May 31 June 2 column

Searching for Faith Isn't for the Faint of Heart

I'm still on a Baltic Sea cruise this week with Holland America. It's been good sailing, but I carry motion sickness medication just in case.

 

I wonder if that medication would have helped me some years ago when I went to my doctor hoping for a simple steroid shot for the bursitis in my shoulder.

 

(Stop me if I've told you this story before because I think I may have.)

 

As the nurse smeared the injection site with disinfectant and placed a surgical drape over my shoulder, it was clear that this wasn't going to be a plain old shot.

 

To mask my anxiety, I started cracking jokes.

 

"Will this steroid buff me up and help me play amazing baseball?" I asked.

 

The doctor seemed unamused as she began reciting the list of things that could possibly go wrong. It was simple things such as nerve damage, infections and twitching.

 

"Don't worry," she said as I eyed the door, "we've never had a problem."

 

Easy for her to say. She was on the giving end of the 3-inch needle.

 

"Do you mind if I sing a hymn?" I asked.

 

"No, go right ahead," she said.

 

I began to hum, "Shall We Gather at the River?" but her glare suggested that I change that tune.

 

A few moments later, as she began the deep injection, I had a news flash. To be more precise, a hot flash.

 

"Simple" quickly became complicated. "I think I'm going to faint," I said. It felt like severe motion sickness.

 

"Lie down," the doctor advised, "and don't forget to breathe."

 

Breathing wasn't my problem at that moment; it was my hearing that felt impaired. I've always heard that hearing was the last thing to go before you die.

 

Then came a muffled question from the nursing assistant. "Do you feel your heart beating faster?"

 

"I don't think so," I whined as I felt her offering her hand. I'd always heard that in a near-death experience, someone will take your hand and walk you through a tunnel toward the light.

 

"Your pulse is slowing a bit, but don't worry," the doctor reported, "I think you're having a vagal response."

 

"What's a vagal response?" I asked.

 

I didn't hear an immediate answer, so I persisted.

 

"Is that some kind of anaphylactic shock?"

 

I wanted her to know I knew some medical lingo. Anaphylactic shock is a life-threatening condition where blood pressure becomes too low to sustain life.

 

I wondered if it might be the kind of thing that often precipitates near-death experiences.

 

"Lord," I silently prayed, "if this is going to be a near-death deal, please send me back before my column deadline."

 

I was imagining the headline: "Chaplain Reports Existence of God After Near-death Experience."

 

It was definitely Pulitzer-Prize stuff; but as I thought about it, I wasn't sure I was ready for an exclusive with the Holy. So, I nodded to the doctor and pronounced, "We're done here."

 

Nevertheless, I did learn a few things.

 

First, I learned that sometimes the best evidence we have of God's existence is the warm hand of another. Thankfully, this means that God will always have a pulse, even when I don't.

 

Second, I think maybe sometimes we need to allow God to find us through the kindness of others. I was looking for God down that tunnel and, while I didn't see God, I did see someone who showed compassion.

 

In other words, God showed up and she was wearing scrubs.

 

The third thing I learned is the definition of a "vagal response."

 

"A vagal response," my doctor explained as she called me back from the proverbial tunnel of white light, "is pretty much like fainting."

 

"We'll have to try this next week. I'll get you a prescription for Xanax for your anxiety."

 

Wow. I guess searching for faith isn't for the faint of heart.

 

Headline: "Chaplain faints again, misses deadline."

 

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Send comments to 10556 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comment@thechaplain.net or message at (843) 608-9715. Read previous columns or order Norris's books at www.thechaplain.net. 

 

 

 

 

 

Memorial Day column

 

 

Readers: I'm on vacation this week, so I'm retelling a Memorial Day story I wrote five years ago.

 

 

Four Chaplains, One Faith

 

Today, I'm on the Zuiderdam, a Holland America cruise ship, sailing the Baltic Sea enjoying some amazing food and fun entertainment.

 

But sailing in such luxury over Memorial Day gives me a pang of guilt. I can't help but wonder how sparse it was for the men and women of our armed forces who boarded troop ships bound for war.

 

I can't help but wonder what it was like for the "Four Chaplains" of World War II.

 

Their story begins in 1943 on board the USS Dorchester, a 5,649-ton luxury liner converted into a U.S. Army troopship. Heavy with more than 900 men, the ship fell behind its escort off the Greenland coast.

 

Gale-force winds made for a nauseating voyage, according to later reports. Fortunately, among those doing their best to alleviate the discomfort were four chaplains: Father John Washington, the Rev. Clark Poling, Rabbi Alexander Goode and the Rev. George Fox.

