Column for Independence Day weekend 2021

The Case of the Stolen Freedoms

 

READERS: You may recall how last year my wife, Becky, suggested we expand Independence Day celebrations by designating July as "Freedom Month."

 

Taking inspiration from her idea, I sat down again to write three "Freedom Month" columns. Today's makes liberal exaggerations of some recent conversations.

 

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

 

"Chaplain, I want to report a theft!" a reader wrote.

 

No, he didn't exactly say that, but his email definitely sought to account for the freedoms he considered missing.

 

I wasn't sure how a chaplain could help him recover his losses, and I considered reciting the commonly recorded message, "If you want to report an emergency, please hang up and dial 911."

 

Nevertheless, I promised I'd do my best at Search and Recovery – or SAR as we called it during my Air Force career.

 

I began the recovery investigation by asking two key, journalistic questions: WHO and WHAT.

 

First, "WHO has taken away your freedom?" Most everyone to whom I pose this question answers the same. He was no exception.

 

"The government."

 

"I should have known," I said. "Those pencil whippers are always stealing something or tapping my phone calls or squelching the UFO reports."

 

I posed my second question. "WHAT freedom did they steal?"

 

"They're trying to take my guns," he said.

 

I'm not a gun owner myself, so I knew I had no business suggesting common-sense regulation, like registration, waiting periods and background check for private sales as well as gun-show sales. 

 

Instead of making that argument, I fired a follow-up question point blank: "BUT, has the government actually taken your personal firearm?"

 

His silence asserted his fifth amendment right over his second amendment rights. It's likely that his guns were never confiscated, unless he was writing from prison where they put the bad guys who misuse guns.

 

In another case, a neighbor voiced a similar complaint about freedom losses, I repeated my question – WHAT exactly have you lost?

 

"I've been denied my right to breathe," she answered, overstating the mask mandate.  

 

Yeah, I get it. I hate surgical masks too. They were such a pesky detail, pre-covid, when my chaplain duties sent me to visit double-lung transplants or premature babies in our ICU. 

 

My guess is that it's not the mask that bothers her. It's the other M-word: mandate.

 

Yes, we temporarily lost some freedom. But the last time I checked, the U.S. wasn't alone in suspending that freedom. The entire world lives under masking restrictions while the U.S. remains the least restrictive.

 

So, I keep pressing folks -- WHAT have you personally lost? Name it.

 

"Chaplain, you of all people should know," said one pastor. "We lost our freedom of worship."

 

Again, temporary is the operative word. Even so, many churches responded with innovative answers.

 

During the worst of the lockdown, I maintained that freedom of worship wasn't threatened as long as restrictions were applied equally among churches, institutions, and businesses. In other words, if the Rotary Club wasn't meeting in person, then it was fair to restrict meetings, religious assemblies.

 

Gratefully, vaccinations are steering our lives back to normal. We have returned to church and will resume our July Fourth fireworks intended to celebrate our freedoms.

 

Fortunately, American freedoms are resilient little boogers. To paraphrase a military reply, "All freedoms present and accounted for, sir." 

 

I call this return to normal, "Vaccinated, Liberated and Vindicated."

 

Even Dr. Fauci concurs. He has publicly proclaimed that "fully vaccinated people are free to do whatever they like on July Fourth." 

 

But seriously, Dr Fauci. Really? I now have the freedom to do anything?

 

If that's true, maybe I should ask Nicolas Cage if he'll help me reprise his role in the 2004 Walt Disney Pictures film, "National Treasure." Let's steal the Declaration of Independence.

These days, I know a few folks who need to read it. 

 

 

 

Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ever feel like you will just loose it?

Who took my Jesus?

