Chaplain column for Dec 4 2022

Doggone Chaplain

 

During my years working as a chaplain for Sutter Medical Center in downtown Sacramento, I usually flew solo when making my patient visits.

 

While I was occasionally interrupted by a well-meaning staff member offering an unsolicited prayer, or even an overambitious clergy pressing his or her theology, I was always happy to yield my sacred patient-space to Toby.

 

Like me, Toby preferred to work off leash. That's because he was a therapy dog, a Queensland heeler, a pun not lost on our healing team. He truly liked people of all flavors, having never met a person he wouldn't lick.

 

Part of my weekly duties was to conduct a support group at Sutter SeniorCare,  a daycare support facility for the elderly.

 

One afternoon, I came to the unit to lead my weekly, spiritual-support group, only to be told the group was canceled in favor of a Christmas potluck. Not a bad trade, considering how renown the staff was for its potlucks.

 

As I made my way into the food line, a social worker pulled me aside to tell me that the change in routine had caused a panic attack in one of our elderly patients. Since the woman normally attended my group, the social worker suggested I talk with her.

 

Leaving the food line, I quickly found a woman sitting anxiously near the exit. Her name was Dorothy, as in the "Wizard of Oz." She was drumming her feet repeating the litany, "I want to go home. I want to go home."

 

At my appearance, Dorothy stilled momentarily to ask whether we were having our group today.

 

Pursing my lips, I tried to explain, "No, we're having a potluck."

 

Her shaking prayer resumed as her eyes took leave of the conversation.

 

"We can still sing our hymns," I said, coaxing her back into our exchange. "Nothing is stopping us from singing."

 

She tossed a glance through the noisy crowd.

 

"We can still sing — just you and I," I said, excusing myself to search for a hymnal.

 

When I returned with the hymnal, I found Toby warming my chair.

 

What's he doing here? I thought. This is my gig. I didn't need a dog sticking his wet nose in my clerical business.

 

Yet, as I watched, the woman extended a shaky-hand greeting for Toby. Toby responded by wrapping his tongue around her hand like a kid's tongue encircling an ice cream cone on a sweltering day.

 

Slowly, Dorothy's frown transformed into an upturned smile as she took a firm grip on Toby's collar. Hesitantly, and despite the fact that I had been seriously upstaged, I started to see the wisdom in letting Toby take the lead.

 

When I opened the hymnal and asked Dorothy what she wanted to sing, she replied, "Amazing Grace."

 

"Yes. It certainly is amazing," I allowed as my hand connected with hers to discover

Toby's ability to lick a double scoop. During the next 15 minutes, we sang one duet after another. Between songs, I couldn't help but notice a calmness permeate the woman's spirit as she hugged Toby's neck a little tighter.

 

Her joy was beginning to spring forth from this connection — first in drips and then in gushes. By the time we sang our last song and pinched our last pie crumb, Dorothy walked herself to her waiting bus, finally answering her original prayer to go home.

 

People ask me all the time whether they have to attend church to worship God. No, you don't have to go to a building to worship God, but Dorothy and I reaffirmed the wisdom in the biblical promise that God will be present any place "two or three are gathered" (Matt. 18:20).

 

In that afternoon, Dorothy and I were two people gathered together and, even though Toby made us an iffy threesome, our worship connected us with our creator and renewed our strength. God's handprint of love, if not Toby's paw print, became evident for all to see.

 

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Please read past columns on my website, www.thechaplain.net. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

 

 

 

Chaplain column for Thanksgiving weekend

Searching for a Sign

 

I hope you saw the signs. I trust you are ready. Sunday is the first day of Advent.

  

Yes, it's still November, but all the signs point to the coming of Christmas. Retail saw it coming but doesn't respect the start date.

 

Advent is all about reading the signs.

While Advent candles introduce symbolic hints of hope, peace, love, and joy, we humans often search for other tangible signs.

 

That search was one I commonly observed while working as a pediatric hospital chaplain (2001-2008). One of the most vivid examples I recall was a family I met in our pediatric unit as they sat with their daughter, Laci.

 

"The doctors never expected her to live more than a few hours," Laci's dad told me, "but now she's six months old."

 

Placing a pacifier in his baby's mouth he said, "I knew different. God gave me a sign."

 

"Tell me more," I said.

 

In the next few minutes, the doting dad described the fretful prayer he'd voiced in the hospital garden moments after hearing the poor prognosis.

