Our Greed is to Blame for Oil Spill

Our Greed is to Blame for Oil Spill 

Genesis 1:28 says: "Fill the Earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature." (New International Version).


I think we've overdone the subdue part. At least that's what the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico tells me.

Of course, it's not so much a spill or a leak. It's a damn gusher. There. Now you know how mad it's made me. It's caused a chaplain to curse.

I'm not mad, however, at BP.

I'm not mad at BP's president or the even the president of the United States for this environmental Armageddon. That would be a cop out.

Do you want to know who I blame the most for this?

Myself.

I blame myself, because during our last campaign when I heard a candidate say, "Drill, baby drill!" I shouted, "Amen! The Earth ought to give up all the oil it can."

Even as a California resident, I've generally favored offshore drilling. Yes, I favored renewable energy, too, but in the meantime, I figured we ought to "subdue the Earth" and take what we had coming.

I knew I was being greedy at the time, but I couldn't resist the "what-the-hell" attitude.

You can blame me for the spill, because BP was just out there following my orders. I told them I wanted cheaper oil to burn in my new truck. I told them to find me some oil and dig where no man has ever dug before.

Don't be mad at BP. Be mad at me.

And certainly don't boycott BP. I may hold some blame here, but my monthly salary doesn't quite match BP's $3 billion in regular monthly profits they'll need to clean this up.

Because of my greed, we'll need them to be around for a long time to come. They are worth more alive than dead.

If you haven't guessed, yes, I'm being a bit facetious. Hopefully, my greed isn't quite that out of control.

I know that taking personal responsibility for the spill sounds a bit like the habitual confessor who owns up to every minor crime just to get some attention, but I do think there is some truth here.

Most world religions, including Christianity and Buddhism, have a lot to say about individual responsibility. Christianity even says that individual Christians have some culpability in the historical crucifixion of Christ.

So in this case, do we have some culpability in the crucifixion of our beautiful gulf? I think the answer is yes.


Yes, BP was doing the actual drilling, but as people of faith, we have to be careful not to simply shift the blame upon those with the deep guilt pockets.

Recently, I wrote a controversial column concerning media pundits and was scolded by a few readers for straying away from religious topics. Problem is, everything in life is connected to our own individual spirituality.

Everything.

There is no part of our lives apart from God's care and concern. Especially not the planet he created.

Yes, BP is responsible, and BP officials desperately need to do three things: Stop the gusher, clean up the mess, and take care of the damages to the "fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every living creature."

As for you and me, I need us to drill into our own spiritual depths and ask ourselves: What part of our own greed caused this spill, and what will we do to keep it from happening again?

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

Our Greed is to Blame for Oil Spill

Our Greed is to Blame for Oil Spill 

Genesis 1:28 says: "Fill the Earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature." (New International Version).


I think we've overdone the subdue part. At least that's what the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico tells me.

Of course, it's not so much a spill or a leak. It's a damn gusher. There. Now you know how mad it's made me. It's caused a chaplain to curse.

I'm not mad, however, at BP.

I'm not mad at BP's president or the even the president of the United States for this environmental Armageddon. That would be a cop out.

Do you want to know who I blame the most for this?

Myself.

I blame myself, because during our last campaign when I heard a candidate say, "Drill, baby drill!" I shouted, "Amen! The Earth ought to give up all the oil it can."

Even as a California resident, I've generally favored offshore drilling. Yes, I favored renewable energy, too, but in the meantime, I figured we ought to "subdue the Earth" and take what we had coming.

I knew I was being greedy at the time, but I couldn't resist the "what-the-hell" attitude.

You can blame me for the spill, because BP was just out there following my orders. I told them I wanted cheaper oil to burn in my new truck. I told them to find me some oil and dig where no man has ever dug before.

Don't be mad at BP. Be mad at me.

And certainly don't boycott BP. I may hold some blame here, but my monthly salary doesn't quite match BP's $3 billion in regular monthly profits they'll need to clean this up.

Because of my greed, we'll need them to be around for a long time to come. They are worth more alive than dead.

