May 3 - 5 column

Religious Fashion Doesn't Impress God

 

I sometimes receive emails from readers telling me they love my columns so much they read them to their Bible study group.

 

It's a nice compliment, but on the other hand, I work hard to make this column about spirituality in everyday life, not just Sunday school life.

 

I want it to appeal to those who are unconnected or disconnected to church. And because of that I encourage editors to place me on the community pages or the Living section and off the church page.

 

And please, keep me as far as possible from the fashion pages. I'm definitely not a fashionable guy.

 

But if I was writing a fashion column, I'd tell you about my trip last week through the St. Louis airport where I saw men of various ages dressed in, well, I-don't-know-what.

 

I saw a young man with trousers riding low enough to qualify him for entrance into the Plumbers Union. I saw old men wearing pants high enough to double as a face mask. And of course, more than enough middle-aged men wearing sweatpants to accommodate their growing bellies. 

 

The fashion didn't improve much on the plane, where I sat across from a girl with fingernails painted traffic-cone orange. She was prewired to her phone and didn't notice me.

 

With so many fashion-challenged children of God, airport crowds do make a good segue. Cue Bible study.

 

That's because the airport crowd reminded me of the one Jesus likely encountered as he walked into a city looking to recruit a Band of Brothers who would change the world.

 

Like me, he was a people-watcher, just not as smug as me. Go figure. 

 

Unlike me, he had a keen eye for the quality of the soul over the quality of the fabric, the cut of a man's character over the cut of his shirt. 

 

This is the Jesus used to quickly single out an eager young recruit named Phillip who followed him without so much as blinking. 

 

Exhilarated at being chosen, Phil found his bud, Nathanial, and begged him to come and meet the teacher from Nazareth. 

 

"Nazareth?" Nat rightly exclaimed, "You've got to be kidding." 

 

No, Phil wasn't kidding. 

 

"Come see for yourself," he challenged. 

 

Upon meeting Nathanial, Jesus quickly pronounced, "Now, here's the real deal. Not a false bone in his body." 

 

Nat, not easily moved by flattery, asked, "Where'd you get that idea? You don't know me." 

 

Nat was partially right. The two had never been formally introduced, but Jesus had observed Nathanial on several occasions where he sat under a fig tree, deep in thought.

 

It was obvious to Jesus that there was something different about Nat. 

 

What was it? 

 

The best translation of the scripture says that Nat was a man "without guile." That means he didn't try to hide who he was. He didn't demonstrate any pretense in his choice of clothing, friends or mannerisms.

 

"Why not?" you ask. 

 

Well, it's not because he was intrinsically happy with who he was. He knew he was not completely accessorized, so he was willing to undertake a fearless inventory of his soul closet. 

 

And I think it was his self-awareness about truly lacking something that made him a prime candidate on the first-round draft pick for a disciple.

 

In that moment, Nathanial discovered the most profound truth of all: God is always able to pick us out of the crowd. But, he sees us best when we lay aside our pretense and all the religious fashion that goes with it.

 

Next week, I return to regular programming in the everyday life sections.

 

And, just to be clear, if this were a fashion column, I surely wouldn't be the author.

 

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Readers: I return to Honduras next month to help establish the 86^th library for Chispa Project. As of this date, the library isn't fully funded.

 

Can you help us reach our goal to create six new libraries this year, reach 4,000+ more students and 200 teachers and buy 9,000 new books? Every $100 donation will provide library access to four children.

 

Give online today at Chispaproject.org/chaplain or make check to "Chispa Project." Send to 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comment@thechaplain.net or message at (843) 608-9715. www.thechaplain.net.

 

 

 

 

April 26-28 column

What's In a Name?

 

Do you know anyone whose last name appropriately describes them?

 

Such names are called an aptronym because their name "aptly" matches their job or personality in a humorous or ironic way.

 

During the years I served as an Air Force chaplain, I knew a few chaplains fittingly named. For instance, Chaplain Grace was a Universalist minister whose theology extended grace to all. And Chaplain Love was a caring and popular Catholic priest.

 

But it was 2^nd Lieutenant Friend, who tried a little too hard to become his aptronym, that really made an impression. I met him 35 years ago when I began my career as a 1^st Lieutenant. 

 

He was a "Chaplain Candidate," a seminary student, who is granted the rank of 2^nd Lieutenant for a 90-day trial period. The program provides on-the-job orientation for potential chaplains.

 

"Just try it," candidates are told by recruiters. "You can quit anytime without further commitment."

 

But if candidates don't show the aptitude, the USAF can jettison the "butter bar" with little cause. In other words, the candidate can be "fired." (The single gold bar of the 2^nd Lieutenant rank resembles a butter bar.)

