New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Independence Day Column


Column:

Fishy Argument Fails to Hook Commander

It probably won't surprise you that Independence Day reminds me of my freedom of religion. However, it might astonish you that I equally celebrate its conceptual cousin, "Freedom from Religion."

The latter wasn't an easy notion to articulate one afternoon when I made an appointment with a lieutenant colonel on my base.

"What's this about, Chaplain?" asked the USAF squadron commander.

"It's the fish, sir."

"The fish?"

"Yes sir." I said, pointing toward the wall military folks call the "I-love-me-wall."

He swiveled his squeaky chair to survey his family pictures, academic degrees and his officer's commission. While they were much the same things that hung on my wall, there was one larger-than-life exception – a fish.

Constructed of bent wood, it was a 3-foot-wide outline of a fish. Yet from my hot-seat perspective, it felt large enough to swallow me.

A similar fish outline was used by first century Christian converts. It is said that they traced the image into the sand as a covert way to identify themselves to new acquaintances. Nowadays, I see them hooked on the back of cars and dangled from earlobes or bracelets.

"Ah, the Fish," he said. "It reminds me of Jesus' teaching for us to be fishers of men."

Aware we were both Baptist, he asked, "Do you like it?"

"I like it...," I said, slamming the pronunciation of first person, I.

"Spit it out, Chaplain." Something smelled fishy to him.

"I think some airmen find it intimidating."

"Who finds it intimidating?"

"I can't say, sir," I answered, evoking the airman's right to confidentiality. Our talk seemed to be heating up enough to crack the thin ice on which I was already skating.

I couldn't reveal that two airmen – one an atheist and the other Wiccan – told me how the commander had recently reprimanded them for a minor infraction. During the course of the scolding, the commander suggested that the airmen might call upon the Christian faith to stay out of future trouble.

Confidentiality confined me to speak only about principles. I told him that while the fish was his reminder to proselytize, it might be exerting undue coercion on his subordinates to convert to Christianity.

"Baloney sandwich!" He said, telling me I'd definitely pegged his BS meter.

"I have a right to hang that on my wall. No one can say I don't – not you, not our commander, not even our president."

"The constitution guarantees freedom of religion," I said, "but I think it also strongly infers freedom from religion."

He just stared at me like a calf at a new gate. His idea of interfaith pluralism was more like a community prayer breakfast featuring a Presbyterian choir and a Baptist preacher.

I offered the example of his fellow squadron commander who was Mormon.

"What would it be like if Colonel So-and-So displayed a large Book of Mormon on his desk? How would folks see that?

"You have the right to practice your religion, but using oversized religious objects to do so will likely incite complaints that you disrespect the right of your airmen to be nonreligious.

"Bottom line, sir. Some folks are going to read your fish as an official goal to hook them into converting to Christianity."

With that last point, he stood. "My bottom line," he finished, "is that the fish stays on my wall, Chaplain."

And so it did, at least until the commander retired a few years later. But by then, I fear he'd scared away schools of fish.
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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
fourth column of June 2017


Column:

How Much is Enough?

In answer to a reader's question, I paraphrased Mark Twain to say, "The rumor of my retirement has been greatly exaggerated."

"I will definitely keep writing my column," I assured her. "I retired only from two of my three jobs. In 2014, I retired from the Air National Guard and last month I retired from healthcare chaplaincy."

But she wasn't the only one asking questions. Many of my hospice colleagues and friends were surprised I was retiring, just shy of 60 years old.

"How can you retire early?" they asked.

"Don't get your financial advice from a chaplain," I told them. "However, I can help you with two spiritual questions I asked myself about retirement."

The first thing I grappled with as, "Are you living within your means?" While it sounds like a question from your financial advisor, it really gets at the spiritual issue of greed. If greed prevents you from reducing your spending, you'll have a problem since retirement will often cut one's income nearly in half.

