Who's interested in joining disorganized religion?

Who's interested in joining disorganized religion?
01/29/2012


As a chaplain in the Air National Guard, I meet a lot of nuns.

Actually, the correct spelling is "nones" because I'm not talking about the kind who wear habits — albeit their habits will cause quite a stir in future political contests.

"Nones" are the ever-increasing number of people in this country who report having no religious preference. Religious surveys indicate that "None" membership is just behind the Catholics and the Baptists.

My favorite euphemism for the "Nones" is DTS — the folks who "Decline to State" when surveyors ask their religious preference. I can't say I blame them. Many of them likely grew up with hellfire and damnation preaching. They might honestly say that they "have a right to refuse to answer the question on the grounds it might incinerate me."

Most of the Nones I meet in the military tell me they don't believe in "organized religion." If I'm in a joking mood with them, I will often tell them, "No problem, I'm hoping to start a 'disorganized religion.' Would you be interested in joining?"

I've actually given a lot of thought on how I would start this new "Disorganized Church." I could borrow some traditions from all the world faiths.

For instance, I'd take the Ten Commandments from the Jewish faith, but I might not be able to keep them in their original order. I'd bow toward the east like the Muslims, but I might lean more toward Minot, N.D.

Like Christians, we'd look for a Second Coming of the Messiah, but we'd hit the snooze button to wait for the second trumpet.

As a former hospital chaplain, I've met several potential members for my disorganized church, but I still remember one patient in particular who asked me to pray for him after he'd undergone surgery to remove a tumor from his brain. With his survival questionable, I strained to listen as he whispered his request: "Teach me to pray."

That simple request combined the most rewarding element of my job with the most tragic element. While it was eternally rewarding to me that this man would ask me to teach him to pray, it was far more tragic that he needed to make this intimate request of me, a stranger.

The most tragic part of being a chaplain is not the human suffering I see — it is watching people struggle through that suffering with a connection to nothing. They are Nones without a faith community. That is why I am determined to remain part of a faith community.

Sometimes, I hear folks say that faith communities aren't worth the effort, as they find too many hypocrites there. I tell them these are the only places in the world where people gather to acknowledge they are not perfect. In fact, they celebrate that they are far less than perfect.

I like to explain it this way: If you visit a community service club, the members will naturally brag about being part of the best club in the world. In a faith community, you should find a group of people who take comfort in assembling under the banner that "no one is perfect."

Indeed, I've always sought a faith community in much the same way one might look for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting — some place where I can introduce myself by saying," Hi, I'm Norris. Like all of you, I'm fairly messed up."
When I hear them say, "Hi, Norris!" I know I'm home.

Bible is a guide, not a singular object of worship

In a recent column, when I said that the Bible wasn't the fourth person in the Trinity, several readers asked me for further explanation.

Much of my early education about the Bible comes from Ms. Susan, my Baptist Sunday school teacher in the 1960s. She told us stories about long-haired, bearded heroes like Samson, Moses and Noah using cutout cloth figures she'd affix to a felt board. When she told us about the boy whose lunch helped Jesus feed the 5,000, she'd challenge to find ways to help Jesus, too.

Ms. Susan often quizzed us to see if we were paying attention. Correct answers got us gold stars on a chart. If we could recite our weekly Bible verse, she'd give us an extra star. Once we collected five stars beside our name, we got a candy prize.

In the event of a tie, she'd initiate a Bible drill, calling random scripture references like, Isaiah 3:12 and 1 Timothy: 1:6. The first child to find the verse broke the tie — not unlike sudden death overtime. If you think it's easy, see how long it takes you to find Hesitations: 1:2.

Ha! No such reference. That was a trick. No star for me.

Her stories were so well-told that when I arrived at Baylor University in 1975 for Dr. James Breckenridge's New Testament class, I figured I wouldn't need to study. The D- on my first test told me differently.

Soon, my whole world was upended when I heard my professor's claim that if you read the Bible looking for literal facts, you'll be unable to reconcile the order of creation with that found in the second chapter. If you read the Bible for literal stories, you'll stumble where you read how Joshua made the sun stand still; quite a feat especially when you concede that the sun has been still for eternity. It's the Earth that moves."
Did this mean that Ms. Susan's Bible stories were untrue? My ship of faith was sinking, but just before she capsized, my professors threw me a life preserver. They explained that Genesis, for instance, contained a deeper revelation than whether the world began 4,000 years ago or four billion years ago. The story of Adam and Eve teaches us that we are all subject to the temptation of arrogance and that God is able to redeem us from our fallen places.