 

"When I finished praying," he said, "a butterfly fluttered around me, and I knew it must be a sign."

 

"Yes," Laci's mother added. "And God must be watching her because now we see butterflies everywhere.

 

"It even happened again yesterday."

 

"Again?" I asked.

 

"I was talking with a friend by phone," she explained. "My friend has a picture of Laci on her desk. Suddenly my friend said, 'Oh wow, a butterfly just landed on Laci's picture.'"

 

"Chaplain," Laci's mom whispered, "I'd never told my friend about the butterfly sign."

 

Like Laci's parents, many of us seek a sign from God to answer our questions during desperate times.

 

"Please, God," we'll ask, "if you want me to marry this woman, let it rain tomorrow." Or in another instance, maybe we'll wonder if a cloud or piece of toast really resembles the face of Jesus.

 

When people ask me if God can speak to them through signs, incidents or dreams, I'll sometimes tell them, "I suppose God can speak through Barry Manilow if you're listening, but there is a more important question.

 

"How does the sign make you feel? Hopeful? Or anxious?"

 

If the feeling is one of desperation or anxiety, I challenge them to consider whether they might be creating the sign out of their own need.

 

When someone is creating a sign out of their own need, they'll use the sign to insist on getting their desired outcome. Worse yet, they'll imply that others aren't spiritual if they don't see their sign as proof of God's involvement.

 

However, if the sign is really a "God thing," as I've also heard it described, then it will inspire you. You will feel hopeful and peaceful. The sign won't prove you're getting your way, but it should be convincing proof that you are not alone.

 

The Christmas story tells me we aren't alone. It's the sign the angels gave the shepherds in bright neon with surround sound.

 

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

 

"And this shall be a sign unto you, you will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

 

By the way, I followed Laci through three more hospitalizations and was privileged to witness all the signs of a healthy development.

 

As for Laci's dad, he kept repeating what Joseph likely said of his son, "What a wonder!"

 

 

 

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"No Small Miracles" is Chaplain Norris' book about his pediatric chaplaincy. It is available on Amazon or at www.thechaplain.net. Contact him at comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

Chaplain's Column -- Nov 18 2022

The End is NOT Near

 

First, comes Halloween.

 

Then we have the election season.

 

Coincidence? I think not.

 

Seriously, some of the candidates characterized the state of our nation in absolutely ghoulish terms. It's as if they wanted us to believe that electing their opponent would bring the Zombie Apocalypse.

 

Wow. If that's true, all I can say is, "Yippee-ki-yay! Grab your family and friends. Come to the show early and don't forget your Halloween candy bags!"

 

This year, politicians managed to bring first-rate entertainment, especially by evoking religious imagery to make their opponent sound like the Antichrist himself.

 

If your Bible still sits under your yellowed TV guide, you'll need to recall that "…  the Antichrist refers to people prophesied by the Bible to oppose Jesus Christ and substitute themselves in Christ's place …" (Wikipedia).

 

So why is it that politicians employ this catastrophic, earth-ending language?

 

I think it's because they know that most of us, in ways we don't like to admit, love disaster entertainment, first popularized through movies like "The Poseidon Adventure" (1972) and "Twister" (1996).

 

That sort of thinking is called "catastrophizing."

 

Catastrophizing is when someone assumes the worst will happen. Often, it involves exaggerating your difficulties or imagining new ones.

 

And particularly when it comes to elections, we love to catastrophize – even when it's not true.

 

Consider the most explosive issue of this election year, the overturn of Roe v. Wade (1973). I think you'd have to admit that the reversal didn't inaugurate the second coming of Christ any more than the 1973 decision brought the Antichrist.

 

But talking about the end of the world remains an undeniable way of getting someone's attention.

 

Jesus demonstrated that in the 21^st chapter of the Gospel of Luke when he told his disciples that future days would bring earthquakes, famines and plagues.

 

Their faces turning a shade paler, the breathless followers asked, "When will all that bad stuff happen?"  

 

It shook them up to hear about the locusts and plagues but lean in closer and you'll hear Jesus slip in an unexpected detail. In verse 16 he says that the day was coming when they'd "be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends."

 

Who was he talking about?

 

Well, most immediately, I suspect Jesus was considering Judas, who, at this point, was staring at his sandals kicking up dust.

 

But it's in verse 15 where Jesus' words might have a message for us voters who catastrophize nearly every issue. Notice that Jesus promises, "I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict."

 

He knew that there'd always be fortunes to be made by capitalizing on demise, death and destruction, but he promised our faith would contain answers.