Attention Readers in the Charleston and Montgomery AL Area:   I would appreciate your help as I plan a speaking visit in the fall. Let me know you know if you have connections to an organization who might host me, including churches, colleges, healthcare or Veteran organizations.  Contact me with questions about dates and costs. Where'd You Lose Your Jesus?   Some years ago, I was making my rounds as a staff chaplain in a Catholic hospital when a nurse sent me to see a patient on her unit.   "She's on life support," the nurse explained. "If she dies, this will be the third death today."   When I walked into the patient's room, I met the woman's husband, a Baptist pastor, praying he wouldn't lose this battle.   I barely found the breath to announce myself when he stood and pointed to the crucifix hanging above his wife's bed, the same one placed in every patient room.   "Can you remove that?" he asked.   Regular readers of my column know that chaplains honor all faiths and are called to create a sacred space for our patients. So I said, "Sure."   I plucked the crucifix from its hook, opened the bedside drawer, and reverently laid it on the top of the Bible.    The pastor quietly replaced it with a sentimental picture of sunflowers he'd brought from the home he shared with his wife.   In the next fifteen minutes, he became noticeably relaxed as we chatted about his marriage of 57 years and his Baptist career of half a century.    Soon, the nurse returned to the room to hang new IV bags. The chore brought her attention eye level to the photo that supplanted the crucifix.   "Where's my Jesus?" she asked.   "Pardon, 'My Jesus'?" the patient's husband said.    "Where's the crucifix?" she asked.   "The patient requested that I replace it with their artwork," I explained.   That launched a frantic search-and-recovery effort. The nurse started opening dresser drawers, emphasizing her possessive pronouns. "Where's MY Jesus? Where's MY Jesus?"     Fortunately, she regained her composure when she located the crucifix where I'd put it.     It seemed like an odd moment, but in hindsight, her question of "Where's my Jesus?" makes sense to me now.    My guess is that a lot of you during this pandemic have felt much like this nurse, and you have occasionally lost your Jesus.    Perhaps you don't say Jesus. You may be of another faith tradition and use words such as love, or family or Spirit. These expressions likely point to the peace you've found in the past.    When I feel like I've lost my Jesus, I'm reminded of a suggestion my mother gave me when I lost something tangible – "Go back to where you last remember seeing it, and maybe you'll find it."   So, where did you last see "your Jesus"?    I encourage you to go back to the place you last knew spiritual peace. It'll be a physical or spiritual place where peace and serenity join hands and surround you with solace. For me it can be the church altar, but it's also been fluid places, like the beach, lake or waterfall.   I call these places my "God spots." It's here I find that "my Jesus" has not gone missing. It is I who wandered away.    He's everywhere. He's in the eyes of the people returning to work, the hands of nurses who've healed this nation and in the heart of those housing the homeless. I saw him that day in the eyes of the husband who wiped the brow of his dying wife.   Jesus, or whatever you call the strength that sustains you, has been with you all this time. He's not lost, not stowed away in a drawer. He is with you.    But whatever word you use, I think we can borrow a page from my Baptist theological heritage, which tells me that once you find your Jesus, he will never lose you.   _________________________________________________   Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

This email was sent to burkesn.norris@blogger.com why did I get this?    unsubscribe from this list    update subscription preferences Norris Burkes · 10566 Combie Rd · Suite 6643 · Auburn, CA 95602 · USA

Correction on graph 16

Add the red word to the 16^th graph.

 

Fortunately, she regained her composure when she located the crucifix where I'd put it. 

 

 

 

 

Where'd You Lose Your Jesus?

 

Some years ago, I was making my rounds as a staff chaplain in a Catholic hospital when a nurse sent me to see a patient on her unit.

 

"She's on life support," the nurse explained. "If she dies, this will be the third death today."

 

When I walked into the patient's room, I met the woman's husband, a Baptist pastor, praying he wouldn't lose this battle.

 

I barely found the breath to announce myself when he stood and pointed to the crucifix hanging above his wife's bed, the same one placed in every patient room.

 

"Can you remove that?" he asked.

 

Regular readers of my column know that chaplains honor all faiths and are called to create a sacred space for our patients. So I said, "Sure."

 

I plucked the crucifix from its hook, opened the bedside drawer, and reverently laid it on the top of the Bible.

 

The pastor quietly replaced it with a sentimental picture of sunflowers he'd brought from the home he shared with his wife.

 

In the next fifteen minutes, he became noticeably relaxed as we chatted about his marriage of 57 years and his Baptist career of half a century.

 

Soon, the nurse returned to the room to hang new IV bags. The chore brought her attention eye level to the photo that supplanted the crucifix.

 

"Where's my Jesus?" she asked.

 

"Pardon, 'My Jesus'?" the patient's husband said.

 

"Where's the crucifix?" she asked.

 

"The patient requested that I replace it with their artwork," I explained.

 

That launched a frantic search-and-recovery effort. The nurse started opening dresser drawers, emphasizing her possessive pronouns. "Where's MY Jesus? Where's MY Jesus?" 