If you haven't guessed, yes, I'm being a bit facetious. Hopefully, my greed isn't quite that out of control.

I know that taking personal responsibility for the spill sounds a bit like the habitual confessor who owns up to every minor crime just to get some attention, but I do think there is some truth here.

Most world religions, including Christianity and Buddhism, have a lot to say about individual responsibility. Christianity even says that individual Christians have some culpability in the historical crucifixion of Christ.

So in this case, do we have some culpability in the crucifixion of our beautiful gulf? I think the answer is yes.


Yes, BP was doing the actual drilling, but as people of faith, we have to be careful not to simply shift the blame upon those with the deep guilt pockets.

Recently, I wrote a controversial column concerning media pundits and was scolded by a few readers for straying away from religious topics. Problem is, everything in life is connected to our own individual spirituality.

Everything.

There is no part of our lives apart from God's care and concern. Especially not the planet he created.

Yes, BP is responsible, and BP officials desperately need to do three things: Stop the gusher, clean up the mess, and take care of the damages to the "fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every living creature."

As for you and me, I need us to drill into our own spiritual depths and ask ourselves: What part of our own greed caused this spill, and what will we do to keep it from happening again?

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

A early Father's Day gift for my 'foster' dad

"I love you man" is an expression used in a 2009 movie by the same name. But for me, the phrase rings most true when I think of my father-in-law, Wil.
When we first met, he extended his hand and his heart.

"Any friend of my daughter's will be a friend of mine," he said without guile.
From that day, he's never wavered in his promise.

He's my mentor, and he's my friend. So if you'll forgive this short indulgence during the month we honor fathers, I want you to know him.

At 78, Wil still is a handsome man, standing 5-foot-10. With a full head of hair that prematurely grayed at 30, he doesn't look a day older than 65.
He spends hours each week working in his yard or on the treadmill and maintains a fit 180 pounds.

Adding to his fitness routine, he often walks the half mile to church. It was on those walks that his neighbors began to see not just his physical fitness, but his spiritual fitness.

He considers his neighbors among his flock. He's done their weddings, their funerals and visited their loved ones in the hospital. He asks nothing in return: not donations or church attendance, just friendship.

Nowhere do I hear his spirituality more deeply than during mealtime prayers. Avoiding clichés that express thanks for weather, beans and biscuits, his prayers erupt as holy poetry that continues his daylong conversation with his creator.


He studies his Bible for hours each week, not in a pious way that seeks to justify his actions, but in a way that seeks a genuine relationship with God.
He's a Fundamentalist Southern Baptist pastor and wears the term "Fundamentalist" not as political, but as historical relating to seven core fundamental beliefs about Christ.

Still, he can be a stubborn man at times. He votes straight Republican and doesn't mind telling you of his grave disappointment with the present administration. He favors traditional marriage and is fond of proclaiming that "Christianity is the only reasonable hope of salvation."

But beyond his fundamentalism, Wil's short on the negative aspects of the word. He's a man who loves people more than he loves a fight. He allows people to see his struggles with faith. Currently, he's struggling with God over the physical pain my mother-in-law, Darla, is experiencing.

Wil keeps his word in an intensive way. He makes his appointments months in advance, keeping even the most trivial ones with the diligence of a banker.
For the past 47 years, he's kept his word to the people of Fairvale Baptist Church to be their pastor and spiritual leader.

His faithful leadership has produced missionaries, pastors, chaplains, marriage counselors, musicians and last, but not least, his daughter, Becky, my wife. And for even longer than that, he's kept his word to his wife of 56 years to love and cherish.

In 1992, I lost my dad. He was 65. After the funeral, Wil sent me a sympathy letter that I still have. He followed it up with a phone call.

"I want you to know that I could never replace your dad," he said with a wavering voice, "but I'm here to stand in his place wherever you'll allow."

A few days later, after collecting myself, I called him and accepted his offer to become my "earthly foster father." It's a decision I've never regretted.
Father's Day isn't until June 20, but Wil, you deserve an entire month.
I love you man.

