New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Last column of 2017


Column:

Retirement Report

Normally, I compose my last column of the year from a collage of quotes collected from my past year's writing. I've done much the same in this column, but I've focused on quotes centering on my retirement planning.

In May, I told you of my decision to retire from healthcare chaplaincy. I began the process by asking myself if I was living within my means. It's an essential consideration since retirement will often cut household income in half.

To test the retirement waters, my wife and I purposely cut our income in half by reducing employment to half time hours. Becky 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.

We did this only after challenging ourselves to consider how much we must possess before we can claim success in life? Must we collect more and more to feel that we are worthy? Is it all about feeling we are better off than other folks? If it is, then I suggest we are in slavery and we are the ones being owned

By July, my wife and I realized we had more than enough. So we sold our car, RV, and many of our belongings. We donated many of the remaining possessions or stored them in a 10x10 storage unit. Then, we packed five suitcases and headed off to a four-month adventure with stays in Belgium, Sweden, Ireland and England.

Most importantly, we packed our faith. We took it with us because, as I wrote in late July, faith has to be portable. It has to work wherever you take it. And it worked well when we took it to Belgium and began worshiping with a Brussels church.

In retirement, we still must practice faith, because it's never perfected. Church is our practice room where we exercise love, honor, compassion and forgiveness. It's here among likeminded people of faith that we are "spurred on" to live out these one-another traits. After all, if we can't find some success in church, then we should probably stay for an extra practice before we return to the field of life.

In October, I itemized the solutions I saw Europeans using to solve modern societal problems, such as driving, personal space and even toilet use. For instance, bathrooms employ full-length stalls that silence the gender debate.

I concluded that many of these practices reflect a good understanding of the "Golden Rule." The modern "Message" version of the Bible best translates Jesus' summary of the rule: "Here is a simple, rule-of-thumb guide for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you, then grab the initiative and do it for them."

In a September column I found that Jesus expounded the best approach to retirement in his "Sermon on the Mount." In it, he perfectly summarized the positive points of retired living. Again, from Eugene Patterson's "The Message" translation we read:

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now. Don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes."

And if you'll heed those words, I have a prediction for you. You needn't worry about your retirement days because your days will truly be blessed ones.

-------------------------------------------
Email: comment@thechaplain.net. Voicemail (843) 608-9715 Twitter @chaplain Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Christmas Weekend column


Column:

A Christmas Meditation

The Psalmist suggests that the best way to understand scripture is to meditate on it "day and night." Problem is, my short attention span denies me such 24/7 operations.

Fortunately, a pastor friend recently suggested a meditation method that involves using the point of view of the biblical character to find insight into scripture. I wondered if it would be as simple as it sounded, so I gave it a shot and wrote the following Christmas meditation from the point of view of Jesus' parents, Mary and Joseph.

**********

The crowing of the barn rooster stirs the young parents and their newborn son where they sleep amidst steaming piles of hay. The boy awakens, batting the air and fussing for a feeding.

Mary pulls Jesus to her breast, allowing him the nourishment he seeks. The moment belongs only to them, so Joseph turns over searching for sleep.

Soon, the sun streaks through the barn's crevices, flooding it with light. The glare awakens the questions Mary sought so hard to keep to herself.

"Joseph."

He groans.

"Joseph."

"What is it, Mary?" he asks.

"Tell me again what the angels said."

Joseph props himself on his elbow.

"The angels said, 'Don't be afraid.'"

"But, Joseph! How can we not be afraid? We're so young. We have nothing."

Joseph rubs his eyes, hoping to find the clarity befitting Jesus' stepfather.

"I'm not sure," he says. "But maybe miracles come from 'nothing.' After all, God made an entire world from nothing."

Mary offers only a respectful nod, causing Joseph to drop his head in his open palms.

"You're right to be worried. I'm worried too," he says. "How will I provide for you both?"

Mary reaches for Joseph's face, cradling it with a warm hand. "I love you."

It's the way she answers most of Joe's worries.

