Coming to a town near you?

Planning Our US Return and Speaking Schedule Dear Readers,   We are returning to the US for the next six months, so I'm writing to share some news with you.   First, I am planning a speaking schedule in the Midwest during the first two weeks of June. I will be in Cincinnati on June 8 and then in Springfield on Sunday night, June 10 to speak at University Heights Baptist Church.   If this puts me close enough to add your town to my schedule, please reply to this email. Venues might include church retreats, marriage seminars, worship services, university or private high school chapels, in-service for healthcare and hospice, and veterans' events. Find a list of my topics on my website, thechaplain.net    Second, I want to thank all of you who helped my daughter's project to begin children's libraries in Honduras. See what your dollars accomplished by clicking here on our blog burkesbums.com or go directly to her site at Chispaproject.org.   Finally, look below for links to my last four columns. Feel free to forward them or reprint them in your newsletters.   Blessings to you and your family,   In His Service, Chaplain Norris   That's Just How These People Are By Norris Burkes Mar 18, 2018     "Why can't THESE people drive?" asked a frustrated American worker taking me through rush-hour traffic in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, last week. His question surprised me for two reasons. First, his driving wasn't much better. He was using his American truck to block intersections, cut people off, and run red [...] [Read More]   Jesus saves, but education helps too By Norris Burkes Mar 11, 2018   "Is your daughter's nonprofit Christ-centered?" asks an American missionary here in the Honduran capitol of Tegucigalpa. The man is among hundreds of missionaries headquartered within the comforting amenities of a big city. They represent various faiths, but most, like the one asking the question, are Evangelical. Most do [...] [Read More]     Many Reasons to Remember Billy Graham By Norris Burkes Mar 04, 2018   "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 [...] [Read More]     No, everything doesn't happen for a purpose By Norris Burkes Feb 25, 2018   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, [...] [Read More]       Copyright © 2018 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes PO Box 247 Elk Grove, CA 95759 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

Happy Easter!

