New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Last column of 2018


Column:

Life Needs a Flight Plan

If you've read my book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving" you'll know that the book expounds on "Faith and the other six F-words I live by."

Near the top of my list is "flight." As I describe flight, I mention how pilots prepare for their journey by filing a flight plan with the FAA.

During this last week of the year, it is a good time to ask yourself, "What is my personal flight plan for the New Year?" While the question is mostly metaphorical, your plans, like mine, may include literal flights.

Honestly, I have not yet fully formulated my plan because sometimes one must simply barrel down the runway and take off by faith.

At least that's what I learned a few weeks ago when I returned to work as a hospice chaplain. Taking little time to think about it, I committed to spending two days a week visiting patients in their homes to discuss the unimaginable news that now dominates their life.

In my spare time, I hope to join my pastor, Mike Bivens, as we explore ways in which the Disaster Relief Ministries of California will help the burned-out communities of Paradise. I do these two things – work and volunteer – because I'm convinced that faith doesn't work unless it works.

My tentative plan for next year also includes some literal flying. I begin year by boarding a plane to Orlando, where I'll continue the speaking tour I kicked off in June, with itineraries to New York, Ohio and Missouri. My speeches take me into churches, hospitals and civic organizations and provide me the much-needed reader contact that helps keeps my writing relevant.

Of course "family" is always in my flight plan, so in March, my wife and I fly to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, to meet our daughter, Sara, director of the Chispa Project. Once on the ground, we will rendezvous with a dozen of my readers from South Carolina, Alabama, California and Ohio to help Chispa launch two new children's libraries.

On arrival, we'll unpack our suitcases loaded with 1,000 books and then inventory and catalog those titles. We will spend the rest of the week painting and decorating those libraries before we conclude with an inauguration that includes a festival of reading activities.

In 2019, Chispa's flight plan takes them over new territory as they open ten libraries in just one year. If you can't fly with us, perhaps you will help with the most dreaded F-word, "finances." This past month, Chispa raised over 40% of their 2019 goal of $20K. With a gift of only $25 you can give a kid a library and fly his imagination around the world. https://www.chispaproject.org/nextchapter

But we have one more flight in the works. Our son who flew the coop to join the Marines has momentarily perched in our downstairs garage room. He's learned that sometimes plans go awry, but he must still make them. He's currently filing a flight plan toward Alaska to search for work on a commercial or sport fishing boat. To that end, he's setting up a Dad-fund-me account.

One final thing I know about flight plans comes from my time in the Air Force. A good pilot always uses a flight plan because it helps him avoid something called loitering time. Loitering is the wasted time a pilot can spend circling the landing spot and needlessly expending fuel.

Don't spend your next year loitering over your target. Make plans that include flight, family and faith. Share your plans with me through email to comment@thechaplain.net or voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or snail mail to PO Box 247 Elk Grove CA 95759.

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(More info on my volunteer trip at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteertrip)

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Pre-Christmas column 2018


Column:

Best Christmas Ever – Not so much

This is the time of year when writers will recall their best Christmas ever.

Their stories often include a video of a slobbering puppy leaping from a ribbon-covered box or a marriage proposal, or my favorite, a deployed soldier surprising her family with an early homecoming.

But if you've read my column long enough, you'll know that this columnist seeks to fill the holes of the unexpected. So, today, I recollect my very worst Christmas ever!

I was only 4 years old, but savvy enough to ask my parents why our Charlie Brown Christmas tree was so bare. I didn't understand why my father, a poor ministerial student, had nothing to place under the tree.

However, I became cautiously optimistic on Christmas Eve when my dad called us one-by-one into his study cubby.

My sister came away with a new doll. My Brother followed with a kinetic car, the kind you roll backwards to wind up the energy.

Score! Seeing that kind of haul, my kinetic energy was pushing full throttle.

I approached my dad's desk and climbed into his loving lap.

"I have something very important to tell you," he said.

My little eyes reflected with the anticipatory joy of Tiny Tim.

"There is no such thing as Santa Claus," he said. "We celebrate the birth of Jesus at Christmas, not Santa."

My eyes blinked with tears. Could it get any worse for a preschooler than that?

Yes, actually, it could.