 

Like a lot of chaplains on ships, they pulled double duty as activity directors. They organized sing-alongs and talent shows, but mostly they took confessions and held worship services, no matter what their faith.

 

On the evening of Feb. 2, 1943, the ship's captain, concerned over the sightings of three enemy submarines, instructed passengers to wear life jackets to bed. Deep in the ship, the engine heat and overwhelming claustrophobia made it too uncomfortable for those sleeping in the lower decks to follow the order.

 

On Feb. 3 at 12:55 a.m., as the Dorchester approached Greenland, a German periscope sliced through the icy Atlantic waters. An officer aboard the submarine U-223 gave orders to fire a fan of three torpedoes. One decisive hit on the Dorchester's starboard side below the water line killed scores in a searing flash of flames.

 

Troops, some dressed only in their underwear, clambered on deck. Among them were the four chaplains: two Protestant pastors, a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi. Survivors would later recall these men of faith seeking to calm the passengers and organize them into lifeboats.

 

When the chaplains saw many were without life vests, they dug around and found extras to give to the men. They instructed the soldiers to pray as they abandoned their ship and imbued them with courage to remain steadfast in their purpose.

 

Eventually, the chaplains discovered that there just weren't enough life jackets. With the supply depleted, each chaplain removed his own vest and gave it to another man.

The following information comes from the vantage point of those who made it into the lifeboats.

 

"I could hear men crying, pleading, praying," a soldier named William B. Bednar recalled. "I could also hear the chaplains preaching courage. Their voices were the only thing that kept me going."

 

It is said that in the light of the fiery oil, the chaplains were seen standing arm in arm on the ship's deck, leading an interfaith service. Eighteen minutes after the torpedo hit, the Dorchester rolled into the Labrador Sea on its starboard side.

 

In the most published quote of the tragedy, survivor John Ladd called the chaplains' steadfastness as "the finest thing I have seen or hope to see this side of heaven."

It would be the third largest U.S. maritime loss during World War II: 672 men died on the Dorchester, most from hypothermia. Only 230 men saw the sun rise in Greenland.

 

A Memorial Day eulogy 60 years later repeated the sentiment when it recalled the chaplains' act as "Despair caught in hope's grasp. Four chaplains. Two faiths. One God."

 

The nephew of Chaplain Fox, David Fox-Benton, urges us to "Remember, this was 1943. Protestants didn't talk to Catholics back then, let alone either of them talk to a Jew."

 

The chaplains were never eligible for the Medal of Honor since they were never under "direct fire." Therefore, Congress created a special medal in 1960 that praised the chaplains for their "selfless acts of courage, compassion and faith." The award was called the "Chaplain's Medal for Heroism," and it can never be awarded again.

 

I expect to come home next month on a commercial airline. But to those who never made it home from war, let us pledge to never forget.

 

Contact Norris Burkes at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643, Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail 843-608-9715.

 

 

 

May 17 column

But First, Answer Me This

 

"First, I'm curious as to what kind of church you are running up there?" asked a caller to my church office.

 

His was the kind of question I get lately since returning to the pastor role.

 

Most often, callers are like the young mother of three who told me, "I have three churches I'm considering attending, but first I'm asking the pastors to answer some questions."

 

She squashed that ordinal number "FIRST," as if drawing a line in the theological sand.

 

"FIRST, does your church teach tithing?"

 

I assumed she knew most churches encourage donations, but not wanting to scare her off, I was slow to answer. Was she looking for a discount? Or was she searching for a rich church?

 

Some people call the church directly and others find me through my local column. Readers usually leave a voicemail, graciously giving me time to formulate an answer.

 

I played back a message from a man last week wanting to know how he could donate to Chispa Project. I returned the call, excited to tell him about my upcoming trip to Honduras, but he too began with a question.

 

FIRST, "I want to know if angels are able to speak to us."

 

His challenging question made me want to ask, "Can I call a friend? Or ask the audience?"  Maybe I should have said, "Yes. The angels are telling you to donate to Chispa Project at Chispaproject.org/chaplain."

 

Another man saw that I had a woman scheduled to preach while I was away.

 

"FIRST of all, should women really be allowed to preach in church?"

 

I knew he was referring to 1 Timothy 2:12: "I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet" (NIV).

 

Since I assumed he knew I invited the guest pastor, his question seemed more challenging than inquisitory, intoned much like the political questions I get. 

 

"You must FIRST believe that abortion is wrong," suggested a Pro-life advocate. 

 

"Isn't God against homosexuality?" was the message left in a weathered tone. "God FIRST made man and then made woman."

