Labor Day Weekend 2024 column

Labor Day Reading Needn't be Laborious

 

Labor Day weekend is the time I share my annual book recommendations as well as shamelessly plug my own four books. So if you read only one book this year, read all four of mine.

 

But after that, please read "The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory: American Evangelicals in an Age of Extremism" by Tim Alberta. (Harper Books, 2024.)

 

The title may sound a bit like a political argument, but it recounts the heartfelt struggle by a journalist who suddenly loses his beloved pastor dad. He's honored to preach his father's funeral, but he's soon lambasted by family friends for his journalistic coverage of the political machinery that has crept into the church.

 

The situation sends Alberta on a journey to understand the tension between his professional responsibilities as a journalist and his deeply personal, conservative, Christian faith.

 

The book's main strength is Alberta's storytelling. Each chapter employs biblical insight and shares stories of everyday pastors who struggle to understand their role in contemporary politics.

 

Spoiler alert:  Alberta deeply believes that God calls his followers to obey Jesus, not politicians. His conclusions are so biblically-based that I read the last chapter aloud as my sermon a few months back.

 

Also mentioned in some of my past sermons is the book "An Immense World," by Pulitzer Prize-winning science journalist, Ed Yong.

 

The book challenged my human-centric perspective, the tendency to limit my views to only what I personally can make out with my own eyes.

 

Yong bases his book on the Umwelt Concept, a theory that differentiates how creatures perceive their environs in ways that are often unimaginable to humans.

 

For example, bats use echolocation to navigate in complete darkness, while certain fish can detect electric fields in the water. These abilities demonstrate the vast diversity of sensory experiences across the animal kingdom.

 

By simplifying complex scientific concepts, Yong makes them understandable for readers of all backgrounds. Anecdotes and interviews with researchers bring the science to life, highlighting the astonishing diversity of perception in the animal kingdom. 

 

Whether you're a science enthusiast or simply curious about the natural world, "An Immense World" is a must-read that will leave you marveling at the unseen wonders of God's world.

 

The next book on my list, "The Demon of Unrest," by Erik Larson, may evoke images of the Jan. 6 attack on the nation's capital and those who sought to circumvent the certification of the electoral college.

 

Well, not quite. But almost.

 

This insurrection began 164 years ago, November 6, 1860, after congress peacefully certified the election results for Abraham Lincoln.

 

Drawing on diaries, secret communiques, slave ledgers and plantation records, the book focuses on a lonely federal fortress in Charleston Harbor: Fort Sumter.

 

The fort becomes a helpless pawn, as South Carolina leads one state after another to secede from the Union. Within six months of the election, the Confederacy opens the Civil War by shelling the U.S. garrison of Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861.

 

At the heart of this battle is Major Robert Anderson, Sumter's commander and a former slave owner sympathetic to the South but loyal to the Union.

 

In the middle of it all, the overwhelmed Lincoln must deal with his double-dealing Secretary of State, William Seward, as he tries to avoid a war that will eventually kill 750,000 Americans.

 

Erik Larson's sharp prose and keen insights have caused me to read all his books. But "Demons of Unrest" is a definite read for anyone interested in how history can repeat itself.

 

After reading these, I hope you'll consider reading one of my books: "Tell it to the Chaplain," "Thriving Beyond Surviving," "Hero's Highway" and "No Small Miracles."

 

Finally, if you happen to be the romantic type, check out Davalynn Spencer's books. This award-winning Christian romance writer has edited my column for 15 years and is clearly a good judge of great writing. 

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For an autographed copy of one of my books, order on my website or send a $20 check to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. ($65 will get you all four books.) Email comments to comment@thechaplain.net or by text or voicemail to (843) 608-9715.

 

 

Aug 23-25 column

Characters Real and Imaginary

 

Back when flip phones were on the cutting edge, I was a police reporter, photographer and religion-page editor for The Cañon City Daily Record newspaper in Colorado. Life was never boring.

 

But I wanted to be a novelist.

 

Writing feature stories assuaged my longing to push a more creative pen, and my newspaper's Back in Time section often had me mining treasures at the local history museum for all sorts of fascinating facts.

 

Like the account of Utes in the 1860s who made off with a settler's child. Mom quickly retrieved her son, trading him for a pan of freshly baked biscuits. Another settler camping along the Arkansas River dropped his sidearm on a rock in his firepit and shot himself to death.

 

Who needs fiction?

 

Evidently, I did, because all those stories from the 1800s primed the pump of my author's heart. I began incubating the historical-fiction series, The Cañon City Chronicles.

 

Gold was never found in Cañon City, but the fertile fields and orchards fed miners at Cripple Creek, Leadville and elsewhere. And the gold that mattered most trickled down mountain ravines in yellow aspen and shone in the character of hearty souls who peopled the town.

