New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
4th column for Feb 2018


Column:

Graham Still Preaching his Guiding Principles

"You sound like Billy Graham," said my high school speech teacher. "Have you considered becoming a preacher?"

I was stunned but not too surprised. I had listened all my young life to Billy Graham use his compelling voice to bring a simple message to my generation. His voice was unforgettable, but there are several more reasons I'll remember him.

He was an intellectual giant.

He preached from the Holy Book with sprinkles from the science books of sociology, chemistry and physics. His scientific illustrations mesmerized us as he found ways to neutralize the conflict between the Bible and science.

His ethics were impeccable.

In 1948, he and three other evangelists pledged to follow Thessalonians 5:22 and "...avoid all appearance of evil." They shunned circumstances requiring them to travel, meet or eat alone with a woman other than their wives. Had he broken that pledge, he could've been quickly discredited and his career ended.

Unlike a few of his contemporaries, he limited himself to a modest salary. He made sure accountants recorded the donations. His salary was public information and comparable to clerical pay scales of the time.

He pushed for a global and ecumenical impact.

Like me, he was ordained as a Southern Baptist minister, yet he welcomed people of all religions. In the 1950s and 1960s, fundamentalist churches condemned him for associating with New York liberal Protestants, yet he would dare add a Catholic and even a Rabbi to his platform.

But more than that, as early as 1953, he welcomed people of color into his stadium crusades. At a Tennessee event, he famously removed ropes that organizers had placed to segregate his audience. He told a South African audience, "Christianity is not a white man's religion and don't let anyone tell you it's white or black. Christ belongs to all people."

In 1992, he visited his wife's childhood missionary home in South Korea. Pressing across the boarder, he became the first foreign religious leader to visit North Korea, repeating the daring crossing in 1994.

He didn't claim perfection.

Critics derided him, and perhaps likely so, for a few of his stances. For instance, he supported Nixon and Johnson in the Vietnam War. In 2011, he admitted to his interviewer from Christianity Today that his political views had "crossed the line" and become too political in his support for Nixon.

He was a man of humble beginnings and endings.

Having spoken to well over 200 million people in his lifetime, he was photographed more than Marilyn Monroe. Gallup Polls placed him among the Top 10 "Most Admired" men in the world 61 times. Despite this public adoration, most remember Graham for his extraordinary humility.

I will remember him most for a day in 1971 at a crusade in the coliseum in Oakland, Calif.

On that day, he ended his sermon as he'd concluded all of them -- with the hymn "Just as I Am." Sometimes called the "National Anthem of Evangelicals," the song calls people to drop their pretenses and come to God just as they are. The song has seven verses, but it was likely the fifth that moved me most.

Just as I am - Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come.

Leaving the stadium bench, I made my way tearfully to the altar. Billy Graham prayed over the penitents. It was at that moment I vowed to become a minister.

Mr. Graham was laid to rest Friday in a plywood casket that was built for him by a convicted murderer from the Louisiana State Penitentiary – a simple casket for a simple man with a profoundly simple message.

Thank you, Mr. Graham, for your humble witness to our world. "Well done, good and faithful servant." (Matt 25:23)

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Reach Norris Burkes through email at comment@thechaplain.net, by phone 843-608-9715 or on Twitter @chaplain.




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norris burkes

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for last weekend in Feb 18


Column:

Editors, If this doesn't work with your page or audience, please email me and I will send you a "Norris Classic" from the past.


No, Everything Doesn't Happen for a Purpose

I opened an email this week from Charleston, South Carolina that asked, "Please help me make sense of these mass shootings. I am a devout Catholic but it's so hard to think this was 'God's purpose' for children to die this way.

"Please help me understand. I'm a teacher, so school shootings affect me hard. Thank you, Lisa."

It's a question I often get in the wake of national tragedies. To answer it, I will ask folks to define "purpose." Are they hoping God has some hidden intention that, if we only understood it, will make our heartbreak less hurtful?

Unfortunately, most catastrophes don't reveal a divine purpose. For instance, when a plane goes down, or a mass shooter infiltrates a school, or a tornado remaps a town few of us can see a clear expression of celestial design.