Preview of Good Friday and Easter Column

Preview of my Palm Sunday and Easter columns. Readers: This is a two-part creative account of the Easter story. I thought you'd enjoy seeing this as a preview of what should be in your local papers the next two weekends.  Feel free to forward or reprint in newsletter.   Norris Burkes www.thechaplain.net    Betrayal Worse than Death   Jesus had already seen how skittish his students became when he asked them to confront their fears and declare their allegiance to a spiritual cause. So on this night, as he walked them toward his favorite garden retreat, he didn't expect things to be all that different.   Yet the moment needed to be different for him. He'd been followed lately by a suffocating sorrow and now he needed to realign himself with the light that had illuminated so much of his path. He needed time to talk to his father.    He also needed his students to focus. "Stay here," he said, pointing toward a cluster of rocks, "and pray for me." With that command, he stepped away from them and found his solitary place.   "Why isn't there another way?" he reasoned, like a child begging his father to take a less difficult path down a frightful mountain trail.   "I'll do this thing, but why must I do it alone?" The spiritual pain intensified as blood seeped through his skin pores. Clearly, it wasn't the physical pain that he feared, but the torture of betrayal.   In between his prayers, he rose to find his disciples sleeping. He awoke them, reminding them of their promise, yet twice he returned to find them in their slumber.   Jesus wondered if he'd asked too much of them.   "Why couldn't they get this private appeal right?" he asked his father. This wasn't a public place, Jesus reasoned. He knew that if he'd asked his followers to publicly reveal their allegiance to him, they'd likely be crucified – the countryside was littered with crosses.   He also knew that if his students hoped to escape persecution, there was but one hope of avoiding the cross –betrayal.   And that was exactly what one man chose as he led others through the dark, carrying his torch to the garden. When he arrived, he laid a kiss on Jesus' face. Jesus recoiled from the blow to his soul.   As the contingent of soldiers bound his hands, one of his disciples drew a sword and sliced into the face of a captor. Jesus healed the man's wound with just a touch. Then, Jesus turned to his students to tell them that his battle would be played out in a much different setting.   Over the next three days Jesus' captors beat him. But nothing in the sting of the whip could match the hurt of betrayal by the most passionate of his followers.   "I don't know this man!" Not even the rooster's morning crows could mask the volume of Peter's, violent swearing. "Look, damn it, I tell you I've never even seen this fool!"    Finally, they dragged Jesus to a skullish-looking place that stunk of the dying hopes of revolutionaries, missionaries and contraries. The soldiers lifted him on his cross, high above the curious crowd. He could see everything, but only one of the many students who'd sworn to follow him to his death.   The crowd waited for him to die, joined by demons and darkness.They  cackled for his carcass, the scent of betrayal whetting their appetite..   The sky went black. Hope evaporated. The presence, "Abba," vanished.   "Jesus cried out to his heavenly father, whimpering at first, then building into a screaming crescendo. "You've betrayed me too!"   It was over. Betrayed. Betrayed to his dying breath.   Was this what death felt like? So alone. So nothing. So destitute of hope. Was this really the end?   (Story continues in next column.)   Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.     Easter and the hope of the Knock   The tapping on the door was more a defeated plea than a knock. The sound focused inward so as not to draw the attention of curious ears.   Inside, Jesus' students had gathered, their emotions as erratic as their syncopated heartbeats. One follower stood and removed the locking bar, allowing a stealthy entrance to Peter, the denier.   Even though they hadn't bothered to see for themselves, those who were hiding knew Jesus was dead. Yet still unclear was what he had done to deserve  death, and  whether they would share in his fate.   Then came another knock.    An undefeated knock. It was bold and held no regard for the fear that imprisoned these men. This was the knock of someone who had engaged certainty.   The bolt was again thrown, and the door gave way to the radiant assurance of Mary Magdalene.   What had emboldened this former prostitute? Her survival had once depended upon her discretion. Now her dramatic entry seemed to say in ways previously unsaid, "I have no secrets!" Only joy to tell.   "I've seen the Teacher!" she announced. "He's alive! He's alive!"   One of the students stretched an open palm across her lips while another perched his chin on the window sill to peek out, certain this raving woman had been followed.   Another openly wept at what seemed like the pathetic illusions of a grieving woman.   "No!" she commanded them, "don't cry. The Teacher said we shouldn't be crying and even asked me why I wept."   Then someone else entered the room, not through the locked door or windows, but through a spiritual portal.    The followers froze, their faces warmed as their spines chilled. It was the Teacher!   "Don't be afraid," he said. "Peace. I bring peace." It was the same message the angels announced at Jesus' birth.   Now Jesus had returned to his erratic and terrified followers to add his own personal exclamation mark to the angelic message.   "Peace!" he said.   How could he ask them not to be afraid? They'd seen his face in those last hours -- the face of someone who knew that he'd been betrayed. The face of someone consumed by the most fearful consequence imaginable – death.   Yet, now his face was different. The face staring at this pathetic bunch of so-called believers was the face of someone who had overcome death.   Then, as if the scale wasn't tipped into the bizarre enough already, he spoke of forgiveness.   Forgiveness! Forgiveness for those who had robbed their teacher of his life by crucifying him between a couple of real robbers?   Jesus was asking them to become divine. Walking on water or feeding the masses with a few loaves seemed like child's play compared to asking them to forgive their enemies.   How could they possibly measure up?   As they stood wondering, he drew a deep breath from somewhere other than his corporeal lungs – someplace god-like – and breathed upon them a kind of holy wind or spirit.   Things were different. Possible. Now everything Jesus had said about moving mountains, everything he'd said about offering both cheeks to your enemy and everything he'd said about finding a heavenly kingdom all seemed possible.   For he who was dead was alive!   Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.   Copyright © 2018 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes PO Box 247 Elk Grove, CA 95759 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for Palm Sunday AND Easter


Column:

Editors, This is a two part column. Please place them on two separate weekends. If you only run my column every other week, please consider running both together OR just use the second column.



