Can we still remove graph #8?

Editors,

On second reflection, I think it's best to remove the 8th paragraph with the cuss words.  

Can you still do that?

Column for syndication --July 29

Note to Editor:

 

The word count in this column is high. If you wish to shorten it, feel free to cut any one of the definitions given in the column.

 

 

 

Chaplain's Satirical List of Troublesome Faith Words

 

I confess. I read some nerdy books. 

 

One such book is "Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words" (Crown, 2002).

 

Bryson doesn't suffer literary fools when it comes to the words we commonly misuse. 

 

He's a purist, drawing careful, some would say absurd, distinctions between words such as "nauseous" and "nauseated." The first word describes the cause of your illness and the second describes the sick feeling you have. 

 

With Bryson's inspiration, today's column is "Burkes's Satirical List of Troublesome Faith Words." Often called "Christianese," these are the nauseous church words that cause the unchurched people to feel nauseated.

 

According to UrbanDictionary.com, "Christianese is the language spoken by Christians. It makes no sense to anyone unfamiliar with biblical texts but earns a person major points in the eyes of other Christians, because it means your words are hella -holy."

 

They constitute the insider language that church people use that tends to turn off the faith-curious. 

 

Ass, Damn or Hell —  Words considered as Bilingual cuss words in both Christianese and secular talk. Never used by real Christians.

 

Baby Christian — Referring to a person new to the Christian faith, not to be confused with a Christian acting like a baby.

 

Born Again — The misunderstood phrase responsible for turning many people away from the Christian Faith. In John 3:3-5 Jesus tells a faith-seeker that he must be "born again." It works in the story context, but a more accurate translation is "born from above." It means a new beginning in life. Why we don't say "new beginning" I'm not sure.

 

In the adjective form, "Born-Agains" is a disparaging label for Evangelicals.

 

Covet Your Prayers — A phrase used by someone who is asking you to pray for them.

 

Father God –  informal for "God." Used in fervent prayer when the petitioner really, really just wants something, like really right now. (See Just and Really)

 

Hedge of Protection — Commonly invoked when praying for someone needing protection. This shouldn't be confused with one of those hedge mazes at the Harvest Festival where I get lost.  

 

tion — is the suffix on words like justification, sanctification, indemnification, propitiation. The ending changes the word from a verb to a noun and proves we clergy earned seminary degrees.

 

Just and Really — Purposely overused in public prayers. Example: "Father God, I just really pray right now that you really, really…."  Not sure that God needs us to beg like a Baby Christian before he hears our prayers.  

 

King James — The key dialect of Christianese drawn from the King James Bible of 1611.  Four hundred-plus years later, some churches still think God responds more favorably if we say, "Oh Lord, we prayeth for thy daughter Sally who walketh into the Valley of the Shadows. Granteth her a Hedge of Protection."

 

Lost, The — A disapproving term describing the unchurched.

 

Love On Him/Her — It may be a nice phrase, but often a bit patronizing. Probably not the best term in the age of "Me too."

 

Open Us With a Prayer — Ouch, this sounds like surgery.  Best change this to, "Please begin our gathering with a prayer." 

 

Traveling Mercies — Related to the Hedge thing, but more mobile. It's a blessing or wish for Sister Sally to stayeth safe when she driveths across state to see her brother during this storm.  

 

Unspoken Prayer Request — This is when someone requests prayer for themselves but won't fess up to the thing they did. Or a sly prayer for a sinner who doesn't know they're being prayed for.

 

Unchurched — Describes a person who's not yet found a church that speaks clearly. Please don't give up. They're out there.

 

Many other terms could be added to this list, but in the meantime, I beg my fellow Christians to speak plainly. When we use these terms, we are only talking to ourselves. Worse yet, we lose our relevance to a hurting world. Our speech needs to reflect real hurts and real solutions.

 

By the way, I often use Bryson's Dictionary to help me get to sleep. This column will likely serve the same purpose.

 

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

 

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Column for syndication --July 22-24 2022

 

Please call me Norris

 

On most mornings, I begin the workday at my hospice office by calling my patients to arrange for visits in their homes.

 

Today is much the same as I set an early afternoon appointment with a woman in her mid-sixties who's been given less than six months to live.

 

She greets me at the front door of her modest home with a question.

 

"Are you a Christian chaplain?" she asks, leaning into the word, "Christian."