If we overthink divine purpose in these tragedies, we only spin ourselves into a circular argument. We must add some practicality to our "thoughts and prayers" and ask, "Where to from here?"

There is good precedence for supplementing the theological approach with a practical method. After 9/11, we had many prayer vigils, but eventually we saw wisdom in relaxing the fourth amendment on reasonable search. Now we fly in safety as we allow TSA officers to pat us down in the most familiar way.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in the right to bear arms as expressed in the second amendment. I believe in reasonable arms – not every arm that has and ever will be created.

Therefore, let's tackle this problem not as a "gun issue," but as a public safety issue. Let's reinstate the national ban on the production of the "semiautomatic assault weapon" that expired in 2004. The ban further eliminated the "large capacity ammunition-feeding device."

After we restore the ban, then we can consider a government buyback of these guns in the way Australia successfully did in 1996.

Once this menace is off our streets, we can we debate the reason or folly of such things as: 14-day waiting periods, or 10-round magazine limit, or no bump stocks or universal background checks.

At the end of the day, we must all do our part.

• The press must stop live glorification of these heartbreaking scenes from every imaginable angle. Desist with the ad nauseam coverage that rates the shooter's effectiveness with past shooters.

• Mental health experts should work harder to screen potential shooters.

• Law enforcement and military must redouble their efforts to check potential shooters.

• Social media has to clean up their hate sites and chat rooms.

• Clergy must preach against the idolatrous worship our society has of violence.

• As Hollywood comes to grips with their violence on women, they must also admit their place in inspiring gun violence.

No, Lisa. Everything doesn't have a purpose. However, if you'll help me petition lawmakers to ban these go-to-guns for mass murders, then perhaps we can reconstruct a saving purpose.

Finally, there may be some who will chastise me for drifting outside the purview of a chaplain's column. For this I beg your understanding -- the "thoughts and prayers" approach just wasn't working for me anymore.
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Start with one of these groups and email me your thoughts at comment@thechaplain.net

The Brady Campaign
Everytown for Gun Safety
The Coalition to Stop Gun Violence
Violence Policy Center
Americans for Responsible Solutions

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for third week of Feb 2018


Column:

I Want to Find a R-E-A-L Church

In 1991, I made a career shift from Southern Baptist pastor to interfaith hospital chaplain. My decision brought this promise from a close colleague. ""If you ever return to 'the ministry,' I'll help you find a new church."

"I'm not leaving ministry," I said. "Hospital chaplaincy is still 'the ministry!'."

He reluctantly agreed, but it seemed he still thought the choice betrayed my ordination vows.

Since then, I've served twenty-five years in both military and hospital chaplaincy. During those years I've often wondered what I might do differently if I ever returned to the pastorate. I know I'd change at least four things.

First, I wouldn't be so insistent that parishioners attend every church service. I would preach that church is a place to restore what's broken before we return to life. It's not our destination. I'd challenge members to make "church" happen outside the walls, visiting the sick, housing the homeless and sheltering the refugee.

Second, I'd be less demanding on congregants to give their entire charity dollar toward church maintenance. If I reassumed my pastoral role, I'd remind members of our duty to also clothe the poor, feed the hungry and bring justice to the oppressed.

My wife says I became a preacher because I couldn't sit still in the pew. Therefore, my third change would be to redesign nearly everything about the Sunday Service around people who need movement to learn.

I'd replace hardened sanctuary pews with clusters of loveseats and padded chairs. In this setting, I'd use small groups to discuss my sermon points and problem-solve life issues. I'd place booths alongside the walls where people could get counseling and prayer, or sign up for outside ministry.

I'd do away with loud music that isolates people, keeping them from acknowledging those around them. I'd use some hymns, but I'd challenge folks to discuss their meaning. I might even insert a few secular songs that encourage people to extend God's work outside the church. We'd finish the day with a large meal.

Finally, my biggest change would be to preach R-E-A-L sermons.

R – relevant. I'd still preach about Samson, Moses, and the virgin birth, but I'd make those stories relevant to today's life. I'd compare Samson's failure of strength to times my strength has failed me. I'd tell how Moses dealt with the rejection of his own people. And I'd talk about a young couple that must have been scared to death with their first child.