 

"We need to FIRST return prayer to the schools," said one visitor who dared attend without first checking my political pedigree.

 

"God is on the side of Israel!, Shouldn't we all be calling for the destruction of Hamas?" asked one local pastor.

 

I know that many books have been written about all of these issues by good Christians on both sides. I know sincere believers can disagree about things.

 

But I try to discourage those seeking a binary faith of yes-and-no answers by sharing first, the words from The Message in Matthew 22:36-40.

 

"When asked what was the FIRST and most important of all of God's laws,

Jesus said, 'Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence.' This is the most important, the first on any list.

 

"But there is a second to set alongside it: 'Love others as well as you love yourself.' These two commands are pegs; everything in God's Law and the Prophets hangs from them."

 

I know I didn't answer most of my callers as they would have hoped. But perhaps once I've mastered Jesus' list, I'll have better responses to their questions.

 

Finally, my best call began last week, with "FIRST, I think your new picture makes you look like Jean-Luc Picard."

 

Of course, as a Trek fan, I knew he was referring to Patrick Stewart, the fictional captain of the USS Enterprise-D in Star Trek: The Next Generation.

 

I felt a bit affronted as Stewart is totally bald. I'm not – yet.

 

Should I allow this caller to make the final cut for our church membership? Stay tuned.

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Readers: I return to Honduras next month to help establish the 86^th library for Chispa Project. Honestly, we'll need some big last-minute donations to fully fund this library.

 

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.

 

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Mother's Day weekend column 2024

Mother's Day Trivia Game

 

I have a great trivia question to start Mother's Day weekend.

 

Do you remember who made famous the catchphrase, "Let's be careful out there"?

 

If you guessed Michael Conrad playing Sergeant Phil Esterhaus in the TV show "Hill Street Blues" (1981-1987), you'd be half right. Esterhaus, the desk sergeant, sent his officers onto the street with a heartfelt, "Let's be careful out there."

 

Why is this a Mother's Day trivia question? Because it's a little-known fact that TV writers got that phrase from my mom.

 

That's right. At least twice a week during my adolescence, Mom sent me out into the world telling me, "Be careful out there."

 

Your mom probably said the same thing too, but I'm sure you didn't reply with the sarcasm I did.

 

"Be careful of what, Mom?" I'd ask. "Be specific. Are you telling me I can't walk the freeway to school anymore?

 

"Why do I have to be careful? I promised my buddies I'd drive them to the beach so we can swim with the sharks."

 

I'm sure she got my point. Her admonition was short of specific tips so it wasn't going to significantly change my plans to do stupid things.

 

Nevertheless, she'd send me out with a smile, rebuffing my sarcasm, saying, "Just be careful!, OK?"

 

Still, I loved her concern. She spoke as a person of faith and her warning to "be careful" carried the sentiment of the Apostle Paul.

 

Whether you consider yourself to be religious or not, I think there's good motherly advice in Paul's letter to the church at Ephesus, asking congregants to "Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise."

 

The passage continues with astonishing specificity, naming four goals to living wisely. (Ephesians 5:15-20)

 

First, from verse 18, "Don't drink too much wine. That cheapens your life."

 

My mom, a Baptist preacher's wife was definitely a teetotaler. Still, I think she'd like the alternative as it's suggested in The Message – "Drink the Spirit of God, huge drafts of him."

 

The latter half of the verse names a second goal: "Become filled with the Spirit of God."

 

I'm not sure what kind of spirit my mom saw in her youngest child. But I do know she encouraged me to let God reflect the divine image He placed in me. Even today, I know she sees in me "fightings within and fears without," much like the hymn "Just As I Am,"

 

The third goal Paul mentions is  "speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit" (v.19).

 

That's a bit confusing. Are we supposed to sing to one another as if we are characters in a musical?

 

No. I think Paul is saying, "Speak to each other as if God was speaking his love through you."

 

My mom's translation of this – and probably your mom's too -- was, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. But by all means, say nice things!"

 

Finally, verse 20 tells us to be careful that we are "always giving thanks to God for everything."

 

Thank God for everything.  REALLY?

 

No. 

 

Paul's writings, here and elsewhere, emphasize that we take care to maintain the spirit of thanksgiving for all situations, both visible and invisible.

 

On this Mother's Day, I'm thankful that, at age 91, my mom is still around to tell me to be careful with my grammar, my speech and my posture.

 

Which proves my last catchphrase for the day: "There's no place like home." -The Wizard of Oz, 1939.

 

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Readers: I'm grateful that my mom gives $100 a month to support Chispa Project in providing library access to four children. Give online today at Chispaproject.org/chaplain or make check to "Chispa Project."

 

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