 

Now, I'm not much of a grammarian, but I think she is using the word "Christian" as a qualifier. Please, don't get all bleary eyed over the idea of grammar. This remains a spiritual column.

 

But you should know that a qualifier is a type of word that adds or subtracts meaning to another word. In this case, the woman is announcing what kind of chaplain she wanted me to be – or, perhaps, didn't want me to be.

 

Before I tell you what I said, I need you to hear what I am thinking. It seems likely that the woman hails from one of two spiritual camps.

 

If she's from Camp #1, she's a firebrand Christian who's asking to see my credentials. The question is her litmus test to allow or deny my entry.

 

However, if she's from Camp #2, – she is hoping I'm not a Christian at all. She may well have been wounded by the folks from Camp #1, the people who tried to cram their brand of faith down her throat.

 

Honestly neither camp seems appetizing to me, so I throw out an answer.

 

"I'm just a chaplain who also happens to be a Christian."

 

My response is designed to impart some not-so-subtle education. Whatever camp she's in, she needs to know that chaplains come from all faiths. Chaplains shouldn't be disqualified from ministry just because they don't match her qualifications.

 

Hence the problem with qualifiers. They are used to disqualify people from their personhood. They don't let us see the person God made. They qualify people as smart, fat, thin, pretty, homely, etc. In so doing they disqualify people.

 

For a moment, I think about telling her that Harvard University has a Humanist chaplain, Chris Stedman, who calls himself a "Faitheist." But I think better of that. After all, "first, do no harm." Right?

 

I don't tell her any of that, but instead point to the label on my ID. "Actually, my hospice group prefers I use the title, "Spiritual Counselor."

 

She returns a hard look that suggests she's about to shoot me and the horse I rode in on.

 

Honestly, I don't love the designation. But I go with it because I've come to realize that "Chaplain" carries too much baggage. The title brings a lot of assumptions into both camps. One group supposes that I've come to convert them, the other assumes I belong to their exclusive theology club.

 

But most of all, whatever camp the hospice patient hails from, I'm hoping we can speak to each other without qualifiers. She's not just a hospice patient. She's a person and I hope to find the best way to affirm her.

 

I need to help her drop the qualifying emphasis on the words. I don't need to be a chaplain, counselor or even a "Christian." I need to be the person who's unafraid to come alongside her pain.

 

Finally, I say, "How about if I'm just Norris today?"

 

Her face finally softens. She nods and reciprocates with her first name.

 

She invites me inside.

 

We sit and chat for 45 minutes. We pray. We cry. We trade a few awkward laughs.

 

She's a person. I'm a person. We both celebrate being God's creation and fully qualified to share his love.

 

I never do figure out what camp she's in. Perhaps I'm not qualified to make that call. Perhaps no one is. 

 

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

 

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Column for syndication --July 16 2022

How Much Do You Love Me?

 

I still remember a moment twenty years ago when my middle daughter, Brittney, finished watching a movie called "John Q," a 2002 drama starring Denzel Washington.

 

If you saw the film, you'll recall how Washington played John Quincy Archibald, a desperate father whose insurance company refuses to pay for his son's heart transplant.

 

When selling all his possessions fails to raise enough money for the heart transplant, John Q takes a heart surgeon hostage in the Emergency Room. Efforts to get his son on the heart-transplant list soon degrade, so John Q puts the gun to his head and takes several short breaths.

 

I'll stop there in case you want to watch the movie.

 

It was that particular scene that stirred the internal drama in my teenager's heart,  provoking her to ask her parents a serious question.

 

"If I needed a heart, would you be willing to do that for me?"

 

My wife and I both stammered trying to describe how the movie oversimplified difficult healthcare questions. We tried to explain how police would make no deal with a gunman who's taken over an ER. 

 

I even told her how the movie paralleled a real-life hostage situation in Toronto in 1998 when Henry Masuka rushed his son to the St Michael's Hospital Emergency Room. Finding no pediatrician on duty, he pulled a gun on ER staff. Police responded by killing Henry. His son was not injured, but Henry's gun turned out to be an unloaded pelet gun.

 

Nevertheless, Brittney remained undeterred as she blazed past our explanation and said, "Okay, but would you do it? Would you kill yourself so that I could have your heart?"

 

I wasn't sure whether she was asking if my love was sacrificial or suicidal. There's a difference, but that's probably another column.