At the risk of making today's column into a Bible study, I refer you back to a little talk Jesus conducted on a hillside, usually referred to as the "Sermon on the Mount."

In Matthew 6:34, he gives great advice to those who tend to catastrophize too much.

1. "Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now." 

2. "Don't get worked up (or catastrophize) about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes"  (The Message translation).

So my chaplain word for today is, "We're gonna be OK." Somewhere between minimizing our problems and catastrophizing our situation, we will figure this out.

And while we're figuring it out, you can find me eating the leftover Halloween candy and blowing up to the size of an inflatable Santa Claus.

Alas, I suppose I'm just catastrophizing. See you next week.

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Please read past columns on my website, www.thechaplain.net. Send comments to comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

 

Replace the word "jet" with “fighter planes

The 8^th paragraphs currently says, "Suddenly the air space lit up with fire from German Luftwaffe jets and Smith's plane took massive amounts of flak and fire."

 

 

No jets flew at that time. Replace the word "jet" with "fighter planes"

 

Chaplain's Column --Vet Day 2022

Honoring the Airman Snuffy in All of Us

 

If you're a military veteran, you've likely met an Airman Snuffy.

 

"Snuffy" is a condescending term that military instructors use to describe the hapless, clueless or lazy recruit who's constantly on the verge of trouble.

 

The name comes from a long-running comic strip, Barney Google and Snuffy Smith. Snuffy is a diminutive, rough hillbilly type living in the remote countryside.

 

So why mention him on this Veterans Day weekend?

 

Well, turns out Snuffy was the nickname for a real World War 2 hero, Staff Sgt. Maynard Harrison Smith, aka "Snuffy Smith."

 

Maynard Smith was a rich, 31-year-old civilian brat draining his inheritance when he was arrested for failing to pay child support.

 

When the presiding judge sentenced him to military service, he "volunteered" to become an aerial gunner because the dangerous job brought instant promotion with advanced pay. However, the rigors of basic training had little effect on the ne'er-do-well, and his insubordination put him constantly on report.

 

Nevertheless, on May 1, 1943, Smith flew his first combat mission as a gunner in a B-17 bomber over Saint-Nazaire, France. The sortie was uneventful until the lead plane got lost, accidently leading the formation over Brest, France.

 

Suddenly the air space lit up with fire from German Luftwaffe jets and Smith's plane took massive amounts of flak and fire.

 

Smith describes the moment:  "At this point, I had lost my electrical controls and I knew something was wrong. I manually cranked the thing [his gun] around, opened the armored hatch and got back in the airplane when I saw it was on fire. The radioman became excited and jumped out the window without a parachute."

 

Military.com writer and veteran combat photographer Blake Stilwell describes how "Nazi guns ripped through the fuel tanks and started a massive fire in the aircraft. Smith grabbed a fire extinguisher and started fighting the fire in the tail section.

 

"In between tending the wounded, he manned the port .50-cal and then the starboard one, keeping the fighters at bay."

 

The battle lasted 90 minutes with another 80 minutes for the return flight to England, where the plane broke in half on the runway.

 

Seven planes failed to return to base, and 93 airmen died that day.

 

The pilot of Smith's plane gave credit to Smith for being "solely responsible for the return of the aircraft and the lives of everyone aboard."

 

For his actions, Smith was awarded the Medal of Honor.

 

However, according to reports in "The Stars and Stripes," leadership failed to inform Smith of the presentation. So with the band in place and the Secretary of War waiting at the podium, a search party was sent to find the war hero.

 

They located Snuffy Smith scraping leftovers from breakfast trays, forced to serve kitchen duty for disciplinary reasons.

It was obvious then, and later, that the medal wouldn't change him much.

 

Snuffy was discharged with what we'd call PTSD, and he was again late with child support payments. Some years later, he was jailed for filing a phony police report after faking the rescue of a woman. Another time, the FDA raided his apartment to confiscate the potion he was selling, guaranteed to restore "lost manhood."

 

As he aged, Snuffy embellished his story to claim he took over for the critically injured pilot and flew the plane back to England, even though he had never flown before.

 

Why close this inspiring story with such a sad ending?

 

Because I believe all vets proudly share some attributes of Snuffy. There were times we were hapless, unsure and confused. But when the time came to do our job, we answered the call of our country and offered our lives.

 

The late Andy Rooney, fellow airman and a better columnist than I, says it best in his book, "My War."