His fingers trace Jesus' hand as a means to answer his own question.

"This tiny hand will carry a hammer some day," Joseph says. Then he stretches his own hands wide as if to bracket the sign he envisions. "We will be, 'Joseph and Son, Galilean Carpenter Shop.' "

"According to your angelic friends," Mary counters, "Jesus' hands will also carry 'great joy!'"

Mary moves Jesus to her other side and invites Joseph closer to share them both.

"Will he change the world?" she asks.

"I'm not sure the world is ready for him," Joseph says.

"They won't be, but it will be God's timing. Not ours."

Mary counts Jesus' toes aloud, contemplating how to categorize him — man or God — when she dares a deeper question.

"What if God should want to take him back?" she asks.

At first, Joseph seems unwilling to consider the loss of his firstborn, even if it were somehow God's will. He does his best to deflect his fear through two questions of his own.

"There's only one thing that really bothers me, Mary. Who are we? How did we get so lucky?"

Mary stares at the thatched roof in contemplative silence. She is absorbing that word 'lucky' when Joseph revises his question.

"Or should I ask, 'How did we become burdened?'"

"Joe! Watch what you say!"

"Honestly, who are we to be trusted with so great a task?" he asks.

"We're nobody." She pauses a few moments before adding, "Or, maybe we've been chosen because we are everybody."

"That makes no sense," Joe says.

"Yes, it does. Everyone will have to decide for themselves what to do with Jesus — just as we did."

Joseph remains unimpressed.

"I'm not sure I can fully answer your question except to say, mankind is a part of God's plan. I'd even say we are his plan."

At that, Joseph shakes his head. "Goodness. Do you suppose God has a plan B?"

Mary puts the sleeping Jesus aside and playfully answers Joseph by stuffing his tunic with a handful of straw.

"I love you," she says, "but I have one more question."

"What?" he asks.

"Can we please get some more sleep while we still can?"

-------------------------------------------
Email: comment@thechaplain.net. Voicemail (843) 608-9715 Twitter @chaplain Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Christmas Weekend column


Column:

A Christmas Meditation

The Psalmist suggests that the best way to understand scripture is to meditate on it "day and night." Problem is, my short attention span denies me such 24/7 operations.

Fortunately, a pastor friend recently suggested a meditation method that involves using the point of view of the biblical character to find insight into scripture. I wondered if it would be as simple as it sounded, so I gave it a shot and wrote the following Christmas meditation from the point of view of Jesus' parents, Mary and Joseph.

**********

The crowing of the barn rooster stirs the young parents and their newborn son where they sleep amidst steaming piles of hay. The boy awakens, batting the air and fussing for a feeding.

Mary pulls Jesus to her breast, allowing him the nourishment he seeks. The moment belongs only to them, so Joseph turns over searching for sleep.

Soon, the sun streaks through the barn's crevices, flooding it with light. The glare awakens the questions Mary sought so hard to keep to herself.

"Joseph."

He groans.

"Joseph."

"What is it, Mary?" he asks.

"Tell me again what the angels said."

Joseph props himself on his elbow.

"The angels said, 'Don't be afraid.'"

"But, Joseph! How can we not be afraid? We're so young. We have nothing."

Joseph rubs his eyes, hoping to find the clarity befitting Jesus' stepfather.

"I'm not sure," he says. "But maybe miracles come from 'nothing.' After all, God made an entire world from nothing."

Mary offers only a respectful nod, causing Joseph to drop his head in his open palms.

"You're right to be worried. I'm worried too," he says. "How will I provide for you both?"

Mary reaches for Joseph's face, cradling it with a warm hand. "I love you."

It's the way she answers most of Joe's worries.

His fingers trace Jesus' hand as a means to answer his own question.

"This tiny hand will carry a hammer some day," Joseph says. Then he stretches his own hands wide as if to bracket the sign he envisions. "We will be, 'Joseph and Son, Galilean Carpenter Shop.' "

"According to your angelic friends," Mary counters, "Jesus' hands will also carry 'great joy!'"

