New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
First column in August 2018


Column:

Elders Encourage Chaplain to Pray for Wisdom

I was finishing my morning run not long ago when two young men on bicycles stopped beside me. They wore starched white shirts with dark neckties dangling over the handlebars of their carefully balanced bicycles.

I instantly recognized the cherub expressions that hinted at the church that calls these youthful boys Elders.

"How are you?" asked the taller one.

"Fine," I said with a puff of huff.

After muddling through a few more salutatory comments, they asked if I'd be willing to read through their literature.

I smiled. I could relate to their ecclesiastical bravado. I practiced the same spiritual swagger in my younger pastoring days while conducting "community surveys." A deacon and I knocked on neighborhood doors and posed a loaded question:

"If you were to die tonight, do you know where you'd spend eternity?"

We were much like timeshare salesmen, following a veritable flowchart of canned responses. If the resident wasn't sure of their eternal destination, we'd ask them, "Would you like to be sure?"

The narrative was designed to inspire the dazed respondent to recite a prayer — much like a theological swearing-in ceremony — that promised celestial assurance to all pray-ers holding full privileges thereof.

Now these years later, I was cornered on the receiving end of the sort of pious entrapment I'd once presented. I knew if I told them to get lost, they'd hear that as proof of my heartless faith. If I showed listening interest, I'd unduly encourage them.

I felt caught between my desire to be gracious and their need to add another convert, so I redirected the conversation toward artificial chit-chat. "Where are from?" "How long will you be in Sacramento?"

They didn't flinch.

"Can we come to your house to study the Bible?" asked the one from Australia.

With jogging sweat still pouring off my forehead, I opted for the direct approach.

"Look" I said, "I'm not buying what you're selling. Perhaps we should just agree that we're all content to keep our individual faiths and pick another subject."

The young man's partner fired their most well-heeled question.

"If we could show you another way, would you pray that God would show you its relevance?" He spoke as though he possessed the lucky number in our game of mystical roulette.

I paused for a moment as I pondered one of life's biggest challenges, the search for truth and meaning.

As a chaplain, I often meet folks who've given up on God because of their distaste for the organized religion offered by door-to-door disciples. I tell people that they should look for God everywhere they are. God doesn't limit his revelation to neck-tied cyclists, nor is he required to live in pocket-protected shirts.

God is always present in our search. But God becomes most active as we allow him to search for us.

"Search me, O God, and know my heart," prays the psalmist. "Try me and know my thoughts."

The psalmist wasn't praying to find God because God isn't lost. The psalmist knew that presenting your heart to God is the ultimate act of vulnerability and, therefore, growth and discovery.

If religious people or institutions have put you off, I encourage you not to give up your quest for the holy or your pursuit of faith and truth. Heed the words found in the modern Message translation of the Bible, James 1:5: "If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it."

Or if you prefer, a paraphrase of the X-files tagline, "Your truth is out there." Ask, seek, and you will find.

_________________________________________

Column update – Last week I told you I'm returning to Honduras in March 2019 to help the Chispa Project start another children's library. I asked for volunteers and donations for the project.

I'm happy to announce that we have five of the 10 volunteers we need (chaplainproject.org/volunteertrip.) We've also achieved 60% of the financial goal.

You can still help by donating online at chispaproject.org/thechaplain
or write a check to "Chispa Project" and send to:

Chispa Project
C/O Norris Burkes
PO Box 247
Elk Grove CA 95759

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Do u want a video with sorry?


Column:

I have a video that can be posted on your website next to this week's column. If you want it please email me and I will send it to you

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Version 4 delete all previous versions


Column:

Editors,

Please delete all previous versions. I had two files confused with different endings. USE this copy.

Let's Take a Trip Together

Last winter, my wife and I went to Honduras for three months to help our daughter in a small, grassroots nonprofit called Chispa Project.

One night as we left a restaurant, a man followed us to our car. "Por favor," he said, handing my daughter a note.

"PLEASE, can you help me get to America?" the note said. It was signed with a name and phone number.

