April 11 weekend 2025 spirituality column

 

Is it Ever Too Late to Talk to God?

 

During my career as a healthcare chaplain, I often had a feeling that I was pastoring a parade. That's because, by definition, a chaplain's relationship with patients is a temporary one.

 

I suppose that's why I am relieved when a patient asks if they can call me "Pastor" instead of "Chaplain." I hear their request as an invitation into the more personal role of their family pastor.

 

However, that's not quite how it started with a patient I first knew as "Mr. Penny." I called him "mister" because that's how he introduced himself when I entered his hospital room at Houston Northwest Medical Center in 1992.

 

I reciprocated his formality by introducing myself as "Chaplain Burkes."

 

At first, I thought he was using titles in recognition of our age difference. But eventually it seemed like he was trying to distance himself from the three-piece-suit chaplain who matched his stereotypical idea of the "preacher."

 

Doctors told Penny he had inoperable brain cancer, but he didn't want to talk about that. The balding, bony man just wanted to chat.

 

During his next several hospitalizations we talked sports – either the Houston Oilers or about my lunchtime basketball games with local clergy.

 

For Penny, the greater the emotional distance we could maintain from reality, the better.

 

Finally, though, on his last hospitalization, his nurse summoned me from lunch to tell me Penny had a favor to ask of me.

 

Thinking this sounded like the call to a deathbed confession, I made a quick exit from the cafeteria toward the ICU.

 

I walked into his room to find his wife stroking his fevered head.

 

"Oh good," she said. "I'm glad you're here today.

 

"He wants to ask you something."

 

I looked at the figure on the bed, twisted and ghostly. His raspy breathing suggested he wouldn't have much strength for this conversation, so I leaned over the bed and called to him as if announcing my presence through a dense fog.

 

"Mr. Penny, it's Chaplain Burkes," I said. "Is there something you want to ask me?"

 

He nodded. "Teach me…" he said, his voice trailing.

 

He took a fuller breath and added, "Teach me to pray."

 

Confused by his sudden approach to an intimate moment, I searched his wife's face for context.

 

She was chewing on her thumbnail. "He's embarrassed."

 

"Embarrassed?" I asked.

 

"He's afraid he's being hypocritical to wait until his death to talk to God," she added.

 

I nodded. It's a common reasoning I hear from patients.

 

Jesus summarily dismissed this poor logic in his conversation with two insurgents occupying crosses on either side of his.

 

The first man spent his last hours mocking Jesus and goading him to use his power to save everyone.

 

But the other guy was quite the opposite. He felt shame for his past life, so he asked Jesus, "Remember me when you enter your kingdom."

 

Jesus swiftly responded. "Today you will be with me in paradise."

 

Instead of disqualifying the dying man for being hypocritically tardy, Jesus assured him that he would be rewarded in the promptest fashion.

 

"Mr. Penny," I said. "I think you'll find that God cares very little about your past.

 

He mostly cares about what you'll do with the next minute of your life."

 

Penny nodded.

 

"Prayer is just talking to God," I added.  "It's not theologically complicated. Just talk from your heart."

 

Penny closed his eyes and began moving his lips. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but when he opened his eyes, his expression told me that he'd heard God's voice.

 

I know this because the "mister" who had been so dependent on titles to gain distance from spiritual matters shifted his heart to say one last thing to me.

 

"Thank you, Pastor. Thank you."

 

————————–  

 

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All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.   

 

 

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April 4 weekend 2025 spirituality column

How I Became the Bomb-Dump Chaplain

 

A good friend once suggested that I start using the term "America's Favorite Chaplain" to promote my public speeches.

 

"No," I said. "I prefer the moniker, 'The Bomb-Dump Chaplain.'" His quizzical expression inspired a story from an earlier day.

 

In 1994, I took my first active-duty assignment at Onizuka Air Station outside San Jose, Calif. One day, our supervisor, James Young, informed the staff of an upcoming inspection from the Command Chaplain's office in Denver.

 

In civilian lingo, this moment would compare to a church getting a visit from their bishop or district overseer. During upcoming weeks, we worked diligently starching our uniforms and vigorously varnishing the prayer benches.