 

Fortunately, she regained her composure when located the crucifix where I'd put it. 

 

It seemed like an odd moment, but in hindsight, her question of "Where's my Jesus?" makes sense to me now.

 

My guess is that a lot of you during this pandemic have felt much like this nurse, and you have occasionally lost your Jesus.

 

Perhaps you don't say Jesus. You may be of another faith tradition and use words such as love, or family or Spirit. These expressions likely point to the peace you've found in the past.

 

When I feel like I've lost my Jesus, I'm reminded of a suggestion my mother gave me when I lost something tangible – "Go back to where you last remember seeing it, and maybe you'll find it."

 

So, where did you last see "your Jesus"?

 

I encourage you to go back to the place you last knew spiritual peace. It'll be a physical or spiritual place where peace and serenity join hands and surround you with solace. For me it can be the church altar, but it's also been fluid places, like the beach, lake or waterfall.

 

I call these places my "God spots." It's here I find that "my Jesus" has not gone missing. It is I who wandered away.

 

He's everywhere. He's in the eyes of the people returning to work, the hands of nurses who've healed this nation and in the heart of those housing the homeless. I saw him that day in the eyes of the husband who wiped the brow of his dying wife.

 

Jesus, or whatever you call the strength that sustains you, has been with you all this time. He's not lost, not stowed away in a drawer. He is with you.

 

But whatever word you use, I think we can borrow a page from my Baptist theological heritage, which tells me that once you find your Jesus, he will never lose you.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

 

 

 

Column for June 25-27 2021

Where'd You Lose Your Jesus?

 

Some years ago, I was making my rounds as a staff chaplain in a Catholic hospital when a nurse sent me to see a patient on her unit.

 

"She's on life support," the nurse explained. "If she dies, this will be the third death today."

 

When I walked into the patient's room, I met the woman's husband, a Baptist pastor, praying he wouldn't lose this battle.

 

I barely found the breath to announce myself when he stood and pointed to the crucifix hanging above his wife's bed, the same one placed in every patient room.

 

"Can you remove that?" he asked.

 

Regular readers of my column know that chaplains honor all faiths and are called to create a sacred space for our patients. So I said, "Sure."

 

I plucked the crucifix from its hook, opened the bedside drawer, and reverently laid it on the top of the Bible.

 

The pastor quietly replaced it with a sentimental picture of sunflowers he'd brought from the home he shared with his wife.

 

In the next fifteen minutes, he became noticeably relaxed as we chatted about his marriage of 57 years and his Baptist career of half a century.

 

Soon, the nurse returned to the room to hang new IV bags. The chore brought her attention eye level to the photo that supplanted the crucifix.

 

"Where's my Jesus?" she asked.

 

"Pardon, 'My Jesus'?" the patient's husband said.

 

"Where's the crucifix?" she asked.

 

"The patient requested that I replace it with their artwork," I explained.

 

That launched a frantic search-and-recovery effort. The nurse started opening dresser drawers, emphasizing her possessive pronouns. "Where's MY Jesus? Where's MY Jesus?" 

 

Fortunately, she regained her composure when located the crucifix where I'd put it. 

 

It seemed like an odd moment, but in hindsight, her question of "Where's my Jesus?" makes sense to me now.

 

My guess is that a lot of you during this pandemic have felt much like this nurse, and you have occasionally lost your Jesus.

 

Perhaps you don't say Jesus. You may be of another faith tradition and use words such as love, or family or Spirit. These expressions likely point to the peace you've found in the past.

 

When I feel like I've lost my Jesus, I'm reminded of a suggestion my mother gave me when I lost something tangible – "Go back to where you last remember seeing it, and maybe you'll find it."

 

So, where did you last see "your Jesus"?

 

I encourage you to go back to the place you last knew spiritual peace. It'll be a physical or spiritual place where peace and serenity join hands and surround you with solace. For me it can be the church altar, but it's also been fluid places, like the beach, lake or waterfall.

 

I call these places my "God spots." It's here I find that "my Jesus" has not gone missing. It is I who wandered away.

 

He's everywhere. He's in the eyes of the people returning to work, the hands of nurses who've healed this nation and in the heart of those housing the homeless. I saw him that day in the eyes of the husband who wiped the brow of his dying wife.

 

Jesus, or whatever you call the strength that sustains you, has been with you all this time. He's not lost, not stowed away in a drawer. He is with you.