The man's plea points to the desperation shared by thousands of Latin American families making the treacherous journey north to the southern border of the United States. They come for refuge but are being arrested.

Do you ever wonder what makes them take the risk?

Why do they trek thousands of miles through harsh weather, violence, and rough terrain? Why do they risk arrest or even worse, rape, robbery, human trafficking, or being separated from their children?

How bad would it have to be for you to leave your home forever in Mansfield, Ohio, or Lakeland, Florida, or Charleston, South Carolina? What would force any one of us to make such a perilous journey?

In part, the simple answer is that Hondurans want to escape the second-highest murder rate outside of war zones. Their corrupt governments empower gang cultures fueled by U.S. drug consumption and U.S.-sponsored weapons.

Many of these refugees also seek better education. Public schools are overcrowded, underfunded and poorly staffed. Children are required to buy expensive uniforms and have little hope of progressing past sixth grade because advanced education requires expensive private schools.

Honduran refugees are seeking a way to make an honest living, a government that doesn't steal their tax dollars and leave their social security bankrupt, and a job that pays fair wages so they don't have to watch their children starve.

Honduras is a complex and struggling country, but it's also one full of hospitality and love. Because of this, my daughter, Sara, started Chispa Project, pronounced cheez-pah, meaning, "spark" in Spanish. It's a word Hondurans use to describe people with spark or drive. And what is better than education to spark sustainable change?

Chispa has a simple mission: sponsor children's libraries and equip them with quality books in Spanish by working side by side with Honduran community leaders and educators.

In the 50 schools where Chispa works, their secret to success is building alliances with communities to design, fund and manage their own libraries.
Community members volunteer in the library project and raise a symbolic portion of the funding that insures sustainability and ownership.

Chispa, like Hondurans, want to see their children educated and grow up so they can remain united with their families and have choices in their future. They want to see Honduran children dreaming the American dream.

No, not the U.S. dream, but the true American dream that belongs to all people everywhere. It's a God-given belief that all people should have the power to prosper anywhere through hard work and community that isn't stifled by lack of health care, stolen tax money or violence.

Of the many Hondurans I met, only asked about migrating. Most Hondurans don't want to leave their home. They don't want our country. They don't want our welfare dollars or our jobs. They want their country. They want their home. They want a way to provide for their families.

That's why my new Honduran friends are inviting my readers for an exclusive visit. They want you to sip the best cup of coffee in the world. They'd love for you to scuba dive off the island of Roatan, or explore the rich Mayan ruins of Copán or salsa dance in a Tegucigalpa nightclub. Hondurans are incredibly proud of their country.

In February 2019, I return to Honduras and I need ten volunteers to come help Chispa establish a library for 500 children.

I need 50 more people to give $100 to help fund a library with 1,000 books. Chispa will match the donation dollar for dollar. If you can help, email me at norris@thechaplain.net or leave a voice mail at (843) 608-9715.

We are all Americans – North, Central, and South. May God help us all to find our American dream! Please visit chispaproject.org/thechaplain.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Third and final change in this week's column


Column:

Editors,

Apologies. I've sending this text once again, but the only change is the very last sentence in the column.




Let's Take a Trip Together

Last winter, my wife and I went to Honduras for three months to help our daughter in a small, grassroots nonprofit called Chispa Project.

One night as we left a restaurant, a man followed us to our car. "Por favor," he said, handing my daughter a note.

"PLEASE, can you help me get to America?" the note said. It was signed with a name and phone number.

The man's plea points to the desperation shared by thousands of Latin American families making the treacherous journey north to the southern border of the United States. They come for refuge but are being arrested.

Do you ever wonder what makes them take the risk?

Why do they trek thousands of miles through harsh weather, violence, and rough terrain? Why do they risk arrest or even worse, rape, robbery, human trafficking, or being separated from their children?

How bad would it have to be for you to leave your home forever in Mansfield, Ohio, or Lakeland, Florida, or Charleston, South Carolina? What would force any one of us to make such a perilous journey?

