New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
column for Independence Day Weekend 2020


Column:

READERS: My wife, Becky, believes that it's not enough to have only a single day in July to celebrate Independence Day.

She has said for years that we should set aside the entire month of July to celebrate and display our patriotic pride. "Let's call it 'Freedom Month,'" she suggests.

I agree. And that's why today's column will be the first of four that I'll write this month to honor the freedoms we all enjoy.

Serving Your Country to Maintain Freedom

In the summer of 1994, I received paperwork ordering me from civilian comforts into active duty as an Air Force Chaplain.
At my swearing in, I promised to "faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter. So help me God."
In other words, I pledged to follow orders and do my duty – which I easily did.
That is, until I was given an order in the hours following the horrifying events of 9/11. The base commander at Patrick Air Force Base ordered all non-essential personnel to return home.
"No! No way!" I thought. "Put me on a plane. Let's go get the bad guys!"
Not only was I being labeled as unnecessary, but I felt like I was being told to retreat, run and hide. For a military officer, it seemed like defeat.
I reluctantly obeyed the order.
Later, I would realize that my superiors were more informed than I of the military strategy that would disperse personnel so they wouldn't become easy targets.
Following orders is obviously an integral part of military life because carrying out those orders becomes the way we serve our country.
I once visited a military office where the commanding officer was fond of intimidating his trembling, freshly-minted officer, "Lieutenant! What have you done for God and country today?"
This July 4th, I'm asking you to serve by doing something for God and country.

No, you aren't too old, and I promise there are no health exams for this service.

Ensuring our nation's freedom won't require you to deploy to a combat zone as I did in Iraq. You won't need the weeks of training I had in humid Montgomery, Ala., or blisteringly hot San Antonio, Texas.

Better yet, your nation won't ask that you spend five years in a prisoner-of-war camp as did John McCain. This task will require some sacrifice, but it'll be nonexistent compared to those who returned without their limbs.

"Alright already," you say. "What can I do for God and country today?"

The answer is easy. Stay at home when you can. Wear a mask where you asked. Keep a respectable social distance and wash your hands.

It's easy. No real sacrifice.

That's all your country is asking from you. No more.

Now you may not believe in a mask, or you may think the whole thing is a part of a "planned-demic" hoax. But if you want to serve your country, you do what your country is asking you to do.

For instance, I didn't question my deployments because those above my paygrade were better informed. Thousands of other brave men and women served alongside me, also without question.

On 9/11, first responders didn't stand around debating the structural stability of the Twin Towers. They served their country by following the orders to run up the stairs in a sacrificial effort to save trapped victims.

I'm not suggesting that we can't question our government leaders. You can and you should. Debate is the heart of democracy.

But while you're debating and conferring – indeed, no one knows everything – can we simply wear a mask while keeping our distance?

I love my country. I served my country. I know you want to do the same. Wear a mask.

-------------------------------------

Read more at www.thechaplain.net. Contact Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

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How was your life postponed during quarantine?

View this email in your browser Readers: You always have permission to post my columns in social media or use in your newsletters Couples Reset Values with Refunds    As June concludes, my guess is you've likely found yourself among the millions of worldwide folks forced to postpone a meaningful family event like school graduation, a Father's Day gathering or a wedding.   As a chaplain who has done scores of weddings, I remain especially conscious of the disappointment caused by their postponement.   In a recent USA Today article, Jessica Menton found several engaged couples who were lucky enough to get refunds on their deposits. They are using those reimbursements in some refreshingly innovative ways to rediscover their values.    One couple made the investor's choice to buy a house instead of a wedding. Others took the safe option and postponed the party by getting legally married now with a church wedding later.   But the couple I admire most is Emily Whalen, 29, and Joe Duschinsky, 30. They used their wedding refund to buy a school bus.   Whalen and her fiancé have redirected their $50K wedding budget to buy a 1990 school bus for $4,500. They will use the remaining monies to convert their bus to a solar powered Skoolie home on wheels and live the nomadic road life.    They aren't alone. There is an entire network of people called Skoolies. (Read more about the movement at Skoolie.net.)    The USAT reporter captures a quote from Whalen reciting the exact thing I've been telling premarital counselees for years – "The wedding would have just been one day versus a life with experience and adventure."   The couple's yellow bus decision spawns a question I hope we are all asking in this pandemic: Is money most important for what it buys, or is it more helpful for the life experiences it allows?   My practice as a minister tells me that clearly the latter is more valuable. That's because real life, like a marriage, can't be reduced to a single day.     It will always be our days that count – plural days, not singular. That means that in the case of our pandemic, the days of 2020 are only temporary. These months do not have to define our lives.    Dr. Robert Redfield gave a stark reminder of that in Tuesday's House hearing, where the director of the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Covid-19 has "brought this nation to its knees."   I know that to be true, doctor. Some of us are on our knees praying for employment. Some of us are pleading just for a break from all of this. A few of us are prostrate, ripped on the inside, praying for a loved one to recover. Certainly, all of us are praying for a cure.   But most of all, I hope we are all on our knees confessing that money can't buy everything. From our prone position, I hope we hear divine guidance telling us to invest our future time and money into the lives of people, life experiences and health. Not fancier homes, bigger cars and pompous gatherings.   The Jewish Carpenter from Nazareth summarized the heartbeat of the matter when he encouraged his followers not to "…store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven….  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."   I pray for that heartbeat to take over our nation.   ------------------------------------------------- Read more at www.thechaplain.net. Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.     Copyright © 2020 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 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 last weekend of June 2020