 

During his short summer stay, Friend was given the opportunity to preach in the chapel, make ministry visits on a busy flightline (airport) and make hospital calls to sick airmen.

 

Friend made his aptronym known all over base, introducing himself as a "Friend of Jesus." He was, as vets say, "Living the Dream."

 

Yet with all his responsibilities, he sought more recognition.

 

One summer day, he approached our boss with a question.

 

"Is there a way I can earn a medal while I'm here?"

 

"No, we don't give out medals to candidates," said our Senior Chaplain, a full-bird colonel (the rank below general).

 

The request must have sounded a bit self-centered because the boss asked his chapel staff for feedback on Friend.

 

"He told me that parishioners think he's the best chaplain on base," I said, "and they wish he was preaching every Sunday."

 

Our staff priest volunteered that Friend had interrupted flight line staff meetings with his tardiness.

 

Finally, the chaplain assistants chimed in. "He thinks chaplains should be able to carry guns like other officers."

 

"I'll talk to him about that," our boss said. "He should know that the Geneva Convention classifies chaplains as non-combatants so we can neither train with, nor carry, weapons." (Chaplain Assistants remain armed in combat zones to protect their chaplains.)

 

Sadly, I'm not sure Friend got clarity about the weapons training prohibition. That's because one day, he returned to the chapel office with a blue-yellow-green ribbon on his chest.

 

"What's that for?" I asked.

 

"It's a Small Arms Expert Marksmanship Ribbon," Friend boasted. "I stopped by the range, and they invited me to qualify."

 

Before I could respond, the boss bellowed from his office.

 

"Lieutenant Friend! Get in here."

 

I don't know what our boss said. Perhaps he quoted Jesus' words in Luke 14:11, "For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled…."  Or maybe he made his point with James 4:10, "Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up."

 

I can't say, but I do know the boss delivered some not-so-friendly-fire on the candidate's written evaluation. Sometimes the best spiritual lessons don't come in lectures.

 

A few weeks later, the colonel brought that eval to the Base Headquarters for the commander's signature.

 

"Is this report true?" the base commander asked. "Did your candidate really say and do all this?"

 

"Yes, but I think he deserves another chance next summer," said our boss, always full of grace.

 

"Not on my base," said the commander.

 

And with that final word, our chaplain office became…

 

Wait for it.

 

You know I'm going to say it.

 

Our chapel office became forever Friend-less.

 

 

Epilogue – Fifteen years later, I was scolded for nearly the same thing as I helped security cops on a training mission load their magazines with blanks. Fortunately, I was a commissioned chaplain, not a candidate.

 

Send email to comment@thechaplain.net or voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Order my latest book "Tell It To the Chaplain" by sending $20 to same address or online at www.thechaplain.net.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 19 -21 column

The Pantless Chaplain

 

Whenever I meet fellow veterans, we'll often engage in some good-natured ribbing. I set up the first joke by announcing that I'm an Air Force vet, which inevitably invokes the response, "Oh, you mean you're a 'Chair Force' vet." 

 

I understand that nickname because Air Force members occupy a lot of chairs doing heavily technical work in places like the Space Force and Cyber Command.

 

I first met those seat-techies in 1994 while on my first active-duty assignment at Onizuka Air Force Station in Sunnyvale, Calif.

 

Declassified that same year, Onizuka was dubbed the "Blue Cube" because of its shape, color and lack of windows. Outside the cube, sat three parabolic dish antennas that the chair jockeys in blue jumpsuits used for "flying" military satellites.

 

A few miles away, I sat in a chair in our chapel offices on Moffett Field, a Navy base acquired by the Air Force that same year. My workday often included planning worship, counseling and meeting with our staff.

 

In these days before 9/11, chaplains, like most military officers, wore  a simple uniform of sky-blue shirt and dark-blue Poly/Wool pants that resemble blue Dockers. We called the ensemble our "Blues." Add the rank, name tag and a Protestant cross, and I became an instant chaplain.

 

It was the same uniform I'd worn for monthly weekend duty as a USAF Reservist, so I quickly mastered the routine for daily wear.  We had no one inspecting us for proper haircuts, uniforms or shoe shining. We were all friends and "trusted professionals."

 

With a 7:30 a.m. daily start, I'd often suit up in my darkened bedroom on summer mornings, leaving the exhausted mother of our four children asleep.

 

Early one morning I decided to bypass office work to make a few visits around the cube. I walked through classified work areas introducing myself and giving an encouraging word. I returned to the office before lunch with a feeling that I had done some good chaplain-type work.