In part, the simple answer is that Hondurans want to escape the second-highest murder rate outside of war zones. Their corrupt governments empower gang cultures fueled by U.S. drug consumption and U.S.-sponsored weapons.

Many of these refugees also seek better education. Public schools are overcrowded, underfunded and poorly staffed. Children are required to buy expensive uniforms and have little hope of progressing past sixth grade because advanced education requires expensive private schools.

Honduran refugees are seeking a way to make an honest living, a government that doesn't steal their tax dollars and leave their social security bankrupt, and a job that pays fair wages so they don't have to watch their children starve.

Honduras is a complex and struggling country, but it's also one full of hospitality and love. Because of this, my daughter, Sara, started Chispa Project, pronounced cheez-pah, meaning, "spark" in Spanish. It's a word Hondurans use to describe people with spark or drive. And what is better than education to spark sustainable change?

Chispa has a simple mission: sponsor children's libraries and equip them with quality books in Spanish by working side by side with Honduran community leaders and educators.

In the 50 schools where Chispa works, their secret to success is building alliances with communities to design, fund and manage their own libraries.
Community members volunteer in the library project and raise a symbolic portion of the funding that insures sustainability and ownership.

Chispa, like Hondurans, want to see their children educated and grow up so they can remain united with their families and have choices in their future. They want to see Honduran children dreaming the American dream.

No, not the U.S. dream, but the true American dream that belongs to all people everywhere. It's a God-given belief that all people should have the power to prosper anywhere through hard work and community that isn't stifled by lack of health care, stolen tax money or violence.

Of the many Hondurans I met, only asked about migrating. Most Hondurans don't want to leave their home. They don't want our country. They don't want our welfare dollars or our jobs. They want their country. They want their home. They want a way to provide for their families.

That's why my new Honduran friends are inviting my readers for an exclusive visit. They want you to sip the best cup of coffee in the world. They'd love for you to scuba dive off the island of Roatan, or explore the rich Mayan ruins of Copán or salsa dance in a Tegucigalpa nightclub. Hondurans are incredibly proud of their country.

In February 2019, I return to Honduras. I need ten volunteers to accompany me and help Chispa establish two more libraries. I need twenty more people to help me purchase 1,500 books for those libraries. If you can help, email me at norris@thechaplain.net or leave a voice mail at (843) 608-9715.

We are all Americans – North, Central, and South. May God help us all to find our American dream! Please visit chispaproject.org/thechaplain.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Important detail edit.


Column:

Please replace the last two paragraphs of the column with these three paragraphs

In February 2019, I return to Honduras and I need ten volunteers to come help Chispa establish a library for 500 children.

I need 50 more people to give $100 to help fund this library with 1,000 books. Chispa will match the donation dollar for dollar. If you can help, email me at norris@thechaplain.net or leave a voice mail at (843) 608-9715.

We are all Americans – North, Central, and South. May God help us all to find our American dream! Please visit chispaproject.org/donate.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for 27-29 July 2018


Column:

Editors,

This column is 688 words. If you wish to shorten it, you may remove graph #10.


Let's Take a Trip Together

Last winter, my wife and I went to Honduras for three months to help our daughter in a small, grassroots nonprofit called Chispa Project.

One night as we left a restaurant, a man followed us to our car. "Por favor," he said, handing my daughter a note.

"PLEASE, can you help me get to America?" the note said. It was signed with a name and phone number.

The man's plea points to the desperation shared by thousands of Latin American families making the treacherous journey north to the southern border of the United States. They come for refuge but are being arrested.

Do you ever wonder what makes them take the risk?

Why do they trek thousands of miles through harsh weather, violence, and rough terrain? Why do they risk arrest or even worse, rape, robbery, human trafficking, or being separated from their children?

How bad would it have to be for you to leave your home forever in Mansfield, Ohio, or Lakeland, Florida, or Charleston, South Carolina? What would force any one of us to make such a perilous journey?

In part, the simple answer is that Hondurans want to escape the second-highest murder rate outside of war zones. Their corrupt governments empower gang cultures fueled by U.S. drug consumption and U.S.-sponsored weapons.