That's why we began preparing two years ago by cutting our employment to half time hours. My wife split a pre-kindergarten teaching position and I took a per diem chaplain job working only 25 hours a week. We sold our suburban home and moved into a doublewide mobile home at half the cost of the old two-story McMansion.

As the months passed, the numbers proved workable. Any greedy impulses that remained began to subside. Honestly, it wasn't that hard to do. We were ready. Our kids were out of the nest and finished with their schooling.

However, we couldn't have addressed the first question it if we had not answered the bigger spiritual question: How much is enough?

Most financial planners will tell you that you can never save too much. You need to save 15% of your annual income toward retirement, but since most of us don't do that, we're advised to save every dime. Take a second job, they say. Delay taking social security and work until you're 70. And if you have to, rent a room in Norris' doublewide.

Don't consider any of these options until you first decide how much is enough.

I know a rich man who's saving so he can retire with 11K a month in pension income. He's killing himself over the anxiety that he won't be able to keep his mansion and his big toys.

I'm not like him and you probably aren't either. But there are ways in which we bear a resemblance.

In retirement, and perhaps long before, we need to ask whether we really need two cars? Do we honestly need the latest cell phone or greatest big screen TV? Can we find refreshing social connections in libraries, churches and service organizations? Or does our self-image rely on fashion store clothing, expensive gyms, restaurants and country clubs.

How much does one need to possess before one can claim, "I'm good enough" or "I've made it"? Must we collect more and more to feel that we are worthy? Is it all about feeling better than someone else? If it is, then I suggest we've likely made the transition from ownership to slavery.

At the end of the day, my wife and I decided that our lives are full. We have enough, not just in future finances, but also in terms of happiness now.

Next week, we're ditching the doublewide to travel worldwide. However, as I assured my reader, I will continue to write as long as my editors will allow.

The reader seemed happy with my decision to keep writing. Stay tuned however -- sometimes my wife changes her mind.
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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
3rd column in June 2017


Column:

BADGES OF FAITH

In 1991, I put on my first hospital chaplain badge. My supervisor took one look at me and said, "You'll need to remove your Christian cross." The cross was a half-inch silver accouterment that I'd transferred from my Air Force uniform onto my ID badge.

The stunning request came from Chaplain Tim Little. He was my supervisor in a 12-month on-the-job training at UC Davis Medical Center called Clinical Pastoral Education.

I countered Little's request by explaining that the symbol would help me communicate my Christian identity to patients.

"What if the patient isn't a Christian?" he asked. "What if he's an atheist? What if she's Wiccan or Rastafarian?"

I hadn't thought of that. Nor did I have a clue what those last two things were.

Still, I pushed back. I contended that hospital employees were permitted to attach sentimental pins to their badges. "And besides," I said, "This smacks of political correctness at the expense of my Christian rights."

"OK," he said. "Leave it on for now and we'll see how it goes."

It didn't take long to "see."

A few weeks later, I walked into the room of an 80-year-old patient. I had said only my name when he noticed the cross on my badge.

"Get out!" he ordered. "I'm an atheist. I don't need a chaplain!"

Suddenly, I got Little's drift. I was being dismissed with no opportunity to explain the man behind the cross. No occasion was given to me to be human. He'd judged me solely on the basis of my shiny cross.

I stood my ground while unclipping my badge and slipping it into my shirt pocket.

His face wrinkled with suspicion. Then with a thin smile and the briefest of words, I asked him for a do-over.

"What if we get rid of the chaplain?" I asked. "I'll just be Norris."

He paused, just long enough for me to interject, "I see you're hurting today. Can I stay a few minutes to hear what's going on with you?"

The man glanced at the pocket where I'd disposed of my parochial symbol and turned a softening face toward me.

"Sure, OK," he said tentatively. He pointed to the guest chair where I would sit visiting with him for the next half hour.

What was it that won the man over?