Their teachings helped me realize that the Bible was a guide, but never intended to be an object of worship. The Bible should never be regarded on the level of deity, or, as I said in my previous column, the fourth person in the trinity. It is God's word to us, the story of his personal intervention in our lives. I regard its message, respect its words and revere its truths. But I don't worship it.

At the end of the day, I have to credit my father, my professors and Ms. Susan for teaching me that our challenge is, not to memorize Bible trivia, but to live out its truths in everyday life — difficult truths, like loving one's neighbor as one's self and forgiving each other our trespasses.

Finally, it is the claim that the Bible makes about itself that I find most compelling, words expressed best by the Psalmist from the Message translation:

By carefully reading the map of your Word.

I'm single-minded in pursuit of you;

don't let me miss the road signs you've posted.

I've banked your promises in the vault of my heart
so I won't sin myself bankrupt.

Norris Burkes is a syndicated columnist, national speaker and author of No Small Miracles. He also serves as an Air National Guard chaplain and is board certified in the Association of Professional Chaplains. You can call him at 321-549-2500. Email him at ask@thechaplain.net, visit his website at thechaplain.net or write him at P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, CA 95759.

Foul language sets off surprising string of events

In light of the Supreme Court's ponderings on the appropriateness of the Seven Dirty Words on television, I'd like to tell you where I recently found a good use for the words.

While driving my daughter to a doctor's appointment, I stopped at signal light where I overheard a young man yelling at his female companion in a McDonald's parking lot. I couldn't quite decipher the details, but when I heard him strafe her with the "F-bomb," I swerved into the U-turn lane.

My detour brought a string of protests from my daughter.

"Dad! What are you doing? You'll make us late!"

When I explained I was going to offer the girl a ride, my daughter went into debate mode.

"She'll be OK. He's only at her yelling. He's not hitting her."

"He's about to hit her," I predicted as I noticed the man blocking her attempt to enter the crosswalk.

"He wouldn't hit her in front of all these people," she countered.

"Oh, yes, he would!"

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

"I know because a man who is willing to verbally assault someone in public has lost his sense of boundaries."

Just as the signal changed, so did the tone of the argument. The man grabbed the woman's hair and yanked her back to the curb. With his other hand, he pummeled her upper body.

That's when I crossed my own boundaries and slammed my fist onto my steering wheel, wishing it were his face. The resultant horn blast was the perfect accompaniment for my cluster bomb of expletives — words no one has ever heard me say in public.

I don't know where those words have been hiding, but I also knew it wasn't the place to practice my Victorian sensibilities by saying, "Harken unto yonder couple, my dear daughter. Let us retire to a space several yards from this damsel so that we may ascertain her level of distress and offer our humble assistance."

With a squeal of tires, I U-turned through the red light and careened into the McDonald's lot. The coward wisely disappeared, leaving the woman stunned, but unhurt.
By this time, my daughter was onboard and volunteered to approach the woman with for some girl-talk. Through my open window, I heard the woman explain how her ex-boyfriend disagreed with her breakup suggestion. She pointed across the street to her apartment with an insistence that she'd be OK.

A few hours later, I found myself apologizing to my daughter for my language and the rashness that could have gotten us killed. She said she understood.

Not to be trite, but the whole thing begs the WWJD question. Scripture records a similar moment when Jesus took action in the face of evil. In a famous story sometimes called "The Cleansing of the Temple," Jesus went on a tirade when he discovered that loan sharks and merchants were using the temple as a flea market for the financially privileged.

With language that likely would've offended a few of the self-righteous, Jesus accused the merchants of making God's house into a "den of thieves." He overturned the money tables and chased miscreants out with a cracking whip. The Scripture concludes that Jesus' outburst made "room for the blind and crippled to get in … and Jesus healed them."

While I can't claim those results from my rant, I do think that my expletives were well spent if my daughter, previously blind to domestic violence, saw firsthand a father who won't let it stand.

My Year of Writing Authentically

Being a columnist isn't always an easy gig. It often requires walking a fine line between expressing what I really think and what simply entertains.