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

I'm off on another deployment

Hello Readers,

I'm off on another deployment next week. This time, I'm going to Panama with the Air National Guard. This is a humanitarian project and we'll be building schools and clinics. Good things. I'll be in a tent, sleeping on a cot and eating MRE's.

When I return, I'll be looking for some oportunites to speak in your community, organization, church or school. Please let me know if you have some ideas along this line.

Blessings.


Below are the last four columns I worte.


Hard hearts soften in tiny bed
BY NORRIS BURKES • FLORIDA TODAY • MAY 23, 2010

This past week, I made my way around the southwest coast of Ireland in search of adventure by day and a good bed and breakfast at night. The breakfasts were great, but a good bed with comfortable bedding was hard to find.

Nevertheless, the most important thing to me and my bride of 30 years was that we find something we could both sleep on. At times, we found our beds not much bigger or any more comfortable than a hospital bed. Other times, we determinedly pushed two single beds together.

Our determination to share a bed reminded me of a time that a nurse sent me into a room to visit with a couple who'd shared a cramped bed their entire marriage. Sadly, the husband had just passed away.
The room was filled with family pictures and mementos that intentionally communicated to the staff that this man was not to be identified by a room number or diagnosis. He had a name, a life and a family that loved him.
The bed swallowed the frame of this slight man enough to allow his wife to perch on the edge in the top corner of the mattress. She leaned into his stiff, sagging shoulder and held his hand while caressing his arm. His eyes were closed and his mouth open.
As I sat and talked with the family, the wife told me she had shared a bed with this man for 58 years. During all of that time, the couple had only a double bed -- not a queen or king -- just a double bed. Now she was wondering how cold the night would get without him.
"I just can't understand it," she said. "So many of our friends buy these big beds. They say they need the room. The beds are so big, you lose each other."
She told me there was always enough room in their bed, because from the moment they slid in, both had their emotional compass set for a lifelong commitment. In the center of the bed, they found each other's hand and, so entwined, peaceful sleep came easily.
Now, in front of us that afternoon, a permanent peace also had come easily. He was resting, and, at her advanced age, she was likely to join him soon in a place where their souls would permanently entwine.
As I looked at this couple, it occurred to me that I often am witness to the pageantry of many formal and elegant weddings, but the beauty I witnessed in this room was rare. This was the final fulfillment of vows taken by a couple that meant what they said, when they promised "for better or for worse, 'til death do us part."

The marriage that began with this vow had now seen fulfillment in this bed. Through the years, I have heard a lot of reasons for breaking those vows. Perhaps Jesus hit the nail on the head when he explained that Moses had been forced to approve the breaking of marital vows because of "hardness of hearts." Somehow, I think this couple discovered hard hearts are softened in smaller beds.
By the time you read this, we should be back at home in our own bed, tucked warmly under the sheets recovering from eight hours of jet lag. Yet no matter how many times we leave our old bed, I will fondly remember this couple and pledge that our bed will continue to be our nightly meeting place for years to come.
Burkes is a former civilian hospital chaplain and an Air National Guard chaplain. Write norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You also can follow him on Twitter, username is "chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.