When I asked about my present, my dad told me that I'd be sharing the kinetic car with my brother.

"Does it get it any sadder?" you ask.

Why, yes it does.

I joined my brother on the kitchen floor where we took turns sending the car careening back and forth like a game of catch.

Twenty minutes into the game, my 5-year-old brother began speculating on how the car mechanism worked.

"Let me take it apart," my brother, begged, with screwdriver in hand. I was curious too, but I would only agree if he promised to restore it to working condition.

He promised.

Ten minutes later, with wheels, chassis and motor spread on the kitchen table, the car was humpty-dumptied.

Saddest, worst, most disappointing Christmas ever, right?

So, why would I write about a Christmas memory worthy of Debbie-downer?

As foul as it was, it still points toward some spiritual takeaways of Christmas.

First, Christmas needn't be all about materialism, about what we buy or what we consume. It might also be about sacrifice.

My sacrifice fed my brother's mechanical mind. He explored the workings of the tiny engine, gaining early insights into motion, potential energy and kinetic energy. He may have failed the car restoration business, but he became an electronics repairman and later started his own electronics business.

Second, my worst Christmas inspired me to share what we are given. Christian scripture reminds us, "To whom much is given, much shall be required."

I didn't get much, but in sharing it, I perhaps inspired greater generosity. For years to come, my brother modified other gifts into things much more interesting.

One year he rigged a toy tank to burst from a record player box and shoot rubber bands. Another year, he removed the capacitor from an old radio to make an electric shock device capable of repelling the school bullies.

I've shared this sad story with my wife many times over the years. So, last week I told I'd have my best Christmas ever if she'd give me a miniature Schnauzer puppy for Christmas.

At first she said no, but after reading this column, she assured me that our neighbor would likely "share" his new puppy.

So much for the worst Christmas ever.

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Contact Chaplain norris at comment@thechaplain.net or PO Box 247 Elk Grove CA 95759 or voicemail (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column 14-16 Dec 2018


Column:

Chaplain Swims Upstream to Find Church Home

This is the time of year when some of you, like salmon swimming upstream, will visit the birthplace of your faith. You will, for at least one Sunday this year, check into your home church for the Christmas Eve service or midnight mass.

If that describes you, then perhaps you'll find inspiration in the story of my wife, Becky, and I returning to our church roots this summer in Auburn, Calif.

I confess that I find the process of church shopping a painful task. As a retired Air Force chaplain and former pastor, I'm more accustomed to letting a church find me, not me finding a church.

Frankly, my pain is largely self-inflicted. That's because my former church experience stirs my imagination into overdrive.

From the moment I step into the narthex, I imagine things like a church not making its budget. Or maybe I'll invent a riff between pastoral staff or uncover a family-run church that doesn't welcome newcomers. I scan a critical eye over a crumbling building or note a janitor-challenged facility.

"So, how does a former pastor go about looking for a church?" you ask.

I confess that it can be a hit-and-miss process similar to finding a good counselor and a doctor.

In the ecumenical spirit of chaplaincy, I began my search willing to consider almost any Protestant church. But after a few months of auditioning nearly every church in town, my quest followed the trail of Goldie Locks and the Three Bears.

The Methodist church pew was too soft for Mamma bear. The Presbyterian pews were too hard for Papa bear, and all the baby bears at the nondenominational mega churches constantly kicked my pew from behind.

Finally, I decided to give Bell Road Baptist Church some consideration. After all, I was raised and ordained as a Southern Baptist. And like my salmon analogy, I'd swum upstream from my liberal leanings of a Baylor education and married a Baptist gal.

Nowadays, I don't swim with my school too often and haven't been an active Baptist member since 1994. But, I reasoned, they paid for my graduate school, so I owed them consideration.

I began my search looking for a sincere greeter. I got that from June, the pastor's wife, who welcomed me with all the enthusiasm of someone returning her lost dog. A little over the top, but still, I immediately liked her. Several others added their greeting even before my wife and I were seated. Good sign that I never had to flash my chaplain creds.

Second thing I looked for was some kind of community involvement outside the church walls. Scattered about this church were special needs folks of various ages and abilities. Notes on the bulletin board told me they were collecting items for the Auburn Homeless Shelter and also making monthly trips to the downtown Gospel Mission.