Mary moves Jesus to her other side and invites Joseph closer to share them both.

"Will he change the world?" she asks.

"I'm not sure the world is ready for him," Joseph says.

"They won't be, but it will be God's timing. Not ours."

Mary counts Jesus' toes aloud, contemplating how to categorize him — man or God — when she dares a deeper question.

"What if God should want to take him back?" she asks.

At first, Joseph seems unwilling to consider the loss of his firstborn, even if it were somehow God's will. He does his best to deflect his fear through two questions of his own.

"There's only one thing that really bothers me, Mary. Who are we? How did we get so lucky?"

Mary stares at the thatched roof in contemplative silence. She is absorbing that word 'lucky' when Joseph revises his question.

"Or should I ask, 'How did we become burdened?'"

"Joe! Watch what you say!"

"Honestly, who are we to be trusted with so great a task?" he asks.

"We're nobody." She pauses a few moments before adding, "Or, maybe we've been chosen because we are everybody."

"That makes no sense," Joe says.

"Yes, it does. Everyone will have to decide for themselves what to do with Jesus — just as we did."

Joseph remains unimpressed.

"I'm not sure I can fully answer your question except to say, mankind is a part of God's plan. I'd even say we are his plan."

At that, Joseph shakes his head. "Goodness. Do you suppose God has a plan B?"

Mary puts the sleeping Jesus aside and playfully answers Joseph by stuffing his tunic with a handful of straw.

"I love you," she says, "but I have one more question."

"What?" he asks.

"Can we please get some more sleep while we still can?"

-------------------------------------------
Email: comment@thechaplain.net. Voicemail (843) 608-9715 Twitter @chaplain Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Third column for December 2017


Column:

MY CHRISTMAS STORY

My wife and I have very different childhood Christmas stories.

Her professional-class parents (a minister and a schoolteacher) somehow managed to stock their Christmas tree with a boatload of gifts wrapped in a flurry of fluffy bows.

Their tradition called for each person to open gifts one at a time while raving over the beauty of the paper and speculating over the mystery of the contents. The entire event was such a gift-opening marathon that it often included a lunch break and a nap.

But when I share my childhood Christmas stories in public, she looks away. She knows that my family afforded very few luxuries. We were so poor that while other families were counting their presents under the tree, I was counting ribs on my underfed body.

I might be exaggerating, but still she's disheartened to hear how my father nixed Christmas during my preteens. That's when he announced that since Christmas had a pagan beginning, our family would no longer buy a Christmas tree or the accompanying accouterments.

My dad allowed limited giving of necessity items on Christmas Eve, such as socks, underwear and pajamas. I now know that he was simply covering the embarrassing truth that we were sustained on the meager salaries of his part-time pastorate and my mom's secretary job.

Becky says that my childhood Christmases sound too depressing to be shared in a holiday column. However, I don't remember them as destitute. In fact, they caused me to more deeply cherish the most meaningful gift my father passed to me: faith.

It was a faith strengthened many times during our frugal Christmases as my dad read and reread the story of the frightened village girl who heard the news of her pending pregnancy from an angel.

These days, I prefer to recount the first chapter of Luke's gospel in "The Message" translation of the Bible that reads as follows:

"God sent the angel Gabriel to the Galilean village of Nazareth to a virgin … Gabriel greeted her:

"'Good morning! You're beautiful with God's beauty. Beautiful inside and out! God be with you.'

"She was thoroughly shaken, wondering what was behind a greeting like that.

But the angel assured her, 'Mary, you have nothing to fear. God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant and give birth to a son and call his name Jesus. He will be great, be called "Son of the Highest." The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David; He will rule Jacob's house forever — no end, ever, to his kingdom.'"

This simple story of Mary and Joseph teaches us how to give of ourselves. It celebrates the holiday season, not as one in which we receive gifts, but as one in which we become the gift to those in need.

So, as you sweat last-minute gift shopping and harried holiday cooking, take a breath to inhale the meaning of this simple story.