Many of these refugees also seek better education. Public schools are overcrowded, underfunded and poorly staffed. Children are required to buy expensive uniforms and have little hope of progressing past sixth grade because advanced education requires expensive private schools.

Honduran refugees are seeking a way to make an honest living, a government that doesn't steal their tax dollars and leave their social security bankrupt, and a job that pays fair wages so they don't have to watch their children starve.

Honduras is a complex and struggling country, but it's also one full of hospitality and love. Because of this, my daughter, Sara, started Chispa Project, pronounced cheez-pah, meaning, "spark" in Spanish. It's a word Hondurans use to describe people with spark or drive. And what is better than education to spark sustainable change?

Chispa has a simple mission: sponsor children's libraries and equip them with quality books in Spanish by working side by side with Honduran community leaders and educators.

In the 50 schools where Chispa works, their secret to success is building alliances with communities to design, fund and manage their own libraries.
Community members volunteer in the library project and raise a symbolic portion of the funding ensuring sustainability and ownership.

Chispa, like Hondurans, want to see their children educated and grow up so they can remain united with their families and have choices in their future. They want to see Honduran children dreaming the American dream.

No, not the U.S. dream, but the true American dream that belongs to all people everywhere. It's a God-given belief that all people should have the power to prosper anywhere through hard work and community that isn't stifled by lack of health care, stolen tax money or violence.

Of the many Hondurans I met, only asked about migrating. Most Hondurans don't want to leave their home. They don't want our country. They don't want our welfare dollars or our jobs. They want their country. They want their home. They want a way to provide for their families.

That's why my new Honduran friends are inviting my readers for an exclusive visit. They want you to sip the best cup of coffee in the world. They'd love for you to scuba dive off the island of Roatan, or explore the rich Mayan ruins of Copán or salsa dance in a Tegucigalpa nightclub. Hondurans are incredibly proud of their country.

In February 2019, I return to Honduras. I need ten volunteers to accompany me and help Chispa establish two more libraries. I need twenty more people to help me purchase 1,500 books for those libraries. If you can help, email me at norris@thechaplain.net or leave a voice mail at (843) 608-9715.

We are all Americans – North, Central, and South. May God help us all to find our American dream! Please visit chispaproject.org/donate.

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for 20-22 July 2018


Column:

The Game of the Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda

If you saw the 1983 movie "WarGames," you'll remember the moment the young hacker David Lightman cracks a Pentagon computer called The War Operation Plan Response (WOPR).

The electronic-voiced computer asks Lightman, "Shall we play a game?"

But the computer doesn't mean Pac-Man. If engaged, this game won't give you extra lives or bonus points. This game can start a real-life nuclear war.

Self-destruct scenarios aren't limited to the movies. For instance, consider the consequences of engaging in what I call the shoulda-woulda-coulda game.

If you're human, you'll recognize this game well.

Play begins when we slap our forehead and exclaim, "I shoulda-woulda-coulda done this or that. It's often expressed like, "I shoulda married someone else" or "I coulda been a contender." Or maybe you think about how rich you woulda been if you'd bought stock in Apple when it became public.

I found myself in the throes of the game this past month as my wife and I shopped for a California home. We were quivering with sticker-shock as we discovered prices on the rise since we began our homeless adventures three years ago.

In 2015, we sold our McMansion and shrunk-fit our lives into a mobile home. We took 4-day weekends roaming the Western states in a newly purchased motorhome.

In the third year, we sold our furniture and stuffed our sentimentals in a storage unit. We flew to NYC and Iceland for a few weeks before taking an apartment in Brussels. Four months later we came home on a cruise and then took off for Central America for another three months.

We had a life-changing time. No regrets. (See www.burkesbums.com)

OK, maybe a few. Although we invested our home equity and did well, we didn't make nearly enough to match the dizzying rise of California home prices.

Now it's time to pay the piper. Our money will only buy a bit more than half the home we sold. Ouch!

Given that discrepancy in funds, I've found myself saying, "We shoulda leased our home instead of selling." I've been whining how we "coulda bought a much nicer home if we woulda waited to sell."