 

But whatever word you use, I think we can borrow a page from my Baptist theological heritage, which tells me that once you find your Jesus, he will never lose you.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

 

 

 

Double Fathers, Double Love

Happy Father's Day

Attention Readers in the Charleston and Montgomery AL Area:   I would appreciate your help as I plan a speaking visit in the fall. Let me know you know if you have connections to an organization who might host me, including churches, colleges, healthcare or Veteran organizations.   Double the Fathers, Double the Love   This Father's Day I must confess that I probably owe much of my appreciation for God to the two fathers I've known in my lifetime.   My biological father was a loving tall-Texan, a Southern Baptist pastor, who taught me to love people more than a fight.    He lived long enough to see me through graduate school, coach me through my first two pastorates, and meet his grandchildren. I experienced him as a fair-minded, caring father who made it natural for me to worship "God the Father."   I inherited my second dad. He was the "pastor-dad" of the girl I married, and he had love big enough for the both of us.   When I first met my father-in-law, Wilbur, he extended his hand and his heart as he explained, "Any friend of Rebecca's will be a friend of mine." He's never wavered in his promise.   He's my mentor and my friend. He even has editorial say in this column.   At 88, his youthful handsomeness is still apparent. Although he stands slightly shorter now than his original 5-foot-10, he still combs a mostly full head of hair.   In 1992, my pride over having two doting fathers and grandfathers was shattered when my dad died unexpectedly at 65.    Not long after the funeral, my father-in-law, Wilbur, wrote to say, "I want you to know that I could never replace your dad, but I'm here to stand in his place wherever you'll allow."   A few days later, I accepted his offer to become the father I so desperately needed, an "earthly foster father." I've never regretted my decision.   I tell this story because the image you carry of your father may likely affect the way you see God.    If you've had an abusive parent, then maybe you don't appreciate God as a father. We know of course that God is not a biological male or female. God is all - everything at the same time.   Yes, the Bible overwhelmingly speaks of God in male terms, but many scholars read the God-language of the Bible as metaphorical.    For instance, in Isaiah 49, God has the feminine qualities of a nursing mother. Then in both Psalm 91 and Matthew 23, God becomes a hen gathering her brood of chicks under her wings.    These writings are welcome images to people who were reared without a father, or worse, an abusive one. They've also been adopted by women who are recovering from complementarianism, the concept of women being subservient to men.    But for me, I had double the fathers and double the love. Since both fathers addressed God as Jesus did, praying to "Abba, Father," I'll continue to experience God as "He."    However, if your image of God isn't inspired by the type of loving fathers I enjoyed, then you might consider how Phil Young reimagined God in his 2007 best-selling novel, The Shack. Young portrays God temporarily as a mysterious African American woman who called herself Papa who seeks to comfort the protagonist who'd grown up with an abusive father.   When the character questions why God is a woman, she replies: "After what you've been through, "I didn't think you could handle a father right now."   It's a comforting, loving story of how God may disguise himself to care for us and will reveal to us the image of God that is most supportive to our spiritual wellbeing.    Best of all, the story shows us that our pronouns for God needn't be confusing or conflictual. My prayer for you this Father's Day is that God will reveal to you the spiritual image of himself that you need and be the Father you never had, but always wanted.     Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.       Readers: Enjoy this Extra reading on the subject.   https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-32960507   https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/october-web-only/why-i-continue-to-call-god-father.html

This email was sent to burkesn.norris@blogger.com why did I get this?    unsubscribe from this list    update subscription preferences Norris Burkes · 10566 Combie Rd · Suite 6643 · Auburn, CA 95602 · USA

Column correction

The author of the shack was incorrectly stated. It should be William Paul Young

 

Editors only --- Sources for this column

 

https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-32960507

 

https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/october-web-only/why-i-continue-to-call-god-father.html

 

 

 

 

Double the Fathers, Double the Love

 

This Father's Day I must confess that I probably owe much of my appreciation for God to the two fathers I've known in my lifetime.

 

My biological father was a loving tall-Texan, a Southern Baptist pastor, who taught me to love people more than a fight.

 

He lived long enough to see me through graduate school, coach me through my first two pastorates, and meet his grandchildren. I experienced him as a fair-minded, caring father who made it natural for me to worship "God the Father."

 

I inherited my second dad. He was the "pastor-dad" of the girl I married, and he had love big enough for the both of us.