Column:

Couples Reset Values with Refunds

As June concludes, my guess is you've likely found yourself among the millions of worldwide folks forced to postpone a meaningful family event like school graduation, a Father's Day gathering or a wedding.

As a chaplain who has done scores of weddings, I remain especially conscious of the disappointment caused by their postponement.

In a recent USA Today article, Jessica Menton found several engaged couples who were lucky enough to get refunds on their deposits. They are using those reimbursements in some refreshingly innovative ways to rediscover their values.

One couple made the investor's choice to buy a house instead of a wedding. Others took the safe option and postponed the party by getting legally married now with a church wedding later.

But the couple I admire most is Emily Whalen, 29, and Joe Duschinsky, 30. They used their wedding refund to buy a school bus.

Whalen and her fiancé have redirected their $50K wedding budget to buy a 1990 school bus for $4,500. They will use the remaining monies to convert their bus to a solar powered Skoolie home on wheels and live the nomadic road life.

They aren't alone. There is an entire network of people called Skoolies. (Read more about the movement at Skoolie.net.)

The USAT reporter captures a quote from Whalen reciting the exact thing I've been telling premarital counselees for years – "The wedding would have just been one day versus a life with experience and adventure."

The couple's yellow bus decision spawns a question I hope we are all asking in this pandemic: Is money most important for what it buys, or is it more helpful for the life experiences it allows?

My practice as a minister tells me that clearly the latter is more valuable. That's because real life, like a marriage, can't be reduced to a single day.

It will always be our days that count – plural days, not singular. That means that in the case of our pandemic, the days of 2020 are only temporary. These months do not have to define our lives.

Dr. Robert Redfield gave a stark reminder of that in Tuesday's House hearing, where the director of the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Covid-19 has "brought this nation to its knees."

I know that to be true, doctor. Some of us are on our knees praying for employment. Some of us are pleading just for a break from all of this. A few of us are prostrate, ripped on the inside, praying for a loved one to recover. Certainly, all of us are praying for a cure.

But most of all, I hope we are all on our knees confessing that money can't buy everything. From our prone position, I hope we hear divine guidance telling us to invest our future time and money into the lives of people, life experiences and health. Not fancier homes, bigger cars and pompous gatherings.

The Jewish Carpenter from Nazareth summarized the heartbeat of the matter when he encouraged his followers not to "…store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven…. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

I pray for that heartbeat to take over our nation.