Third on my shopping list was music and preaching. Bell Road worship leaders put a lot of work and originality into their music. They avoided the look-at-me flavor of some super-churches. Pastor Mike spoke with an extemporaneous style absent of judgment. His sermon came across in self-revelatory tones, more like listening to a friend.

But most importantly, I searched for signs that congregants enjoyed a genuine appreciation for each other's company. Church announcements were filled with outings, meals, studies and concerts.

Finally, after the service was dismissed, their fellowship continued. For more than a half hour, people of all ages spoke with one another without the forced props of tea and cookies.

Of course, as in any group, it takes work to find one's self belonging. You can't just run for the car after the benediction. Becky and I worked to memorize names and understand relationships by quizzing each other on the drive home.

So this Christmas, I invite you to give your original church home another chance. As I did, I think you can find a church niche without the need to swallow their entire doctrine.

As for us, we're home for a while. Our new church isn't perfect, but I expect the folks there will learn we aren't either.

By the way, we joined the Christmas choir. I guess we are officially Baptist again.

Contact Chaplain norris at comment@thechaplain.net or PO Box 247 Elk Grove CA 95759 or voicemail (843) 608-9715

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Last graph correction


Column:

The last graph reads •It's the 26 pounds that has returned since running

It should be - It's the 26 pounds that have returned …

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
First column in Dec 2018


Column:

Pride Finishes Last

Last week, I proudly donned my old Air Force marathon shirt to run the steep streets of my new community in the Sierra foothills. 

The shirt reminded me of that day in 2013 when I ran the Dayton, Ohio race, drenched in sweat and perhaps drowning in pride. After all, I thought, I wasn't like the wimps who'd attempted only the 13-mile half marathon or those who'd run the abbreviated relay race.

I assumed the role of self-appointed monitor so as to confirm that only those who were qualified wore the 26-mile marathon shirt. I expected all other runners to wear shirts that reflected their shorter commitments.

I know, judgmental. Not cool, right? A chaplain should aim higher in his thoughts. But I'm not perfect. I'd trained hard and I wasn't about to share bragging rights with short-cutters. I didn't want anyone on my Sacramento bound plane to be wearing the wrong shirt – a "poser," as my children used to say.

The whole thing reminds me of religion.

"Wait, what?" you ask.

Stay with me as we chase this rabbit down the course.

My attitude during that marathon was similar to the one people often take when comparing religions. 

On a good day, we should be running the faith-race together, albeit often with different purposes, different goals and varying distances, but still together.

Yet sometimes we employ the strategy I used in the marathon. We run only to note whether others are as committed as we believe ourselves to be. When we choose this judgmental path, we become distracted from the true course we've set for ourselves.

Take a moment and reflect on the course you've chosen to run.

For instance, if you've entered this race as a Christian, be happy that you run with a partner, Jesus himself. Run with fun, contentment and joy. Don't compare yourself with other religions. Don't be like me in the marathon wondering whether everyone is qualified to run beside you or what kind of reward awaits them at the finish.

If you are a member of any of the other eight major world religions, find your tradition, claim it and seek out the joy of your faith. You needn't look over your shoulder wondering whether other faiths are stronger or faster. Just settle into your pace and run the race.

Or perhaps you run in a different lane as an agnostic or atheist. If so, feel the strength of the humanity that surrounds you, but don't trip with the same pride that entangles some religious folks. Don't be smug thinking yours is the only race. Avoid the detour of self-congratulation thinking you're too smart or intellectual to spend your time with organized religion.

This holiday season, perhaps we can find some unity as we celebrate the privilege we all share in just being a race entrant. Take time to hold your loved ones close. Wish your fellow man and woman happiness and satisfaction in whatever race they choose to enter or distance they choose to engage.

Run with the encouraging words of the Apostle Paul who said, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."

As for me, I'm working on my pride issue. I'm also working on another 26er, but this time it's not miles. It's the 26 pounds that has returned since running that marathon. Pride is a rough taskmaster and it will always finish last.

Comment at (843) 608-9715 or comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain Facebook: chaplainnorris.

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