 

When I first met my father-in-law, Wilbur, he extended his hand and his heart as he explained, "Any friend of Rebecca's will be a friend of mine." He's never wavered in his promise.

 

He's my mentor and my friend. He even has editorial say in this column.

 

At 88, his youthful handsomeness is still apparent. Although he stands slightly shorter now than his original 5-foot-10, he still combs a mostly full head of hair.

 

In 1992, my pride over having two doting fathers and grandfathers was shattered when my dad died unexpectedly at 65.

 

Not long after the funeral, my father-in-law, Wilbur, wrote to say, "I want you to know that I could never replace your dad, but I'm here to stand in his place wherever you'll allow."

 

A few days later, I accepted his offer to become the father I so desperately needed, an "earthly foster father." I've never regretted my decision.

 

I tell this story because the image you carry of your father may likely affect the way you see God.

 

If you've had an abusive parent, then maybe you don't appreciate God as a father. We know of course that God is not a biological male or female. God is all - everything at the same time.

 

Yes, the Bible overwhelmingly speaks of God in male terms, but many scholars read the God-language of the Bible as metaphorical.

 

For instance, in Isaiah 49, God has the feminine qualities of a nursing mother. Then in both Psalm 91 and Matthew 23, God becomes a hen gathering her brood of chicks under her wings. 

 

These writings are welcome images to people who were reared without a father, or worse, an abusive one. They've also been adopted by women who are recovering from complementarianism, the concept of women being subservient to men.

 

But for me, I had double the fathers and double the love. Since both fathers addressed God as Jesus did, praying to "Abba, Father," I'll continue to experience God as "He."

 

However, if your image of God isn't inspired by the type of loving fathers I enjoyed, then you might consider how Phil Young reimagined God in his 2007 best-selling novel, The Shack. Young portrays God temporarily as a mysterious African American woman who called herself Papa who seeks to comfort the a man who'd grown up with an abusive father.

 

When the character questions why God is a woman, she replies: "After what you've been through, "I didn't think you could handle a father right now."

 

It's a comforting, loving story of how God may disguise himself to care for us and will reveal to us the image of God that is most supportive to our spiritual wellbeing.

 

Best of all, the story shows us that our pronouns for God needn't be confusing or conflictual. My prayer for you this Father's Day is that God will reveal to you the spiritual image of himself that you need and be the Father you never had, but always wanted.

 

 

Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Column for June 18-20 2021

Editors only --- Sources for this column

 

https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-32960507

 

https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/october-web-only/why-i-continue-to-call-god-father.html

 

 

 

 

Double the Fathers, Double the Love

 

This Father's Day I must confess that I probably owe much of my appreciation for God to the two fathers I've known in my lifetime.

 

My biological father was a loving tall-Texan, a Southern Baptist pastor, who taught me to love people more than a fight.

 

He lived long enough to see me through graduate school, coach me through my first two pastorates, and meet his grandchildren. I experienced him as a fair-minded, caring father who made it natural for me to worship "God the Father."

 

I inherited my second dad. He was the "pastor-dad" of the girl I married, and he had love big enough for the both of us.

 

When I first met my father-in-law, Wilbur, he extended his hand and his heart as he explained, "Any friend of Rebecca's will be a friend of mine." He's never wavered in his promise.

 

He's my mentor and my friend. He even has editorial say in this column.

 

At 88, his youthful handsomeness is still apparent. Although he stands slightly shorter now than his original 5-foot-10, he still combs a mostly full head of hair.

 

In 1992, my pride over having two doting fathers and grandfathers was shattered when my dad died unexpectedly at 65.

 

Not long after the funeral, my father-in-law, Wilbur, wrote to say, "I want you to know that I could never replace your dad, but I'm here to stand in his place wherever you'll allow."

 

A few days later, I accepted his offer to become the father I so desperately needed, an "earthly foster father." I've never regretted my decision.

 

I tell this story because the image you carry of your father may likely affect the way you see God.

 

If you've had an abusive parent, then maybe you don't appreciate God as a father. We know of course that God is not a biological male or female. God is all - everything at the same time.

 

Yes, the Bible overwhelmingly speaks of God in male terms, but many scholars read the God-language of the Bible as metaphorical.

 

For instance, in Isaiah 49, God has the feminine qualities of a nursing mother. Then in both Psalm 91 and Matthew 23, God becomes a hen gathering her brood of chicks under her wings. 