It will likely have a little different meaning for each of us. However, my story reminds me that despite my family's inability to afford the latest, greatest gift, we were able to find ways to give sacrificially of ourselves.

Finally, just one more sad childhood story. When I turned 10 years old, my father also put the kibosh on Halloween because of what he saw as another pagan celebration.

I'll admit that my Halloween hiatus is partially responsible for my amazing dental health today, but it also makes my childhood sound like a never ending visit from the Grinch. Nonetheless, my wife says I must spare you the heart-wrenching details. After all, it is the season to be jolly.

-------------------------------------------
Email: comment@thechaplain.net. Voicemail (843) 608-9715 Twitter @chaplain Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Second column in Dec 2017


Column:

Chaplain Learns the Pregnant Truth

In 1991, I began training to become a hospital chaplain in a yearlong postgraduate residency called Clinical Pastoral Education. It was a hospital-based clinical internship that consisted of a half-dozen seminary graduates.

Each morning, the student interns went onto the wards to support patients in need of spiritual care. In the afternoon, we'd regroup in our classroom to critique our patient visits with our supervisor and fellow students.

Dr. Timothy Little was our supervisor. He was an old hand at teaching his charges how to walk with patients through sickness and pain. He was blind, yet quite like Yoda with limitless wisdom. He often used a critique tool called a "verbatim," which was our written recollection of a visit in a word-for-word description.

One afternoon, I walked the hospital floors, trolling for souls, determined to find a patient for my verbatim that would shine a favorable light on my abilities.

At the nurses' station, a nurse described a patient who'd been requesting a chaplain. The man, in his fifties, had just received a terminal diagnosis of stomach cancer. However, before the nurse could explain more, an urgent phone call interrupted her.

Never mind, I thought, waiving a dismissive hand. I pushed out of the station like I was Chaplain America looking for a patient to save.

I found the room and opened the door. A few feet into the room, my game face shattered. The male patient appeared every bit pregnant.

Fortunately, I think his bulging gut blocked him from seeing the shock on my face and I made a composed introduction. The man responded well, taking an immediate liking to me and freely shared the doctor's prognosis.

"Would you pray with me?" he asked. "I feel God in me and know he wants to heal me."

"Certainly," I said, smiling inwardly. This was someone I just might "save."

I prayed a strong prayer from my Baptist tradition, full of words like, "If it be thy will, God," and "In Jesus name we ask thee." In retrospect, it was more like I was casting a theological incantation rather than trying to understand the man's soul.

Still, he offered a satisfied smile. I was sure my patient would be the stunning star of my upcoming verbatim.

Just as I was about to dismiss myself, the man placed his hand on his belly.

"Sometimes I can feel him move." He said.

"Pardon me. Who do you feel move?"

"Jesus!" he proclaimed. "Jesus is returning through me. I'm carrying God's son."

Along about then, the nurse appeared at the door and motioned me outside.

"Chaplain, I was trying to tell you that our patient is also psychotic."

I shot her my best "No-duh" look.

"I was trying to tell you that when my phone rang," she said.

A few days later I humbly presented the verbatim as a "How-not-to." I admitted that I'd not waited for the nurse's guidance or tried to hear the patient's pain. I confessed that I was merely trying to put another notch on my ecclesiastical gun belt.

Dr. Little tapped his white cane on the floor. "Well, well, well," he said, "I think we might have the makings of a chaplain."

Years later, I reprised that verbatim, this time before a peer committee as I sought professional certification as a chaplain.

"What did you learn?" asked one committee member.

"I learned that I can't be the hero of someone else's story. When someone invites me into their story, I can't morph into the Great Explainer or shine as the Truth Holder. I must honor the way God intersects their story without injecting myself into it."

They all voted to endorse me as a new chaplain – and gratefully their commendation demonstrated yet another way in which God intersects my story.

-------------------------------------------
Email: comment@thechaplain.net. Voicemail (843) 608-9715 Twitter @chaplain Read past columns at www.thechaplain.net.

 

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