 

Such background details made it into my first book in the series, "Loving the Horseman." So did the bit about the guy who shot himself.

 

Over time, the fictional Hutton family developed against the backdrop of actual local events like the Royal Gorge Wars and the Bone Wars. One book mentions Old Mose, a famous rogue grizzly, and focuses on moving pictures, or flickers, filmed in the area in the early 1900s.

 

Most of the characters in these books are people I've cooked up on my own. But others sneak up on me when I'm not looking, leaving me with the sense that I've met them before and just can't remember when or where.

One such character fits the latter category—a little cowboy named Kip. 

 

He's the youngest of three brothers, the tag-along. The one who gets left out more often than not.

 

Recently, I realized where I'd met Kip, though that wasn't his real name. He was a student from my other life as a sixth-grade teacher—my Dandelion Cowboy.

 

Each morning he'd line up in front of my classroom with the rest of the first-period students. Except he wasn't much like the rest of the students.

In his Wranglers and scuffed cowboy boots, he didn't dress like the others. 

 

A towhead among dark-haired children, he quietly stuck out in spite of how much he tried not to.

 

But in the spring when the dandelions sprouted, he was often at the front of the line with a short-stemmed bouquet and a shy smile.

 

The little cowboy was a loner. A throwback, perhaps, from a long line of those who prefer the company of their horse and a good view of the herd.

 

I didn't realize he was Kip until after the fact. After he'd become a favorite secondary character in books 4, 5 and 6 of my series. 

 

Today when I see a patch of what most people call weeds, I wonder about my Dandelion Cowboy, if he stuck to his ways in spite of the crowd.

 

I like to think he embodies a verse from the New Testament that says, "Obviously, I'm not trying to win the approval of people, but of God" (Galatians 1:10 NLT).

 

And maybe there's a little bit of me in Grace Hutton, the main character from Book 6, when she says of her favorite nephew Kip, "That boy could smile the sun right out of the sky."

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Davalynn Spencer is the author of the award-winning, inspirational Western series, "The Cañon City Chronicles," 14 additional novels and one devotional book for women. Connect with her via her website at www.davalynnspencer.com.

 

Contact Norris by voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or email comment@thechaplain.net. Snail mail received at 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. 

 

 

Aug 16-18 column

Grieving Shouldn't be a Secret

I was 28 years old when the U.S. Air Force sent me to Air University at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Ala., to complete Chaplain Basic Training.

For three weeks, I sat elbow-to-elbow with other young chaplain wannabes.

On my left side sat the first of many chaplain priests I'd befriend.

Yet, almost from the beginning, Father Frank found me deeply disturbing on two levels.

First, he couldn't believe I didn't drink.

For the second problem, he suggested that "A good drink could fix your akathisia."

'What's that?' I asked.

"Akathisia describes a complete inability to sit still."

Fortunately, within a few days, I was able to win Frank over without alcohol.

We shared a lot of laughs, giggling during lectures, passing notes and kicking each other under the table to keep quiet. I began to feel that Catholic priests would likely go to heaven, and he learned that even Baptist teetotalers could be fun.

However, my classmate to my right wasn't as sociable. Bobby kept to himself, looking straight ahead, volunteering little more than his name and religious denomination.

Finally, a few days from the course completion during a lecture on grief, Bobby dropped a bomb.

"I know you probably think I've seemed detached these past several days."

An acapella chorus of "No-duh" rippled through our student body.

"My mother died the day after we arrived."

 

Suddenly, it became quite enough to hear a chaplain cuss, but I just said, "Ah, shoot."

Our class stopped to say a prayer for Bobby. The course director offered him emergency leave, but Bobby refused, holding tight his military bearing.

After class, a few of us invited Bobby to a nearby bar. He declined, so we went without him. 

Inside the bar, we commiserated on Bobby's behalf, noting how tragic it was to lose a family member while so far away from home.

After a few drinks, Frank slammed his hand on the table.

"Bobby didn't trust us," he said. "We sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him all month and he was locked up too tight to share with his clergy brothers."

"Perhaps we could have helped him," said one chaplain.

"How could we?" asked Frank. "He didn't trust us to help him."

"We could have carried his class assignments," suggested one lieutenant. 

"I would have given him my phone card to call his family," I said.

To each idea, Frank pushed back, "If only he had trusted us."

The bar debate eventually found some resolve to reach out to Bobby again the next day.

"Try again." Frank said.

A few years later, I saw Frank at a chaplain's conference, just outside a Denver hotel.

"How you doing, Baptist?" he asked.

