the day, but I will be speaking about 8 pm. There's good information at www.SpringPraiseFest.com

On the next day, I'll also be preaching at Riverside Presbyterian Church, Cocoa Beach, for both services at 8:45 and 11. That evening, I'll be speaking again at 5pm at the church in a more informal talk

Here are my last three columns....

Disappointing a loved one can be worse than death

NORRIS BURKES • SPIRITUALITY • March 13,
2010

"Tell us about a time when you came close to dying,"
the hospital commander asked our staff during my
deployment to Balad, Iraq, last year.

It was one of the icebreaker questions he regularly
posed at our weekly staff dinner. The question came
during a particularly poignant week in which many
of those in our dining tent had spent moments deep
in the cavities of dying men.

At first, there was an uncomfortable silence. Our
stories felt as though they'd be an unworthy
contrast with those we'd saved, but the commander
assured us he was looking for some lighter stories.

Some responded with stories about car accidents. A
few spoke of serious illnesses, and one told of
domestic violence. However, most of the stories
concerned what medical folks call risk-related
behavior.

The phrase is usually rendered by lay people, as
being stupid.

When my turn came, the staff looked to me for a
more spiritual answer, but the truth is, I'm not much
different in the dim-witted department.

"When I was 13," I began, "I found a discarded bullet
on my father's disheveled workbench. Curious to
know if I might be able to separate the bullet from
its casing and obtain the gun powder to make a fire
cracker, I applied all the engineering finesse of a

13-year-old boy. I got a hammer."

I've since learned that an apparatus exists to do this
job. Sure, now they tell me.

Timing my experiment with my father's afternoon
nap, I placed the bullet on the sidewalk just outside
our garage door. Then, crouching from behind that
door, I reached around with my hammer in hand
and slammed the bullet several times.

The stucco-sided garage in our residential
neighborhood offered me no protection, but it
emboldened my stupidity. With each strike, I'd duck
back behind the garage door. Somehow, I operated
with the harebrained assumption that I could duck
quicker than a bullet could fly.

With one final blow, the bullet did what it was
designed to do. It exploded from the cartridge and
presumably landed safely somewhere.

"That was my first close call with death," I
announced to the medical staff around our table.
"My second came a few moments later when my
father, who was raised around guns, bolted through
the garage door asking what had happened."


As I stuttered my explanation, I recognized a look in
him that told me I might be closer to dying than I
realized. I expected him to pull off his belt the way
he'd done when I was a child.

But in adolescence, I faced something worse than
his belt: his disappointment. He was incredulous
with how close I'd come to killing someone. I'd truly
surprised him with my stupidity and disappointed
him in the worst way.
Later that day, when my mother returned with
groceries, my dad reported: "Let me tell you what
your son did today."

My father's disappointment that day taught me there
really are things seemingly worse than death, like
disappointing those who love you.

So, since that little incident, my prayer has always
been, "God, I know I have to die someday, just
please don't let it be doing something stupid."

The Christian Scripture adds that "it is appointed
unto men once to die, but after this the judgment."

If that's true, I can only pray that the judgment
pronouncement I hear following my death won't be
my wife mumbling over my grave, "Idiot! What an
idiot!"



Qualities to seek in a place of worship March 6, 2010

A woman approached me after a recent speech in Fort Collins, Colo., with a single question:

"How do I find a church? I'm so disappointed with my previous attempts."
Her question reminded me of an experience I had as a Baylor University ministerial student facing the same dilemma.

"Where are you going?" I asked my college roommate, Terry, as he readied to leave our pew in the middle of a sermon about the Church of Thessalonica.
"I need to find a relevant church where I can invite my friends," he said in a voice loud enough to awaken those not sharing our new pastor's interest in ancient cities.

With that, Terry bolted from the pew with his red-faced roommate chasing behind him. After all, he had the car.

If you are like Terry and have bolted from your share of spiritual communities, let me recommend three qualities to look for in a church, synagogue, mosque or other place.

Look for a place that will reach up, reach in and reach out.
While those titles were popularized by the book "The Passionate Church: The Art Of Life-Changing Discipleship" by Mike Breen and Walt Kallestad, the concepts have been around since the early church.