I hope it was my willingness to see from his point of view and remove the obstacles between us. The sentiment is best expressed in the paraphrased words of the Apostle Paul in "The Message" version of the Bible:

"Even though I am free of the demands and expectations of everyone, I have voluntarily become a servant to any and all in order to reach a wide range of people: religious, nonreligious, meticulous moralists, loose-living immoralists, the defeated, the demoralized—whoever."

However, Paul adds, "I didn't take on their way of life. I kept my bearings in Christ—but I entered their world and tried to experience things from their point of view" I Cor. 9:19ff.

I can't say for sure that the Apostle Paul would have followed my actions. However, if he were living today, I suspect that, like me, he'd be willing to strip down to his boxers if it meant having the opportunity to share faith, forgiveness and comfort with someone who is hurting.

The patient invited me back for two more visits—without me having to strip to boxers. Too bad. That would have made a really good column.
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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

Attachment:

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Second column in June 2017


Column:

Dressed for Success or to Separate?

During this past week as a hospice chaplain, I helped orient my new replacement. My first suggestion was, "Dress for success – lose the coat and necktie."

"Why?" he asked.

I suggested that his level of dress might be a bit overstated as we sit with people who are dying. "Our visit isn't about who we are; it's about who the patient is."

"I've never had an employer disapprove of my necktie," he answered.

I understood his protest, as we'd come from similar backgrounds. We were pastors in conservative congregations where the dress a suit was the uniform of the day. Parishioners expected their pastors to visit their home in dapper dress. The suit asserted our separate pastoral identity.

The new hire's issue with our dress code reminded me of my first days as a chaplain intern at UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento. It was 1992 and I'd begun the chaplain training program in my three-piece suit as the pastor from First Southern Baptist Church.

The training was intense as I found myself quickly sucked into the trauma and drama of the Emergency Department. One day, an ER nurse approached me in the hallway.

"I think the man in room No. 3 could really use a chaplain."

I promised to see the patient, certain that wisdom imparted from a well-dressed chaplain would have a healing effect. I scurried off, choosing not to notice the sarcasm embedded in the nurse's request.

As I approached the room, I stopped the exiting orderly and asked, "What is that revulsive odor?"

"Maggots, lots of them."

My expression told him I suspected a prank, so he offered more information.

The patient was homeless and he'd come to our ER with an infected leg laceration. He'd spent the last several nights sleeping on the ground, so maggots entered the infected wound.

I gave a noticeable cringe.

"Maggots probably saved his leg," he said cheerfully.

"How's that?"

"Since maggots only eat dead skin, they likely kept the infection from moving up his leg."

I shot the orderly a repulsed look and entered the patient's room.

The odor was intense and unforgettable. I looked the man over, head to toe. This shriveled lump of a human was malnourished, with overgrown, matted red hair. He was cooked brown from the neck up. He had gnarled toenails and fingernails with scratches that whipped around his body. The orderly had left the man's leg propped almost eye level, enough to allow access by medical staff.

But the man also looked me up and down. It was hard for him not to see my crumpled expression. But more than that, he saw the trappings of privilege, from my tasseled loafers to my pin stripped suit and dark blue tie. My silver-plated wristwatch, Bible and oversized college ring proclaimed our overstated differences.

I introduced myself as the chaplain.

"The hell, you say!" he said, followed by expletive-laced directions that suggested my eternal destination.

I'm ashamed to admit, I was glad to go anywhere rather than remain in that room.

As the months passed, my mentors offered some interpretation of the putrid moment. They suggested that my suit told the patient I was too good to offer him comfort. And theologically, God probably saw my pretentious need for a suit as repulsive as I found the man's maggot-infested leg.

Eventually, my training taught me to shed the trappings of Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and to assume the more approachable look of short sleeves and Dockers. Sadly, my ties took a little longer to die.

Fortunately, my replacement is a quicker study. He came to work the next day without the tie. I suspect he'll do OK.

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Read Norris' past columns at www.thechaplain.net. Write him at comment@thechaplain.net. Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715

 

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