Editor's note: This is a two-part creative account of the Easter story.

Betrayal Worse than Death

Jesus had already seen how skittish his students became when he asked them to confront their fears and declare their allegiance to a spiritual cause. So on this night, as he walked them toward his favorite garden retreat, he didn't expect things to be all that different.

Yet the moment needed to be different for him. He'd been followed lately by a suffocating sorrow and now he needed to realign himself with the light that had illuminated so much of his path. He needed time to talk to his father.

He also needed his students to focus. "Stay here," he said, pointing toward a cluster of rocks, "and pray for me." With that command, he stepped away from them and found his solitary place.

"Why isn't there another way?" he reasoned, like a child begging his father to take a less difficult path down a frightful mountain trail.

"I'll do this thing, but why must I do it alone?" The spiritual pain intensified as blood seeped through his skin pores. Clearly, it wasn't the physical pain that he feared, but the torture of betrayal.

In between his prayers, he rose to find his disciples sleeping. He awoke them, reminding them of their promise, yet twice he returned to find them in their slumber.

Jesus wondered if he'd asked too much of them.

"Why couldn't they get this private appeal right?" he asked his father. This wasn't a public place, Jesus reasoned. He knew that if he'd asked his followers to publicly reveal their allegiance to him, they'd likely be crucified – the countryside was littered with crosses.

He also knew that if his students hoped to escape persecution, there was but one hope of avoiding the cross –betrayal.

And that was exactly what one man chose as he led others through the dark, carrying his torch to the garden. When he arrived, he laid a kiss on Jesus' face. Jesus recoiled from the blow to his soul.

As the contingent of soldiers bound his hands, one of his disciples drew a sword and sliced into the face of a captor. Jesus healed the man's wound with just a touch. Then, Jesus turned to his students to tell them that his battle would be played out in a much different setting.

Over the next three days Jesus' captors beat him. But nothing in the sting of the whip could match the hurt of betrayal by the most passionate of his followers.

"I don't know this man!" Not even the rooster's morning crows could mask the volume of Peter's, violent swearing. "Look, damn it, I tell you I've never even seen this fool!"

Finally, they dragged Jesus to a skullish-looking place that stunk of the dying hopes of revolutionaries, missionaries and contraries. The soldiers lifted him on his cross, high above the curious crowd. He could see everything, but only one of the many students who'd sworn to follow him to his death.

The crowd waited for him to die, joined by demons and darkness.They cackled for his carcass, the scent of betrayal whetting their appetite..

The sky went black. Hope evaporated. The presence, "Abba," vanished.

"Jesus cried out to his heavenly father, whimpering at first, then building into a screaming crescendo. "You've betrayed me too!"

It was over. Betrayed. Betrayed to his dying breath.

Was this what death felt like? So alone. So nothing. So destitute of hope. Was this really the end?

(Story continues in next column.)

Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.


Easter and the hope of the Knock

The tapping on the door was more a defeated plea than a knock. The sound focused inward so as not to draw the attention of curious ears.

Inside, Jesus' students had gathered, their emotions as erratic as their syncopated heartbeats. One follower stood and removed the locking bar, allowing a stealthy entrance to Peter, the denier.

Even though they hadn't bothered to see for themselves, those who were hiding knew Jesus was dead. Yet still unclear was what he had done to deserve death, and whether they would share in his fate.

Then came another knock.

An undefeated knock. It was bold and held no regard for the fear that imprisoned these men. This was the knock of someone who had engaged certainty.

The bolt was again thrown, and the door gave way to the radiant assurance of Mary Magdalene.

What had emboldened this former prostitute? Her survival had once depended upon her discretion. Now her dramatic entry seemed to say in ways previously unsaid, "I have no secrets!" Only joy to tell.

"I've seen the Teacher!" she announced. "He's alive! He's alive!"