The word "fine" came to mind, but thinking of Bobby, I didn't lie. I trusted Frank more than that.

"Not good." I said as my tears splatted the conference-room carpet.

Many readers know the story I told Frank next.

A few months prior, I'd rushed to give solace at a mass shooting scene at Cleveland Elementary school in Stockton, Calif. I was the chaplain who told six parents that their child had been killed.

I fell into the arms Frank extended. He held me and wouldn't let go.

That night, he invited me to join him and two other priests at a local bar –the same opportunity he'd offered Bobby.

As we talked in that dark, private space, I sipped at my Pepsi, feeling a restoration budding in my soul.

During the next few hours, my priestly friends also told their stories of grief. They taught me that grief can't stay in the dark. It must come out or it will never heal.

Why did I choose this week to tell you this story? Because my 90-year-old mother died a few weeks ago and I won't keep that a secret.

She was the most wonderful mother who taught me faith, laughter and love. I want you to know that I feel grief and so should you.

By the way, I finally did take Frank's advice by accepting his offer of a Colorado Bulldog. (It's a White Russian cocktail, with added Pepsi.)

It was so delicious that I ordered two more that evening.

 

About midnight, when we stood to leave, the ceiling seemed a bit active.

 

"Don't worry. We got you, Baptist." Frank promised. And they did. They all walked me back to my room, arm in arm, like the brothers they'd become.

 

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Join Norris' mailing list at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter. Contact Norris by voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or email comment@thechaplain.net. Snail mail received at 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. All his books are also available at Combie Mail or on his website or by sending a $20 check to the above address.

 

 

Aug 9-11 column

Christians Could Learn from Humanists

 

If you've already read most of the Bible, you might want to mix things up a bit by reading A.C. Grayling's version called "The Good Book: A Humanist Bible." Grayling, a British academic, edited an anthology of hundreds of philosophers and writers organized into chapters and verses.

 

Now, let me quickly assure religious readers that I haven't gone to "the dark side" by endorsing this book. I am suggesting however that religious people might have something to learn from Grayling.

 

I like Grayling because he doesn't follow the militant anti-religious atheism espoused by some of the louder left. Called by some the "Velvet Atheist," Grayling is more comfortable with the word "Humanist."

 

What's the difference, you ask, between an atheist and a humanist? Well, that's a tricky question. Most atheists, and certainly all those I know, are humanists. Atheism by itself, however, is simply the assertion that there is no God.

 

Humanists, like Grayling, take their beliefs beyond that negative assertion of no-god and are active in their care of people, animals and our planet. Sometimes they even sound downright spiritual when describing their views.

 

For instance, Grayling once told CNN reporter Jessica Ravitz that "each individual has to work out the values they live by and especially to recognize that the best of our good lives revolves around having good relationships with people."

 

Grayling believes that the only difference between a religious person and the humanist is that "humanist ethics didn't claim to be derived from a deity."

 

Wow. Except for that last sentence, the teaching sounds much like the lessons of the Golden Rule and the Good Samaritan parable I learned as a kid in a Baptist Sunday school.

 

Don't get me wrong. I happen to think that looking for your moral compass inside yourself is a good way to find yourself lost in a very deep forest. Nor am I endorsing a pot-luck belief system where you are free to believe a little of this and a little of that.

 

Nonetheless, I think humanists are right about some things.

 

A lifetime ago, I took a comparative religion class at Baylor University. My professor, while decidedly Christian, believed that each religion, even humanism, has something to teach the Christian.

 

For instance, the humanist teachings about our planet remind me that God loves all his creation. His creation is the center of his love. When religious people forget that, they become, as the saying goes, "So heavenly minded, they are no earthly good."

 

But if there is one lesson I hope the humanist and Christian alike can take away from the Christian Bible, it would be the story in Mark 9:14-29 about a father who brings his crazed teen to Jesus asking Jesus to help him if he can.

 

In the Norris paraphrase, Jesus responds incredulously. "What do you mean by, 'if I can?' Of course I can."

 

Or in Jesus' exact words, "Everything is possible for one who believes."

 

Then the boy's father immediately exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

 

Like this boy's father, we all need divine help overcoming our unbelief. Whether you are religious or atheist, we all struggle with our inability to trust in one another.

 

And it's during those times of mistrust that it becomes easy to fall short of our goals and fail to do the most human thing – believe in each other.

That's why, at days end, we should be working together to make all things possible. And whether we be Christian or humanist or atheist – we can say together, "Help us all overcome our unbelief."

 

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Join Norris' mailing list at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter or leave voicemail at (843) 608-9715 or email comment@thechaplain.net or @chaplain. Snail mail received at 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. All his books are also available on his website or by sending a $20 check to the above address.