-------------------------------------------------
Read more at www.thechaplain.net. Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

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Listen to the onversation

View this email in your browser Listen to the Stories   In 2011, I was at the annual National Guard Chaplain Conference in Washington, D.C., when I was sidetracked into a personal conference with a colleague.    The morning session began with all the usual inspirational speeches from our higher-ups. Just before our lunch break, Chaplain Lawrence Witherspoon of Riverside, Calif., stood to make an announcement.    "The African American chaplains will be taking our lunch together in a side room," he said. "I promise we will enjoy good collegial fellowship and networking."   I whispered to the chaplains seated around me. "That doesn't seem right. Chaplains are supposed to be about unity and love. Separate lunches encourage cliquish racial divides."   "If you feel that way, Norris," challenged a chaplain at my round table, "go talk to Witherspoon."   "I can't do that," I said as my face flushed red.   "Why is that, 'Chaplain'?" another asked in a daring tone. "Just go and have a real conversation."   It was true. I should have been able to talk to Witherspoon. After all, we'd co-led several military marriage conferences, teaching couples to have real conversations.   Later the next day, I found Witherspoon and asked if he had time to have an awkward conversation.    He gave a directional nod toward a few secluded chairs. I can't recall my words verbatim, but I essentially began by admitting how likely it was that I'd say them wrong.   "It's OK," he said.   "I was a bit put off by your call for a separate meeting of Black chaplains," I confessed.    "What part was uncomfortable for you?" he asked from a script we taught in the marriage class.   When I told him that I thought the meeting went against the unifying spirit of chaplains, he tossed what seemed like a random question.   "Do you know how hard it's been for African American chaplains to get promoted?"   "Not really," I answered. I only knew that we worked in an up-or-out system, meaning that if an officer was passed over for promotion it was tantamount to being fired.   "We've lost some good chaplains," he said.   "How is that possible?" I asked. "Promotion boards haven't used photos for years. They can't see your color, so you should be judged only by your performance reports."   He glanced around the room before adding, "Yes, but sometimes those performance reports are written by racist supervisors."   "Chaplains—racist?" I asked, my naivety in full exposure.   For the next several minutes, he explained that there were chaplains in the conference halls known to use the N-word. But maybe worse, he gave examples of chaplains who were skillful in the subtleties of racism.    "The Air Force Chaplain Corps is small and can be cliquish" he said. "Our black chaplains need the extra mentorship that – for now – can only be found among each other."   I knew Witherspoon to be a straight talker. I'd never heard anything but truthful integrity from him.   While his truth saddened me, I would have never heard it if Witherspoon hadn't trusted me to hear his story. More importantly, his courage laid the groundwork for me to hear more about race relations.   There has never been a better time in this nation to listen to the stories being offered by communities of color, whether through books, friends or the media.   So, this week, instead of expressing frustration on social media toward Black Lives Matter or Antifa, I challenge you tune in. Listen to the painful narrative being shared by the Black Community.    As you listen, express gratitude for hearing their message, but don't expect people of color to be responsible for educating you. Above all, don't offer excuses or try to fix it. Acknowledge their truth but don't expect that their viewpoint will represent their race any more than you exemplify yours.   There is a great conversational guide from the W.K. Kellogg Foundation at www.healourcommnunities.org. The guide will help you both listen to stories and initiate discussions. I've also posted the link at my website www.thechaplain.net   I also recommend reading "White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism" by Robin DiAngelo, (2018) ___________________________________ Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain   Copyright © 2020 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 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:
revised version 19-21 June column


Column:

EDITORS: This version corrects several wording mistakes in the last six paragraphs.




Listen to the Stories

In 2011, I was at the annual National Guard Chaplain Conference in Washington, D.C., when I was sidetracked into a personal conference with a colleague.

The morning session began with all the usual inspirational speeches from our higher-ups. Just before our lunch break, Chaplain Lawrence Witherspoon of Riverside, Calif., stood to make an announcement.

"The African American chaplains will be taking our lunch together in a side room," he said. "I promise we will enjoy good collegial fellowship and networking."

I whispered to the chaplains seated around me. "That doesn't seem right. Chaplains are supposed to be about unity and love. Separate lunches encourage cliquish racial divides."

"If you feel that way, Norris," challenged a chaplain at my round table, "go talk to Witherspoon."

"I can't do that," I said as my face flushed red.

"Why is that, 'Chaplain'?" another asked in a daring tone. "Just go and have a real conversation."

It was true. I should have been able to talk to Witherspoon. After all, we'd co-led several military marriage conferences, teaching couples to have real conversations.

Later the next day, I found Witherspoon and asked if he had time to have an awkward conversation.

He gave a directional nod toward a few secluded chairs. I can't recall our words verbatim, but I essentially began by admitting how likely it was that I'd say them wrong.

"It's OK," he said.

"I was a bit put off by your call for a separate meeting of Black chaplains," I confessed.