 

These writings are welcome images to people who were reared without a father, or worse, an abusive one. They've also been adopted by women who are recovering from complementarianism, the concept of women being subservient to men.

 

But for me, I had double the fathers and double the love. Since both fathers addressed God as Jesus did, praying to "Abba, Father," I'll continue to experience God as "He."

 

However, if your image of God isn't inspired by the type of loving fathers I enjoyed, then you might consider how Phil Young reimagined God in his 2007 best-selling novel, The Shack. Young portrays God temporarily as a mysterious African American woman who called herself Papa who seeks to comfort the a man who'd grown up with an abusive father.

 

When the character questions why God is a woman, she replies: "After what you've been through, "I didn't think you could handle a father right now."

 

It's a comforting, loving story of how God may disguise himself to care for us and will reveal to us the image of God that is most supportive to our spiritual wellbeing.

 

Best of all, the story shows us that our pronouns for God needn't be confusing or conflictual. My prayer for you this Father's Day is that God will reveal to you the spiritual image of himself that you need and be the Father you never had, but always wanted.

 

 

Norris' books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What will you do for Flag Day?

See the video of my talk last week in Marion OH

Readers: If you missed my talk last week, you can now view it on YouTube Click here.   https://youtu.be/zkudTB5i8Mc. Flag Day from the Perspective of the Fallen   Flag Day is this coming Monday, so I encourage you to proudly and properly display our American flag on your front porch, stoop, or driveway.    As a retired USAF chaplain, my view of "proper display" may differ from yours. But I do hope you will avoid the boorish examples of some I've seen lately.    For instance, I was taken aback to see a local real estate agent post the American flag in driveways with her business card attached. Adding to my surprise, the owner of an area landscaping company named after an assault rifle, flew the flag from his pickup bed.    And who can forget the flags hung during this past election season trying to claim which candidate was the most patriotic. Worse to me was a church announcing their political slant by hanging a jumbo-size flag as a backdrop on their altar.   Again, I take a different view.   When I look at flags hung on America's Main Street, my mind superimposes those covering the coffins of the many soldiers I've seen buried.   Flag-lined streets take me back to a particular veterans' cemetery where I conducted services for the fallen.  I began with the 23rd Psalm and concluded with a prayer. At that point, my chaplain assistant would bark, "Ah-ten-SHUN!" and cue the color guard to assemble.   Fifty yards away, a three-person detail would fire off 21 shots—a wartime custom once used to announce that the battlefield had been cleared of the dead and the fighting could resume.   Over the grave of the brave, a lone bugler would play taps and the vibrating melancholic tones strained the emotions of the most stoic.   On the last note, the honor guard responded like crisp marionettes strung by a master's hand. They lifted each corner of the flag from the casket, snapping it so taut that it startled nearby mourners. They folded it twice lengthwise and then began a series of folds that transformed the flag into a tight triangle.   The officer affectionately placed three shell casings into the folded flag, each representing a volley. The folds were meant to conceal the blood-red stripes and leave nine shining stars exposed on the double-sided blue canvas. Thus folded, the implication is that God's creation of stars and sky is the only thing to be treasured; the blood stripes, symbolizing the sacrifice of man, are minimized.   Custom required the sergeant to give the folded flag to an officer or chaplain where he or she knelt before the parent or spouse to present a wrinkle-less flag.   Whispered words spoken to next-of-kin were inaudible to those nearby: "This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."   The funeral director dismissed the crowd, but a few people stopped briefly to lay a rose on the casket. Only selected family members who stayed heard the sobbing as funeral directors winched the casket into the grave, a few inches at a time.   So, when you display the American flag next Monday, I have a favor to ask. Imagine that same flag draping the bodies of 755 first responders killed on 9/11 and nearly 7,000 soldiers, sailors and airmen who have since died. Imagine the flag hanging from your porch covering the body of one of 791 police officers murdered in the 21st century.   Only when you consider the flag as the last blanket of the fallen can you give our flag its due honor and proudly sing as we did at those funerals:   O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.   ----------------- This column contains excerpts Chaplain Norris' book "Hero's Highway." His books are available at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715. Twitter @chaplain.

This email was sent to burkesn.norris@blogger.com why did I get this?    unsubscribe from this list    update subscription preferences Norris Burkes · 10566 Combie Rd · Suite 6643 · Auburn, CA 95602 · USA