One of the students stretched an open palm across her lips while another perched his chin on the window sill to peek out, certain this raving woman had been followed.

Another openly wept at what seemed like the pathetic illusions of a grieving woman.

"No!" she commanded them, "don't cry. The Teacher said we shouldn't be crying and even asked me why I wept."

Then someone else entered the room, not through the locked door or windows, but through a spiritual portal.

The followers froze, their faces warmed as their spines chilled. It was the Teacher!

"Don't be afraid," he said. "Peace. I bring peace." It was the same message the angels announced at Jesus' birth.

Now Jesus had returned to his erratic and terrified followers to add his own personal exclamation mark to the angelic message.

"Peace!" he said.

How could he ask them not to be afraid? They'd seen his face in those last hours -- the face of someone who knew that he'd been betrayed. The face of someone consumed by the most fearful consequence imaginable – death.

Yet, now his face was different. The face staring at this pathetic bunch of so-called believers was the face of someone who had overcome death.

Then, as if the scale wasn't tipped into the bizarre enough already, he spoke of forgiveness.

Forgiveness! Forgiveness for those who had robbed their teacher of his life by crucifying him between a couple of real robbers?

Jesus was asking them to become divine. Walking on water or feeding the masses with a few loaves seemed like child's play compared to asking them to forgive their enemies.

How could they possibly measure up?

As they stood wondering, he drew a deep breath from somewhere other than his corporeal lungs – someplace god-like – and breathed upon them a kind of holy wind or spirit.

Things were different. Possible. Now everything Jesus had said about moving mountains, everything he'd said about offering both cheeks to your enemy and everything he'd said about finding a heavenly kingdom all seemed possible.

For he who was dead was alive!

Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Attn editors


Column:

Editors,

1. Three days ago, I sent a column to you dated for April 13th. As you may have guessed that column should run this weekend, March 17.

2. Next week, I will be sending both parts of a two-part column that will be a creative telling of the Easter story. The first part should run for Palm Sunday and second part on Easter weekend. If you only run my column every other week please consider running this two-part column as one single 1200 word piece.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for April 16 weekend


Column:

THATS JUST HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE

"Why can't THESE people drive?" asked a frustrated American worker taking me through rush-hour traffic in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, last week.

His question surprised me for two reasons. First, his driving wasn't much better. He was using his American truck to block intersections, cut people off, and run red lights."That just how it's done here," he explained.

But secondly, he sounded a tad racist to me. I know that's strange because he's committed to helping THESE people.

Nevertheless, when we use the demonstrative adjective "these" or "those" to describe people of different cultures or socioeconomic background, our inflection can suggest something about our heart.

Of course, I really can't criticize my friend, because I'm plagued with the same "grammatical problem."

I suffer from it every time I visit a particular relative who took a Russian bride a few years ago. Now she's taken his money. Honestly, she's so abrasive and dishonest that I find myself muttering like my friend did, "You can't trust these people." Or, "I can't eat THEIR food."

There is a sociological description for what we're doing. It's called "Racial Essentialism" and it happens every time we slot categorize a race by their behaviors.

We like to tell ourselves that our grammar doesn't matter, so we dismiss the concept as the gobbledygook of political correctness. We say we're not racists because we think racism is limited to the 1960s when African Americans were humiliated, persecuted and even murdered because of their skin color.

But the truth is that racism isn't limited to a time or geography. It happens every day we choose to see people's behavior not as learned or purposeful behavior, but as biologically inherited behavior (i.e., the way they drive or manage money).

In so doing, my friend can dismiss an entire people by saying, "THESE Honduras aren't even capable of learning to drive." I can justify my discrimination by claiming, "THOSE Russians are all dishonest!"

We all do it, but I can suggest one person who used the demonstrative adjective with a clean heart. He wasn't a racist or a grammarian. He was Jesus.

In Luke 18, he told a parable of a man who positioned himself in the front of the temple to voice a prayer bursting with volume and piety.

As he prayed, he singled out a nearby tax collector, the most hideous of all the Roman collaborators.