"What part was uncomfortable for you?" he asked from a script we taught in the marriage class.

When I told him that I thought the meeting went against the unifying spirit of chaplains, he tossed what seemed like a random question.

"Do you know how hard it's been for African American chaplains to get promoted?"

"Not really," I answered. I only knew that we worked in an up-or-out system, meaning that if an officer was passed over for promotion it was tantamount to being fired.

"We've lost some good chaplains," he said.

"How is that possible?" I asked. "Promotion boards haven't used photos for years. They can't see your color, so you should be judged only by your performance reports."

He glanced around the room before adding, "Yes, but sometimes those performance reports are written by racist supervisors."

"Chaplains—racist?" I asked, my naivety in full exposure.

For the next several minutes, he explained that there were chaplains in the conference halls known to use the N-word. But maybe worse, he gave examples of chaplains who were skillful in the subtleties of racism.

"The Air Force Chaplain Corps is small and can be cliquish" he said. "Our black chaplains need the extra mentorship that – for now – can best be found among each other."

I knew Witherspoon to be a straight talker. I'd never heard anything but truthful integrity from him.

While his truth saddened me, I would have never heard it if Witherspoon hadn't trusted me to hear his story. More importantly, his courage laid the groundwork for me to hear more about race relations.

There has never been a better time in this nation to listen to the stories being offered by communities of color, whether through books, friends or the media.

So, this week, instead of expressing frustration on social media toward Black Lives Matter or Antifa, I challenge you tune in. Listen to the painful narrative being shared by the Black Community.

As you listen, show your gratitude for their message, but don't expect people of color to be responsible for educating you. Above all, don't offer excuses or try to fix it. Acknowledge their truth but don't expect that their viewpoint will represent their race any more than you exemplify yours.

There is a great conversational guide from the W.K. Kellogg Foundation at www.healourcommnunities.org. The guide will help you both listen to stories and initiate discussions. I've posted the link at my website www.thechaplain.net

I also recommend reading "White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism" by Robin DiAngelo, (2018)
___________________________________
Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain

https://healourcommunities.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/NDORH_ConversationGuide_2019_V6_12-10-18-FINAL_proofed.pdf

 

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New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
June 19-21 column


Column:

Listen to the Stories

In 2011, I was at the annual National Guard Chaplain Conference in Washington, D.C., when I was sidetracked into a personal conference with a colleague.

The morning session began with all the usual inspirational speeches from our higher-ups. Just before our lunch break, Chaplain Lawrence Witherspoon of Riverside, Calif., stood to make an announcement.

"The African American chaplains will be taking our lunch together in a side room," he said. "I promise we will enjoy good collegial fellowship and networking."

I whispered to the chaplains seated around me. "That doesn't seem right. Chaplains are supposed to be about unity and love. Separate lunches encourage cliquish racial divides."

"If you feel that way, Norris," challenged a chaplain at my round table, "go talk to Witherspoon."

"I can't do that," I said as my face flushed red.

"Why is that, 'Chaplain'?" another asked in a daring tone. "Just go and have a real conversation."

It was true. I should have been able to talk to Witherspoon. After all, we'd co-led several military marriage conferences, teaching couples to have real conversations.

Later the next day, I found Witherspoon and asked if he had time to have an awkward conversation.

He gave a directional nod toward a few secluded chairs. I can't recall my words verbatim, but I essentially began by admitting how likely it was that I'd say them wrong.

"It's OK," he said.

"I was a bit put off by your call for a separate meeting of Black chaplains," I confessed.

"What part was uncomfortable for you?" he asked from a script we taught in the marriage class.

When I told him that I thought the meeting went against the unifying spirit of chaplains, he tossed what seemed like a random question.

"Do you know how hard it's been for African American chaplains to get promoted?"

"Not really," I answered. I only knew that we worked in an up-or-out system, meaning that if an officer was passed over for promotion it was tantamount to being fired.

"We've lost some good chaplains," he said.

"How is that possible?" I asked. "Promotion boards haven't used photos for years. They can't see your color, so you should be judged only by your performance reports."

He glanced around the room before adding, "Yes, but sometimes those performance reports are written by racist supervisors."

"Chaplains—racist?" I asked, my naivety in full exposure.

For the next several minutes, he explained that there were chaplains in the conference halls known to use the N-word. But maybe worse, he gave examples of chaplains who were skillful in the subtleties of racism.