Reaching up means we initiate a conscious contact with God. This is worship. I consider things like music, Communion and prayer as up-reach. This is the place most people talk about a heavenly feeling. If we place too much emphasis on up-reach, however, we become like the old saying, "Too heavenly minded, and no earthly good."

Reaching in involves the strengthening of relationships between the members. Some churches do this through small groups or religious education. These groups come together for regular study of devotional material related to their tradition's religious book. When a church spends too much time on reaching in, they become cliquish, egotistical and self-absorbed.

Reaching out means the church helps those outside their walls: spiritually, socially, financially and medically. My home church gives 10 percent of its income to the community. Once my pastor even gave away "spiritual stimulus money" to the parishioners and asked them to reinvest it in the community.

In my opinion, many churches have a dismal record in outreach. In an effort to compete with the business world, they have expensive buildings and high salaries and there is little left to give to those less fortunate.
Reaching out must, of course, be balanced or the church might as well become the Red Cross.

Good outreach is how a church grows and gets better at its mission. As I studied church growth in seminary, I was surprised to learn that most people come to church, not because they love their leader, the music or the pretty building. More than 70 percent come because a friend or neighbor reached out and invited them.

Wow, this is exactly what my Terry told me about wanting a church where he was proud to invite his friends. Like me, he wanted a place where his friends could hear a message with life-changing potential.
Where did Terry take me that night?

We squealed out of the church parking lot in his Chevy Nova. We drove as far out of academia as we could get and turned into the gravel parking lot of a Baptist church in a little Texas town called Lacy Lakeview.

It was there we were relieved to find a church that was willing to reach up to a God of grace, reach in to teach God's forgiveness and reach out with love toward all.

Faith can't exist apart from doubt February 27, 2010

I stood at the podium of a local organization this past week ready to speak about the miracles I'd seen while working as a pediatric chaplain.

But the truth was that I really didn't feel qualified to say anything at all.
My daughter lay in a nearby hospital, and I was in great need of a miracle myself. She was admitted on the previous evening with a preexisting health condition that is sometimes fatal.

With my wife by her side, the danger passed, and I made the speaking engagement at my family's urging.

Still, a few friends advised me to cancel, and for reasons they didn't know, canceling was a tempting idea.

It was tempting, because I was out of gas. It was one of those times when I was feeling as tested by God as I could possibly be. I wanted to yell, "Hey God! Enough with the tests already. Put the thunderbolts down and step away from the chaplain."

I carried into the speech a nagging feeling that all my spiritual wisdom was worthless. With a hospitalized daughter, it was appealing to tell people that God hadn't been much help that weekend.

In the military we call this sell-out attitude, throwing someone under the bus. And that day, I was looking for a Greyhound.

I suppose Jesus knew something of enticing thoughts, because there's an oft-quoted Bible verse describing Jesus as being "tempted in all points, yet without sin."

Most of the time, people quote the verse when they are dealing with a temptation of the flesh: lust, money or stealing. However, I rarely hear this verse referring to the temptation to doubt God.

In his book, "A Grief Observed," C.S. Lewis describes his struggle with this common nemesis of doubt as he observes the very painful death of his wife from bone cancer.

Interestingly enough, Lewis doesn't struggle with the temptation to doubt the existence of God. Instead he describes his temptation to declare that God exists, but he's "not worth knowing."

He wonders, "So this is what God is really like, the Cosmic Sadist. The spiteful imbecile?"

The next morning after Lewis got a second wind of God's spirit, he wrote, "God always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize that fact was to knock it down."

From the podium, I too had a second wind. As I spoke, I found a gentle cadence in my voice and a peaceful resonance in recounting stories where I'd seen God do some miraculous things in the lives of people.

When I finished, several people told me they felt like I'd come just for them. I've heard people say that before, but that day it affirmed my calling and my place. It was a cathartic moment as I'd shed my reticence to speak by bringing the same caring tone to my audience that I myself needed.
While my temptation to doubt wasn't as strong as the doubt C.S. Lewis experienced, one must know that faith cannot exist apart from doubt because if you don't doubt, you become certain.

And certainty may even be a greater temptation than doubt, because when you're certain, you merely create a god in your own image.

Burkes is an Air National Guard chaplain and former civilian hospital chaplain. Write norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You can also follow him on Twitter, username is
"chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.