Judgment Day revenge not up to us
BY NORRIS BURKES • FLORIDA TODAY • MAY 16, 2010
Recently, the news has been full of some fairly unrighteous characters.
Faisal Shahzad tried to bomb Time Square; Jesse James cheated on America's Sweetheart, Sandra Bullock; and Goldman Sachs was charged by the Securities Exchange Commission for cheating the American people on subprime mortgage deals.
Characters like this make us yearn for the justice of Judgment Day, where they would be forced to spend an eternity in a much warmer climate repeating the mantra of Phoenix residents: "At least it's a dry heat."
There's only one problem with this kind of Judgment Day thinking. It focuses too much on revenge. In the end, this thinking sends us careening down life's highway with a self-righteous road rage, busting people for making bad turns or going too slow.
Ancient texts tell the story of a man named Jonah whose journey took him down a similar self-righteous highway. It began when God commanded Jonah to preach repentance in the city of his enemy. Jonah refused, because he knew God was a "god of second chances," and he was certain his enemies deserved God's wrath, not his mercy.
Refusing an offer from "God[the]fadah" that he couldn't refuse, Jonah attempted to escape his preaching responsibility by masquerading as a chaplain on a cruise ship. When the boat ran afoul in a storm, Jonah knew he was fish bait. To save the ship and appease the angry sea, Jonah offered himself as a sacrifice into the waiting jaws of "a great fish."
Unable to stomach this self-righteous preacher more than three days, the fish spit Jonah out on the enemy shoreline. Jonah skipped through the city, covered in fish slime, gleefully preaching his Judgment Day revenge until an unexpected thing occurred. The entire city wholly accepted the judgment and pleaded for God's forgiveness.
Jonah blew a gasket. He figured if he did what God asked him to do, God would deliver the Judgment Day. But God had only asked Jonah to tell them about Judgment Day. God didn't say, ". . . and then I shall smite them with my foot up their sit-upons."
God said, "Tell 'em, Jonah," and Jonah told 'em.
They got it.
God was asking Jonah to do the footwork and stay out of the results, but Jonah couldn't. That's the hardest part for us, as well. When we try to do the footwork
and control the results, we turn in to manipulators and martyrs.
I've often wondered what the story of Jonah might have been like if Jonah had responded to the change in the people by saying, "That is very cool, God. Thank you that none us get what we deserve."
In the end, I have to be grateful every day that I don't get what I deserve. Can you imagine what life might be like if everyone got what they deserved? I wonder what God's judgment would be for cutting someone off in traffic, taking an extra long lunch, or wearing stripes with plaids?
Yes, there are a lot of creeps who need to get what they deserve, for their own good if not the good of us all.
When someone has broken the law, we need to enforce the law. We must discern, make decisions and sometimes choose not to associate with people.
But at the end of the day our job will always be to keep our own accounts in order, do our footwork, answer the phone when God calls and let God take care of the rest.
Burkes is a former civilian hospital chaplain and an Air National Guard chaplain. Write norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You also can follow him on Twitter, username is "chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.
Good or bad -- God still hears us

BY NORRIS BURKES • FLORIDA TODAY • May 30,
2010

A few years back, when I was chaplain on a high-risk maternity unit, our secretary referred me to a patient whose 23-week pregnancy was threatened by severe complications.
Jeannette, the secretary, told me the patient was a music minister's wife and was expecting twins.
"She has a lot of church friends in her room now," Jeannette said, "but you could at least introduce yourself."
We agreed that making her acquaintance now might ease the situation if things went bad later.
The music minister greeted me with the typical chorus of pious platitudes that often hide the fear of men.
"These twins are in God's hands. I'm not worried," he said in a dismissive manner. "We know God will heal these babies."
And honestly, the atmosphere of the room had me nearly convinced. It was filled with a medley of religious books, greeting cards and Bibles. Religious music played on a CD and religious jewelry adorned necks and earlobes.
Concluding that my time might be better used elsewhere, I took their hint and departed. Forty-eight hours later, I stood at the nurses' station to hear that the twins hadn't survived.
"They're going to need you now, chaplain," Jeanette said with a sympathetic nod.
"They'll need me, but will they want me?" I muttered.
In a sympathetic tone, Jeanette dared me to "give it a shot."
Tapping my watch, I said, "I'll
bet they don't give me five minutes."
Prayerfully, I entered the room while simultaneously harboring the selfish hope to win the bet. It's hard to risk going where you aren't wanted, and I especially didn't want to be confronted with the accusations against God this man likely would express.
In the room, I found the patient along with her impatient husband.
"We've been in church work for years," he said. "Why couldn't God help us with this thing?"
They sincerely believed they'd been shortchanged by God and swore they'd never return to church.
I leaned forward to leave, but amazingly, they continued to unload. My visit lasted 45 minutes. They simply wanted someone to hear the case they'd built against God.
I'd lost my bet with the unit secretary, but that was a good thing.
And during the next few days, I was invited for more visits. Finally, on my last visit, the minister said to me, "You probably wondered why we let you stay after we'd dismissed our congregants. You were the only one willing to listen to our gripes about God," he said.
"That's OK," I said. "God saw his son die, too. I think he understands."
I continued. "You were honest and voiced your complaints directly to God. Most people aren't that honest. They just talk smack behind God's back."
They nodded, thanking me for not trying to change their minds or judge them.
"Just make sure you keep up the conversation with him," I said with a crack of a smile.
And you know what? I called their home a few times after her discharge and discovered they still were having daily conversations with God. And while those conversations didn't likely sound like their usual church prayers, I know that God heard every word.
Burkes is a former civilian hospital chaplain and an Air National Guard chaplain. Write norris@thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You also can follow him on Twitter, username is "chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.