"The Air Force Chaplain Corps is small and can be cliquish" he said. "Our black chaplains need the extra mentorship that – for now – can only be found among each other."

I knew Witherspoon to be a straight talker. I'd never heard anything but truthful integrity from him.

While his truth saddened me, I would have never heard it if Witherspoon hadn't trusted me to hear his story. More importantly, his courage laid the groundwork for me to hear more about race relations.

There has never been a better time in this nation to listen to the stories being offered by communities of color, whether through books, friends or the media.

So, this week, instead of express frustration on social media toward Black Lives Matter or Antifa, I'd challenge you tune in. Listen to the painful narrative being shared by the Black Community.

As you listen, express gratitude for hearing their message, but don't expect people of color to be responsible for educating you. Above all, don't offer excuses or try to fix it. Acknowledge their truth but don't expect that their viewpoint to represent their race any more than you exemplify yours.

There is a great conversational guide from the W.K. Kellogg Foundation at www.healourcommnunities.org. The guide will help you both listen to stories and initiate discussions. I've also posted the link at my website www.thechaplain.net

I also recommend reading "White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism" by Robin DiAngelo, (2018)
___________________________________
Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain

https://healourcommunities.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/NDORH_ConversationGuide_2019_V6_12-10-18-FINAL_proofed.pdf

 

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see improved formatting this week 👣

View this email in your browser "We the People," not "We the privileged." These past weeks, our nation, even our world, was consumed with the tragic news of George Floyd, the unarmed black man killed when ex-policeman Derek Chauvin knelt on Floyd's neck during an arrest. As a columnist, I would like to voice my strongest protest of what can only be described as murder. However, as a person of faith, my protest must begin by searching my own heart with the psalmist's prayer: Examine me, O Lord, and prove me; Try my mind and my heart (Psalm 26:2). As I recite this prayer, I confess that I haven't the slightest experience with oppression. However, I do something about the unearned privilege given me by society. For instance, in my patrolled subdivision, being a white man means that I can jog in my Baylor hoodie without any fear of my intentions being questioned.  I can – and I have – trespassed two construction sites on my running route. There are plenty of cameras in my neighborhood, but I was not pursued as was Ahmaud Arbery to be shot and killed by the self-appointed neighborhood watch patrol.   If I return from my run to discover that I'm locked out of my home, I can climb through an unlocked window. I have no anxiety that a SWAT team will handcuff me in my own foyer as they once did Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates. I take my grandson to the hardware store and pull a soda from the refrigerated cabinet. I open it so he can sip while I shop. So far, no one has demanded we pay before checkout. No one dares accuse this old white guy of shoplifting. If I speed on my way home and find flashing lights in my rearview mirror, it's likely to be an officer from my own culture and color. It's doubtful that the officer will frisk a graying pinkish man or even require a publicly embarrassing sobriety test. If it weren't for unearned favoritism, the officer would find two felonies on my record. That's because my college friends and I impersonated law enforcement to make a, publicly witnessed, prank arrest on a friend. While a young pastor, I was stopped for reckless driving for gliding through four stop signs. These incidents should have left me without a military or chaplaincy career, but I was never charged.  People of color regularly see their lives ruined for so much less.  While I enjoy the privileges that society stereotypes afford me, I must acknowledge that they come at the expense of others. The stereotypes of the black man in the hoodie – as a gangster, a perpetrator of violence – flood the media.  Alas, even our president famously touted his privilege during a 2016 Iowa campaign stop where he mimicked firing a gun with his fingers. "I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and wouldn't lose any voters, okay?"  This month's events should remind me and every president that the preamble of our constitution begins with, "We the People," not "We the privileged." That's why I call all of us this week to assume the kind of kneeling inspired by the psalmist's prayer. Let us search our hearts to ask what part of George Floyd's death can be attributed to we-the-privileged. As we continue our search, let us join the psalmist with his benediction from 51:10  "Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me."  -------------------------------------------------- Note: The most compelling book I've recently read on racism is Slavery by Another Name, Douglas Blackmon of the Wall Street Journal. My books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact me at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.         Copyright © 2020 Norris Burkes, All rights reserved. You signed up to be on Norris' list! Our mailing address is: Norris Burkes 10566 Combie Rd Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list.