Oh, my. Poor, sad Norris. How do I get myself out of this shoulda-woulda-coulda tailspin of self-pity?

Becky and I hit the time-out button to do three things: pause, pray, and promise.

We paused to ask ourselves some questions. Do we really need a lakeside home with two cars and a golf cart? Could we buy a modest home and still find meaningful social connections in churches and service organizations? Or would we allow a fashionable home to dictate our self-image?

Honestly, 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?

After some reflection on these questions, we positioned ourselves on a bench beside the lake to pray. Our prayers brought to mind how spiritually full our lives are now. Our blessings overflow, not just in terms of housing, but in health, family and faith.

Finally, we made a promise to one another. We pledged to call each other out when one of us starts playing the shoulda-woulda-coulda game. When I say we shoulda leased our house, Becky stops me and grips my face in her hands. No, not going there.

When she says we coulda traveled some more, I touch her hand and shake my head. No going there. The shoulda-woulda-coulda game has to stop here.

As you read this, we've bought a house a half mile from the lake and I'm unpacking our storage unit. It's fun to find my favorite chair, bicycles and some artwork.

But more important than furniture and mementos, we've managed to keep a sense of ourselves. We've kept our adventurous spirit, our consciousness of togetherness and an understanding of what is essential in life.

These are the same essentials identified in the sacred writing of Proverbs 24:3-4: "By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches."

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or P.O. Box 247, Elk Grove, CA 95759. Twitter @chaplain. Leave recorded comments at (843) 608-9715. Visit my website at www.thechaplain.net where you can download a free chapter from my new book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving."


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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for weekend of 13 July


Column:

When Faith Doesn't Meet our Expectations

Ten years ago I was working as a pediatric chaplain in Sacramento where my rounds often took me onto the high-risk maternity unit. Beds in this unit were filled with scared pregnant women whose doctors had confined them to bed rest in hopes of avoiding a miscarriage.

One afternoon, our unit secretary, Jeannette, told me about a patient who was expecting twins, but her 23-week pregnancy was being threatened by severe complications.

"Her husband is a youth minister, so she has a lot of church friends in her room now," Jeannette said.

Jeannette's unusually quiet demeanor told me she was worried. "Maybe you could go introduce yourself. Might help if things go south."

Inside the room, the minister greeted me with the typical chorus of religious platitudes.

"These twins are in God's hands. I'm not worried," he said in a dismissive manner. "We know God will heal these babies."

The atmosphere of the room had me nearly convinced. It was littered with religious books, greeting cards and Bibles. The family had sacred music playing and pious jewelry adorned necks and earlobes.

So I departed, taking the minister's hint and figuring my time would be better spent elsewhere. Forty-eight hours later, I returned to the nurses' station where Jeanette whispered, "They're going to need you now, chaplain. The twins didn't make it."

"They'll need me, but will they want me?" I muttered.

Jeanette dared me to "give it a shot."

I tapped my watch. "I'll bet you they don't give me five minutes."

Prayerfully, I entered the room. It's a risk going where you aren't wanted, even when you wear the chaplain's badge.

Nevertheless, I entered the room and found it a very different place, in stark contrast to its previous state with smiling church visitors and religious music.

The couple remembered me and invited me to sit.

"We've been in church work for years," the pastor said. "Why couldn't God help us?"

For a moment, I assumed they didn't want a chaplain so I leaned forward to signal my willingness to leave. Yet, amazingly, they continued to unload.

"No, chaplain, stay," insisted the grieving mother.

They seemed to want someone to hear the case they'd built against God, so I stayed and listened.

They sincerely believed God had shortchanged them. They swore they'd never return to church. God wasn't fair. We deserve better. Is God a God of love? If God loves us, why does he hurt his children?

I was plenty uncomfortable, but I stayed through the barrage, listening to it all with the tenacity of a soldier in a firefight.

I lost my bet with Jeanette. My visit lasted 45 minutes.

During the next few days, I was invited for more visits.