E – empathetic. I would try to demonstrate that I not only understand the people, but feel their hurt. If I were preaching again, I'd tell a modern story that shows I know the pain that life can put us through and the thrills it can immerse us in.

A – authentic. If I pastored again, I'd share more of my own failures and heartbreaks. I'd share the contradiction I feel between personal fear and the scriptural admonition for us not to be afraid. I'd share the defeat I feel over unanswered prayers and my frustration in loving the unlovable.

L – language. A friend of my once promised he'd join a church where the pastor was allowed to say "damn." OK, no, I wouldn't start cussing from the pulpit, but I would work harder to communicate in everyday language. I'd avoid trying to prove I graduated from seminary with words like Christology, eschatology and ecclesiology.

After reading this, you might be thankful I'm not your pastor. If my old friend reads this, he'll likely withdraw his offer to help me find a new church.

No matter, I'm not looking to pastor again. However, I would like for you to share this column with your pastor and see if we can help the church become just a bit more R-E-A-L.

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Follow us in Honduras this month where we are finding R-E-A-L challenges at www. burkesbums.org. Email at comment@thechaplain.net.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
2nd column for Feb 2018


Column:

Editors: Please reply by email if you want photos

Can You Make a Difference?

Have you ever asked yourself how you, as an individual, can make a life-changing difference in the world? The question can be intimidating, especially since our culture promotes the heroic narrative of one single person making a world-changing impact.
 
It's a question I ask myself as I ride along with volunteers from the Chispa Project, a charity my daughter founded in 2014 to start children's libraries in Honduras.
 
Today, we head for Rancho Santa Fe, a 250-acre campus an hour out of Tegucigalpa. It's one of several children's homes maintained by NPH Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos (NPH), literally meaning "our little brothers and sisters." Started by Father William Wasson in1954, the charity embraces Catholic values, but remains an unaffiliated private institution.
 
We bounce along dirt roads for about five minutes until we arrive at a group of buildings set on a hill. Each building contains four dormitories. There are about 260 boys and girls who make their home in this vast wooded oasis.
 
I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the children are not sad, starving orphans. They dance about our car while others stand aside and giggle incessantly. However, most give us a respectful distance as we unload.
 
We've come to deliver a 900-book library to this campus, possibly a life-changing thing. Yet first, Sara assigns me the most laborious task — using my laptop computer to enter every book title onto a spreadsheet. 
 
My seemingly meaningless task leaves me feeling dwarfed in the shadow of NPH. The charity has made a huge difference all over Central and South America, caring for thousands of orphans and abandoned children. Chispa means "spark" in Spanish, but I feel more like a small speck than a spark. 
 
I begin my task on an outside patio where a few kids stop for brief moments, leaning over the boxes, yearning to pull out a book. However, I wave them off, like a cook not finished with his creation.
 
Nevertheless, 12-year-old Maria persists, so I offer her a book I've already cataloged. She reads the entire book aloud in Spanish.
 
I offer her another. She does the same. I feel like I'm hand-feeding a famished man. Each time I pass Maria a book, she takes it with both hands. Her big brown eyes pull me in like a tractor beam.
 
Inventory was not a task I wanted. I wanted to do something that would produce noticeable results. Perhaps like some of you, I tend to think charity must be something big and life-changing. We all like to think that our charitable actions result in a big jackpot of human change. But what if the rewards of change most often come just a nickel or two at a time?
 
Maybe it's time we shift our difference-making efforts in another direction. Maybe we should be asking ourselves, "How might I make a little difference today that will matter to at least one person in the slightest way?
 
Perhaps we need to challenge ourselves to give without needing to know what the difference will actually be. We must work to write our charitable stories without featuring ourselves as the hero.
 
I tire from my inventory task in the dimming light, but Maria doesn't tire from reading.
 
"Por favor." Please, she says, pointing to another book. "Una mas," (One more.)
 
I began my day by asking myself if I could make a difference. I'm not sure I did, but I'm blessed to know that Maria seems to think I did. 
 
But equally important perhaps, Maria made a difference in me.
 
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Come to Honduras and make a difference.  See NPH.org and  chispaproject.org
Write Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or Twitter @chaplain or call (843) 608-9715.

 

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