 

"Good," that is until I was greeted by Janet, our chapel manager and Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge (NCOIC).

 

Janet was a law-and-order manager, good with regulations and policies. She had a sharp eye for detail that helped her chaplains stay sharp too.

 

I knew something was up when she asked, "What are you wearing today, Chaplain?"

 

Her question sent me inspecting my shirt for uneaten breakfast.

 

"Look farther down," she said.

 

Forget the friendly "Chair Force." I was beginning to feel like a recruit standing before his drill instructor.

 

Finally, unable to hold her snicker, she said, "Those can't be your uniform pants."

 

"Why?" I asked, still staring at my well-creased blue pants.

 

"They look more like Levi Dockers® than official Air Force Blues."

 

Suddenly I was the picture of patriotism – a red face on a white man wearing blue pants.

 

She was right. In my haste to dress in my darkened room, I'd donned my Levi's Ultimate Chino Straight Fit instead of my Air Force Poly/Wool pants.

 

There's no telling how many airmen on my morning rounds noticed Dockers on their new chaplain. But just like the people in Hans Christian Andersen's fable, "The Emperor's New Clothes," they'd said nothing.

 

But the sergeant, like the little boy of the story, was the only one brave enough to call out her proud chaplain for his "nakedness."

 

I tried minimizing my mistake with the adage, "No one's perfect. We all put our pants on one leg at a time."

 

"Still," she said, "Perhaps chaplains ought to heed the Jesus protocol and 'Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect'" (Matthew 5:48).

 

But, but…" I stammered as she reloaded.

 

"And I think even Jesus might tell you that perfection begins with first choosing the right pants."

 

And with that, I returned home to change pants. My argument no longer had a leg to stand on.

 

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Send email to comment@thechaplain.net or voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Order my latest book "Tell It To the Chaplain" by sending $20 to same address or online at www.thechaplain.net.

 

 

 

April 12 - 14 column

 Lost in the Translation

 

Anytime I tell people that I'm a chaplain, I can never be sure they understand the title, much less spell it. (I'm not a Chaplin, like Charlie.)

 

Some people think a chaplain is just like a church pastor. Some think chaplains are exclusive to the military. Some assume chaplains are always Christians.

After I encourage them to disavow these assumptions, they still aren't sure what chaplains do.

 

Chaplains serve in many roles, but during the years I was fully employed as a hospital chaplain, I often told folks that I was a religious translator. When they cocked their heads for better understanding, I offered this story.
 
In the early 1990s, I was working at Houston Northwest Medical Center when I found the ICU nurse manager, Grace Heffron, madly flipping through a patient's chart.
 
Grace was five feet three inches of green-eyed Italian. She charged her work with a no-nonsense approach and didn't fancy interruptions. Nevertheless, I asked her to suggest which patients might need to see a chaplain.
 
Grace shot me a look over the top of her glasses. She didn't see her job as birddogging problem-patients for me.
 
"How about bed number two," she suggested. Her voice was baited with East Coast sarcasm, but I bit nevertheless.
 
"Why, what's going on?"
 
"Oh, nothing really," she said, her volume increasing. "Nothing except for a bill passing two million and their religious family is calling us 'liars.'"
 
"That actually makes some sense," I said.

Grace slapped the chart down. None of it made sense to her.

 

"Give me a few minutes and I'll come back to say more."
 
Having her undivided but somewhat undesired attention, I retreated into the patient's room to find a 75-year-old man, suffering from a massive stroke and nearly brain-dead. Now, sixty days after admission, he was on a ventilator and radiated a nauseous aroma from multiple bedsores.
 
His daughters greeted me with suspicion, but when I offered a prayer, they instantly raised their open-palmed hands and began shouting a prayer something like this:
 
"God, we believe you've already healed our father! These doctors are liars. Our father will walk again because Romans 3:4 says, 'Let God be true but every man a liar!'"
 
It's a bit disconcerting to hear people quote the Bible back to God. It's as if they found a contractual loophole that forces God to act as they say.
 
Nonetheless, I quickly recognized their prayers were coming from "Word of Faith" theology. So after the final amen, I excused myself to the nurses' station. Grace had obviously overheard the prayer because she was fit with her best told-you-so expression.
 
"I don't think they are literally calling you liars," I said.
 
Grace leaned forward, so I offered more.
 
"They come from a faith tradition better known by the less flattering terms of 'name-it-and-claim-it' or 'Prosperity Gospel.' It's a Pentecostal-like group that believes a miracle only has a chance to work when believers publicly proclaim the desired outcome to be true; despite it being obvious to all others that it isn't true.
 