On the day our patient was discharged, her youth-pastor husband said to me, "You probably wonder why we let you stay after we'd dismissed our congregants.

I did.

"You were the only one willing to listen to our gripes about God," he said.

"I was taken by your honesty," I said. "You voiced your complaints directly to God. Most people aren't that authentic. Instead of telling God exactly what they are feeling, they talk smack about God behind his back.

"I think God understands your talk. After all, God saw his son die, too."

They nodded, thanking me for not trying to change their minds or judge them.

"Just make sure you keep up the conversation with him," I said with a cracked smile.

I phoned their home a few times in the weeks that followed and found that they were still having daily conversations with God. And while those conversations didn't sound much like their usual church prayers, I know God heard every word.

I'd bet Jeanette that I wouldn't be allowed into the couple's room, much less their lives. But because I listened to them without trying to defend or explain God, the couple allowed me a place in their sacred grief.

In the end, that's a gamble I'll take everytime.

Contact Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain or (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for July 6/7


Column:

Synchronizing Our Heart with Our Actions

Have you ever done the right thing, but your heart said, "I'm just not feeling it? In other words, do you ever have trouble syncing your feelings with your actions?

I remember such a moment in 1995 in San Jose, Calif. That was where I shared my first Air Force chaplain's assignment with a Catholic priest named Richard Regan.

Father Regan was a winsome and gregarious guy who was adored by his parishioners. We became fast friends and he encouraged me to call him Richard. However when we were around his parishioners, he asked that I call him "Father." That wasn't easy to do from my Baptist tradition, but I did so according to protocol.

One morning, Richard and I arrived at the chapel together to begin our workday. As we walked toward the entryway, we saw two contractors hired to refurbish the steps.

The two men quickly scrambled to their feet. They looked past me and gave Richard greetings in a deep Irish brogue.

"Top o' the morning to ya', Father."

Richard returned a polished smile as we walked past them to enter our office suite.

Inside, he happily recalled how he'd befriended the Irish gentlemen a few days prior. He'd introduced himself as a priest and was immediately enamored with their Irish brogue. I told him that I also introduced myself, but they weren't nearly as friendly to me.

"Maybe they just don't know you," he said, "but I'll talk to them."

Richard later came to my office to recount his conversation with the men.

"Did you know that my colleague is also a chaplain?"

The men looked down at their work in an awkward pause.

"Yes, we know, but isn't he a Protestant?" one asked.

"Well, yes, but I hope that won't stop you from greeting him each morning too," Richard said.

"We'll greet him if we must," one admitted, "but I'm afraid it'll be a rather frosty top-o'-the-morning."

Richard laughed. The men didn't.

I had much in common with those men. We both were having trouble syncing our feelings with doing what we knew was right.

It was a stretch for me to call my friend "Father" because I was raised with the literal interpretation of Jesus' words in Mathew 23:9: "Do not call anyone on earth 'father,' for you have one Father, and he is in heaven." Yet I learned to do it because it was a professional courtesy in clerical protocol.

The catholic men, likely raised in the Northern Ireland conflict, probably found it difficult not to spit on Protestants, but the good Father's insistence encouraged them to do what was right.

Today, in the current political climate, I'm aware that there are many issues that work to separate us, such as gun control, immigration and abortion. These topics are difficult to decide, but we choose our sides for various reasons based on our upbringing, personalities and experiences.

Yet as people of faith, we do know what is right between each other. Our faith demands we do unto others, as we would have them do unto us. We know for certain that we must love God with all our heart and our neighbor as our self.

So as the political machines wind up for elections and the Supreme Court nomination, I hope we will pledge, to ourselves and to our faith, to do the right thing between each other. We will remain civil and kind and will synchronize our faith with our actions.
As for the Irishmen, I told Richard that they'd warmed a bit, but still hadn't wished me, "Top-o'-the-morning."
"Sounds like progress," he said.
"How so?"
"If they really didn't like you, they'd insult you with something like, "May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat."
I grinned. I suppose sometimes you take what you can get.

____________________________________


Contact Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain or (843) 608-9715

 

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