As every columnist can testify, opinions can 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 said, I'm not looking for sympathy; I'm looking to announce my New Year's resolution. I resolve that this will be my year of writing authentically, my year of focusing not on the popular or how I might improve the NASDAQ-like ups and downs of my readership, but on writing authentically.

Therefore, below you will find some preview paragraphs that I hope to share in the upcoming year as I struggle to see where God fits into politics, religion, family and personal struggles.

In politics, I vote for candidates based on competency, not party. 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.

In social welfare, I believe that churches have a responsibility to help the poor and that the welfare system should be drastically altered. Nevertheless, I see a deeper teaching in 2 Thessalonians 3:10: "If you don't work, you don't eat."

When it comes to gun control, I have no use for handguns. If I had 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.

With family issues, I'm tired of being asked to officiate weddings for people who have no intention of living their pledge. Why should my religion or I be more committed to your relationship than you are? I think we need to finalize the separation of church and state by using civil unions that allow a religious benediction.

I see abortion as a tragic response to tragic problems. 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 last word to my friend Popeye when he says: "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."

Norris Burkes is a syndicated columnist, national speaker and author of No Small Miracles. He also serves as an Air National Guard chaplain and is board-certified in the Association of Professional Chaplains. You can call him at 321-549-2500, email him at ask@thechaplain.net, visit website thechaplain.net or write him at P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, CA 95759.

God's plan can take your breath away

Last week, I was 400 miles from home, teaching a military marriage class in San Diego, when my bedside phone rang at 4 a.m.

The first words I really heard was, "Dad, she stopped breathing!"

My son was referring to the same daughter who had recently recovered from sudden and unexplainable multiple organ failure.

He went on to explain that he and his friends had been pushing their disabled truck on a dark country road when another car rear-ended them. The boys jumped clear of the car, but my daughter wasn't so lucky. Her brother found her in the driver's seat, slumped over the steering wheel, convulsing.

"But don't worry," he said, still in the voice of the former Marine, "I saved her with CPR." He assured me that she was now breathing, talking and vomiting.

Now it was my turn to breathe.

"Dad! Are you there?"

"Yes. Oh, my God, yes. I'm here."

"The paramedics just put her in the ambulance," he added. "Mom is on her way."

And so was I. Two hours later, while waiting for my return flight, I called for an update and learned that my daughter was getting a CT scan. The good news was that my daughter was talking, but it was what she was saying that I found troubling.

"God must want me dead," she told my wife in a sardonic reference to her second brush with death in 30 days.

The 90-minute plane ride home gave me pause to think where her remark fit into her life. Our lives intersected 18 years ago when I opened an envelope that contained pictures of a blond-haired, blue-eyed, 2-year-old girl. The pictures that spilled onto our kitchen table were from the people who had fostered our first two adopted children. The letter was an unofficial notification that our children had a sister.

"Looks like we're going to have another child," I told my wife.

"How can we do that?" she asked, the type of question asked after an accidental pregnancy.

We were already struggling with many of the difficult issues faced by blended families. How could we find the patience for this many children? Neither our car nor our military quarters seemed big enough. How could our hearts possibly be big enough?

Within the next year, we returned to her foster home. It was during that visit that our hearts were captured. God had a plan for this one to join her biological siblings and became facetiously known to her new parents as "Little Bit."

Six hours after receiving my son's phone call, I was "wheels down" on the runway of my home airport in Sacramento. When flight attendants allowed phone calls, I got more breathtaking news.

"She's being discharged," my wife told me. "Just a mild concussion." She then instructed me to come to the house where my wife predicted I'd find them all asleep.

As I drove my car out of long-term parking and onto the freeway, I kept thinking about my daughter's sardonic conclusion that God wanted her dead. But having had a front row seat to her early years as well as her recent brushes with death, I remained convinced that God does have a plan for her.

With that in mind, I sang my rebuttal all the way home — "Au contraire ma belle fille. On the contrary, my beautiful daughter. Very much, au contraire."
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Norris Burkes is a syndicated columnist, national speaker and author of "No Small Miracles." He also serves as an Air National Guard chaplain and is board certified in the Association of Professional Chaplains. You can call him at 321-549-2500, Email him at ask@thechaplain.net, visit his website at thechaplain.net or write him at P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, CA 95759.