"J­ust think of it as a coarse expression of Norman Vincent Peale's Positive Thinking," I said. "The word 'liar' is a faith expression."
 
With Grace starting to see the connection, I offered a translation. "I know it's like trying to buy a yacht by telling the salesman, 'I'm a millionaire who's waiting for my lotto check to clear the bank,' but they are sincere in their expression."
 
"So what do I do?" she asked. Like most supervisors, she appreciated solutions, not problems.
 
"If you'll listen to the daughters, and not react or take it personally, I think they'll be ready to disconnect life support in a few more days." 
 
When Grace relayed my translation to the nursing staff, they began responding to the daughters with a new understanding. And once they realized that faith finds translation in all different kinds of words and rituals, they were able to obtain consent to remove the patient from life support.

 

Three days after my translation, the daughters held hands, prayed and watched their father go home to his final miracle.

 

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Announcement:

 

Learn more about what chaplains do by ordering my latest book, "Tell it to the Chaplain." Order online or send $20 to 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comment@thechaplain.net or message at (843) 608-9715. www.thechaplain.net.

 

While you're writing a check, consider helping Chispa Project create six new libraries, reach 4,000+ more students and 200 teachers. Your donations are needed to buy 9,000 new books. Every $100 donation will provide library access to four children. Give online today at Chispaproject.org/chaplain or make check to "Chispa Project."

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 5 - 7 column

 Don't Gamble with Faith

 

If no one wins the Powerball this week, the jackpot will skyrocket past $1 billion.

I know the odds are terribly impossible, but maybe Chaplain Norris's winning numbers can help you win that jackpot.

That's right. Today I will reveal my divinely inspired numbers.

Well, the "divine" claim is probably an overreach, but I do know that if you pick numbers above 31, you're likely to be the sole winner. That's because most people choose their birth dates.

So with that in mind, can I get a drum roll?

Chaplain Norris's winning numbers are 35-40-45-50-55-60. Bonus number 65.

 

Yup, I know choosing numbers in multiples of five may seem whacky, but statistics suggest that the odds never change no matter how many times you play or what numbers you choose. Your winning odds are similar to getting struck by lightning on your birthday two years in a row.

 

Truthfully, you really shouldn't take gambling advice from a chaplain. Unless it's "Don't gamble!"

 

But the whole lotto game provides some analogy for the way folks choose the right kind of faith.

 

Why is it that we sometimes think faith is all about luck?

 

We seek out the nearest weeping statue and drive hundreds of miles to light a candle. We say a prayer and hope a god in a good mood hears it.

 

Sometimes we search for faith like we are playing scratch cards. We scratch at the deep questions of faith, hoping to come up with a win.

 

Still others rely on some lucky combination that their grandfather passed along to them. "My granddaddy prayed for my grandmother inside that church, and she was healed, so I guess it's a winner."

 

Yet, still others rely on the big-spin approach and take the one they land on. Others see faith like picking the right card out of a newly shuffled deck.

 

And some play faith the way they play a bluffing poker hand, refusing to let anyone see the cards of doubt they hold.

 

The problem with these approaches is they produce a routine of losing, much like those who return each night to the same casino only to lose again.

 

The faith choice made with these methods usually ends up discarded, much like a Lotto ticket on a gas-station driveway.

 

Faith has little to do with winning or losing. Faith is too important to treat with the same glibness  we use to choose our winning numbers. Perhaps it's more about investing in who we are, not about gambling on what we never had.

 

Maybe faith comes about when we invest in the search. We find it inspired by the conversations, the discussions, the questions, and the debates that we have with others. In fact, I believe God prefers honest "searchers" or "questioners," even when they challenge him directly, even when they are unflattering.

 

Jesus suggested faith might well be something compared to a mustard seed. A mustard seed is the tiniest of seeds, yet in ratio, it grows into one of the biggest plants. Faith starts from the smallest beginnings in the hearts of people and produces not a personal profit, but a powerful and personal transformation.

 

Well, all this talk about winning the lottery made me wonder what might happen if I actually bought a ticket. I mean, if I ever bought just one, what might happen?

 

I may never know.

 

But if you do happen to win with my divine numbers, please remember my favorite charity – Chispa Project. I think it's fair to say that any gift can be an investment in faith.

 

Announcement:

 

Let's all place a bet on education. I'm returning to Honduras in June to help Chispa Project create six new libraries, reach 4,000+ more students and 200 teachers. Your donations are needed to buy 9,000 new books.

 

Every $100 donation will buy library access to four children. Give online today at Chispaproject.org/chaplain or make check to "Chispa Project."

 

Send donations or column comments to 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comment@thechaplain.net or message at (843) 608-9715. www.thechaplain.net.