 

However, her question remains among the oldest questions in humanity: Do you love me? How much? How will you show it?

 

Jesus had a similar moment with one particular disciple named Peter.

 

You may recall, Pete's the guy who was almost arrested alongside Jesus. He evaded custody when, with such a convincing denial, authorities didn't detain him.

 

Peter's disavowal was something that Jesus would address at an early morning prayer breakfast shortly after his resurrection. 

 

Over a flaming rotisserie of fish, Jesus posed his question designed to allow Peter to show Jesus his love – not just to say it.

 

"Peter," he called, "Do you love me?"

 

"Yes, Lord, of course I love you."

 

Three times Jesus asked the question, each repetition recalling Peter's earlier three-time rejection. Each time following Peter's reply, Jesus challenged  him to "Feed my sheep." (Meaning, take care of my followers.)

 

My daughter also asked me three times, yet it was the same question Jesus asked Peter. "What are you willing to do for love?"

 

She knew, as did Jesus, that love is a verb. While it can be expressed and declared with words, it's more powerful when shown through our actions.

 

My daughter was asking me if I would express my love for her through action. Gratefully, twenty years after she posed this challenging question, I'm happy to say that she's known my love through actions like hugs, presence and family support.

 

I've not yet had to give her my actual heart to prove my love. Because as many dads will tell you, my heart is already hers — it has been since the day she was born.

 

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

 

Read past columns on my website, www.thechaplain.net where you can also sign up to receive my column by email. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715. 

 

 

 

 

 

Column for syndication --July 9 2022

Chappie's Choice

 

As a hospice chaplain, the patients I visit aren't always religious people. However, if I sense that they will be receptive of prayer, I give them "the chaplain's choice."

 

"Would you like me to pray aloud for you now, or put you on my list to pray for you at the end of my day?"

 

I express it that way when I'm standing in their homes and don't want to impose my religious timing on them or put them on the spot before their family.

 

Most choose an audible prayer in the moment, but I can recall at least two octogenarians who countered my offer with a proposal of their own.

 

The first patient leaned forward from her pillow to ask, "Chaplain, do you get paid for this job?"

 

At first, her question seemed to carry the random tone of a dementia patient.

 

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "Hospice pays me for my work."

 

"Well, then," she concluded. "I'll expect both."

 

"I'm sorry — both?" I asked with a confused chuckle that proved me slow on the uptake.

 

"I'm answering your question," she said, eye-twinkle firmly in place. "If you're paid to do this job, you should pray for me now and later."

 

I shook a finger toward her in the way one does when admitting that a worthy opponent has the upper ground.

 

"You got me," I said. "You definitely got me." If she wanted two prayers for the price of one, I would certainly oblige her.

 

The second prayer patient gave a more serious response. His medical condition wasn't critical, but he was nearing 90 and his "heavenly discharge" was more likely with each passing year.

 

With a bald head and small frame, this World War II veteran had a Gandhi look about him and maybe even a touch of Gandhi's spirit.

 

At the end of our visit, I offered the aging Episcopalian a prayer, but he counter-offered with something I've never forgotten.

 

"Tell me, Chappie, does anyone ever offer to pray for you?" The nickname reflected his days in the war.

 

His question told me he was looking outside himself at a time when most patients look, understandably so, inside themselves.

 

"Well, uh …" I stumbled, embarrassed that he'd focused his attention on my needs.

 

"Have you ever had a patient pray for you?" he repeated with special emphasis on "ever."

 

"I guess not."

 

"It's about time, don't you think?" he declared with a wink in his voice.

 

Perhaps he suspected that in my position as a caregiver, I imagined myself above receiving pastoral care from others. Perhaps he saw an attitude in me that said, "I'm here to help people, but I don't need any help."

 

The wise elder found that while facing his own mortality, other people mattered that much more. And most importantly, he knew that the prayers he offered for others could boomerang and become a part of his own healing.

 

As he prayed for my work, my family and my health, I recalled the words of an old spiritual: "It's not my brother, it's not my sister, but it's me, O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer." His prayerful plea multiplied my efforts and helped pay the blessings forward to the remaining patients on my rounds.

 

At the end of the day, I couldn't help but wonder if the old man had found the secret to longevity in Jesus' words: "If your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you'll find both yourself and me" (Matthew 10:39 MSG).

 

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

 

Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715. Read past columns or purchase books at www.thechaplain.net.