He spoke in a stage voice, hissing for all to hear. "Thank you, God, that I am not like thissss man."

He was so proud of his own social standing that he failed to hear the tax collector's prayer.

The Message translation describes the tax collector as someone "slumped in the shadows, his face in his hands, not daring to look up."

He whispered a simple prayer: "God, give me mercy. Forgive me, a sinner."

Jesus hammered the demonstrative adjective in his closing observation by saying, "THIS tax man, not the other, went home made right with God."

Jesus then said something that squelches all our racist excuses to exclude people unlike ourselves.

"If you walk around with your nose in the air," he promised, "you're going to end up flat on your face, but if you're content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself."

Next month, we return home to the U.S. where I'll be visiting the Russian relative. Please pray that I'll be able to follow Jesus' advice and avoid falling on my face and breaking by uppity nose.

----------------------------------------------
Follow our U.S. homecoming at www.burkesbums.com. Email at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
2nd column for March 2018


Column:

Jesus Saves, but Education Helps Too

"Is your daughter's nonprofit Christ-centered?" asks an American missionary here in the Honduran capitol of Tegucigalpa.

The man is among hundreds of missionaries headquartered within the comforting amenities of a big city. They represent various faiths, but most, like the one asking the question, are Evangelical.

Most do great work. They bring clean water into villages, build schools, care for orphans, and staff clinics with surgeons and dentists. Most understand that while Jesus saves, education and medical care add much to their cause.

This missionary's question is likely innocent, but my Southern Baptist roots hear judgment. My daughter's nonprofit is called Chispa Project. It creates small libraries in underserved schools, but it's not about evangelizing the schools.

It feels like my inquisitor wants me to say, "You bet it is! We stock our libraries with boatloads of Bibles, Jesus stories, and salvation pamphlets."

I strive to formulate an answer for my examiner, but draw a blank.

My mind drifts to the school we visited the day before. Prior to Sara's arrival, the school library consisted of a dozen books from their teachers' personal collection. Few books were in Spanish and most weren't suitable to the children's reading levels.

The school principal escorted us to each classroom. Most bulged with 42 students seated three-to-a-desk at desks designed for two students who made room for a third. A student was excused for the restroom, and I watched him head for the wooden outhouse where there was no running water.

Despite the bleak design, the school's walls sprouted spirit posters boasting of the school's dedication to reading. The principal led a student-cheer with snapping fingers that illustrated the name "Chispa," which means spark in Spanish. During the cheer, the principal told the children that the Chispa Project books will spark their education.

Later in the morning, children poured onto the playground. They had no sports equipment, nevertheless, they squealed delightfully in their imaginary games. Kids climbed on and dangled from the small soccer goal posts on each side of the playground, while a few stared down the tall, white chaplain watching them from a bench.

Returning to the missionary's question, I repeat it to myself. Is our work here Christ-centered? I think I must say, "yes," because this is the place Jesus would be. This is the mission Christ put in our hearts.

An educational organization doesn't become "Christ-centered" just because it incorporates theology into its written mission statement. After all, reading is reading whether you're reading the Bible or a science textbook. Math is math because 2+2 has the same result when added by a Christian, Jew or atheist.

The Christian part, or the "Christ-centeredness," comes not from the organization, but from the heart of the one serving. A nonprofit needn't be parochial to be "Christ-centered." Jesus taught that whenever we help "…someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me."

"Yes, sir," I say, regaining my confidence. "Chispa Project is definitely Christ-centered."

I make that declaration because I've been here for 12 weeks and I can testify that the mission of the Chispa Project beats with the heart of Jesus who said, "Let the little children come to me … for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

The missionary returns a reserved smile, so I dare ask for a donation. He chuckles at my chutzpah to promote Chispa, but so far, no cash. Maybe he's waiting to read our mission statement.

--------------------------------------------
Read our mission statement or make a donation at www.chispaproject.org Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net. Ph. 843-608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

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