June 6, 2010
Patience, faith shepherd the wrongly imprisoned

BY NORRIS BURKES
FLORIDA TODAY
At 21, William Dillon stood to hear a Brevard County judge sentence him to life in prison for murder.
For the next 27 years, Dillon proclaimed his innocence. He finally was released from prison in 2008.
Last month, I watched Dillon stand to preach a message of freedom to a small Florida congregation. Humbly receiving introductory applause, Dillon bowed with a noticeable shudder to his stance.
Whispers filled the quiet congregation.
"It looks like he's praying," observed one congregant.
"It's OK," assured another parishioner, "We are all here with you."
More deep breaths. Dillon's face reddened as he tried to steady himself.
"Good morning," he finally managed to say. Then he expelled more deep breaths and more sobs.
Finally, "I'd like to thank God, for what he did and the many people . . involved in freeing me. It was quite a journey."
Dillon's journey through false accusations started when he pulled off a Florida coastal highway for a smoke on Aug. 21, 1981.
As he stood watching the waves, sheriff's investigators approached, asking Dillon if he knew anything about a murder on the same beach five days earlier.
Dillon assured them he knew only what he'd read in the paper. Yet, in less than 24 hours, a witness who was legally blind in one eye, a spurned girlfriend and a fraudulent scent-dog handler made the case to arrest Dillon for the beachside murder.
With that kind of evidence, he doesn't blame the jury.
"I would have convicted myself," he said.
Dillon was convicted in record time and went to Florida State Prison on March 22, 1982.
"This was a place for violent offenders," Dillon said, "not first-time offenders. Somebody must have requested that I be sent there in hopes I'd disappear or be destroyed."
Despite his lawyer's insistence that this could be fixed, Dillon said, "I knew my life was over."
As the years sailed by, his life
certainly seemed over. He wrote letters to every justice organization he could, including the famed Innocence Project, yet his cries went unanswered.
"I know through the torments, I never forgot that I was an innocent man," he said to a weeping congregation. "The problem was, the innocent man was gone."
Determined to keep his youthful innocence in prison, Dillon created a music department though donations and grants.
"With the music," he said, "I got people to think more about the right things than the wrong things."
Finally, Dillon sat down to write one more letter. This one was addressed to a judge asking for a DNA test.
"I prayed about it before mailing it," he said, "and four months later, it was granted."
Finally, the Innocence Project joined the fight, and DNA tests led to Dillon's freedom in November 2008.
I asked him about the spiritual strength that sustained him though nearly 27 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, and he credited God.
His faith reminded me of the prophet Isaiah, who would credit God for "freedom for the prisoners and . . . release for the oppressed."
"It's been a ride, and God has blessed me and taken all the corners," he said. "God gave me a bulldog for a lawyer and the Innocence Project team who knew about DNA."
With no formal religion, Dillon declares that his "religion is my belief that God exists. I believe wholeheartedly in the Creator. I know that God works."
Recalling the image of a beach where his nightmare began, Dillon likened his deliverance to "God picking me up like a grain of sand on the beach. He washed me up and made me a free man."
Additional Facts
More
For more about William Dillon, visit http://tinyurl.com/williamdillon.
Burkes is a former civilian hospital chaplain and an Air National Guard chaplain. Write norris@ thechaplain.net or visit thechaplain.net. You also can follow him on Twitter, username is "chaplain," or on Facebook at facebook.com/norrisburkes.