 

"He was called "Snuffy" Smith because he had an undistinguished personality, and no one thought there was anything at all heroic about Snuffy until the day he saved the lives of six of the men on board his B-17 after it was hit by German fighter planes.

 

"Like "Snuffy" Smith, most heroes are unlikely. They aren't heroic on purpose.

 

"Perhaps," Rooney concluded, "no one was more surprised that Snuffy Smith had become a hero to the Air Force and a household name back in America than the disheveled little man himself."

 

Staff Sgt. Maynard Smith, aka "Snuffy Smith" died on May 11, 1984, and was buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

 

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Chaplain Norris' book "Hero's Highway" is 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.

 

Content in this column was taken from the following websites:

www.military.com www.af.mil, www.nationalmuseum.af.mil, and www.arlingtoncemetery.com. https://www.historynet.com

 

 

 

Chaplain's Column --4 Nov 2022

Spewing Honesty

 

To be honest, I hate to hear someone begin a sentence with, "To be honest."

 

The phrase seems to say, "Get ready, I'm really going to let you have it."

Nevertheless, to be honest, I really, really hate coffee.

 

I know hate is a strong word coming from a spiritual columnist, but I think it's best to be straightforward here.

 

I'll say it again: I hate coffee. I find the aroma revulsive. I won't consume anything with coffee flavoring in it like ice cream, cake or tiramisu.

 

Yet last month in Jackson, Tenn., I accepted an invitation for coffee from Rev. Mary Beth Eberle, pastor of Grace United Methodist Church. Our meet up was a grip-and-grin, a get-to-know each other before my scheduled Saturday-night talk.

 

I wasn't immediately forthcoming with my distaste for the bean. I'd accepted her hospitality because coffee shops also serve iced tea, hot chocolate, or my favorite- a blended ice chai. And she did say she was buying.

 

So the next day while waiting in line at this downtown coffee shop, I allowed as to how I wasn't much of a coffee drinker. This news seemed unforeseen to her since we were standing in a java joint.

 

"I assume they have tea, yes?" I asked Mary Beth.

 

"They do," she said. Then she ordered coffee for herself and a black unsweetened iced tea for me. She generously paid for a refill in advance.

As we talked, I quickly drained the modest cup and signaled to the friendly and not-too-busy barista for my refill.

 

A few minutes later, over the noise of a coffee grinder, the barista announced, "Iced tea refill." Then he slid my cup across the counter to await pickup by the witless chaplain.

 

I grabbed the cold cup, but before sitting down took a giant gulp of something that was NOT iced tea.

 

"Coffee! Yuck!" My protests echoed off the stone walls, startling folks who were quietly working or visiting.

"I HATE coffee!" I said, spitting honesty with a rapid-fire "eww!"

 

The bitter brew was the most coffee I'd had in my mouth since tasting it as a child. Back then, I spit it out, but there were too many witnesses to do the spew again.

 

I had no choice. I swallowed it. I'd have rather swallowed the backwash of my own heartburn.

 

The barista came quickly around the counter, gushing an honest apology for accidently giving me an iced coffee.

 

By then, I'd measured the embarrassment I'd publicly caused myself, and began my own apology for the scene I'd made, a grown man choking on coffee inside a reputable java shop.

 

The barista quickly replenished my iced tea, helping me squelch my overflowing protest.

 

"To be honest," I said, "I hate coffee."

 

"Yeah," he said, "I gathered that."

 

I'm glad we could be honest with one another.

 

But the incident reminded me that I can't let honesty cross over into rudeness. Honesty can't be an excuse to slice and dice one another.

 

Honesty isn't just the absence of lying, cheating, theft, etc. And it has to be more than telling the facts.

 

It must include awareness of other people and respect for them.  My outburst truly lacked both.

 

So the next time I'm tempted "to be honest," I hope I'll pause a moment to consider the biblical advice of James 1:26:

 

"Those who consider themselves religious (or honest) and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless."

 

Easy for him to say. I'll bet James never had coffee.

 

……..

 

Finally, if you want to taste some of the best coffee in the world, come to Honduras next year to help Chispa Project start a library. Our volunteers not only carry home a sense of satisfaction, but often a 50lb suitcase full of coffee. See
www.chispaproject.org/volunteertrip (February 12 – 19 or March 12 – 19, 2023).

 

And if you'd like me to come speak in your town, please email me. I promise I'll behave. comment@thechaplain.net or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or via voicemail (843) 608-9715.