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.