 

But the exhausting part was preparing something called our Unit Visitation Statistics. "The report," said Chaplain Young, "should include a count of all chaplain interactions with airmen on base."

 

"How do you define 'interactions'?" I asked. 

 

"That's up to you," Young said, handing us the form. "Don't forget to record where your interactions take place."

 

Ours was a young and ambitious staff. We wanted to look as good as possible by generating as many numbers as possible. 

 

So we busied ourselves crisscrossing the base for the next week. We'd stroll to the gym or the dining hall and greet all passersby – ping, ping, ping, – documenting forty pastoral visits in an afternoon without breaking a sweat.

 

Yes, like a lot of officers, chaplains can be competitive. Meaning, we were engaging in a practice that bureaucrats call "pencil whipping" – manipulating the stats with a simple slide of the pencil on a report.

 

Perhaps you've heard the adage, "Statistics don't lie, but statisticians certainly do."

 

Command Chaplain, Col. Benjamin Perez, arrived bright and early on inspection day and cloistered us in the chapel fellowship hall.

 

Perez was a short, fit, steely-eyed New Yorker, keen with anecdotes. He was sharp enough to see past our manipulated stats. He saw the places we hid because he was looking for the forgotten airmen.

 

Holding our reports in hand, Perez posed his signature question: "How many of you have been to the bomb dump?"

 

The "bomb dump" is the unofficial name for the secluded place where hazardous explosive devices are rendered safe. The airmen there are not the celebrated "Bomb Squad," they are a forgotten group of isolated engineers who worry about public safety.

 

Now here's the funny thing — our base didn't have a bomb dump. Perez knew Onizuka was a Space Command base that controlled satellite trajectories.

 

Nevertheless, the trajectory of my military ministry would change that day in a somewhat slight, but significant way.

 

Perez was using "bomb dump" as a euphemism for the place populated by the forgotten people. He didn't care how many visits we were making to headquarters or the gym. He wanted to know if we knew the names of our cleaning staff. Could we recall our subordinates and their families by their first names?

 

His question was a not-so-subtle biblical inference to Mathew 25 where Jesus taught that caring for those of a lesser privilege — the prisoner, the sick, the immigrant — was the equivalent of caring for Jesus himself.

 

"Truly I tell you," Jesus said, "whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

 

Anyone working in the bomb dump might well be counted among the "least of these." That's why Perez considered visits made to the secluded and forgotten sides of the base to be the test of a real chaplain.

 

His question became the guiding reminder early in my career that while statistics remain a necessary tool, they aren't the mission. People are.

 

I doubt I'll ever become "America's Favorite Chaplain," but for now, I'll settle for being called the "Bomb-dump Chaplain."

 

——————————————————————-

This column is excerpted from my book "Tell it to the Chaplain." 

 

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email at www.thechaplain.net/newsletter  or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net. 

 

All my books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on my website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. 

 

 

 

March 28 weekend 2025 spirituality column

 

Getting Back to the Basics

Family lore from my wife's kinfolk recounts the first time my father-in-law assumed solo caregiving responsibilities for his firstborn infant, Becky, my wife.

Those who retell it say that Becky's mother, Darla, left the house for a church event and gave her young husband, Wilbur, explicit instructions on how to care for their daughter. 

Before driving away, Darla stocked the home with extra diapers, clean bottles, warm blankets, sterilized pacifiers, and Becky's favorite toys – all things imaginable for soothing a crying baby. 

A few hours into the warm evening, their firstborn began to fuss. Wilbur offered Becky a warm bottle, but she wouldn't take it.

He offered a soft blanket, a spoonful of baby food, and a stuffed bear, but nothing seemed to pacify the tiny tot. 

Soon, Becky's protest deteriorated into crying and then transitioned into incessant squalling. A fretful father paced the floor with daughter atop his shoulder, bouncing the bawling babe in hopes of releasing a bothersome burp. 

Nothing. Infant Becky elevated her protest with additional wailing. 

Left afoot, Wilbur did the only thing he could – he picked up the phone to call the doctor. 

At that moment, Becky's mom burst through the door and swept Becky in her arms.  Wilbur hung up and explained how he'd tried everything to no avail. 

"Well," asked Darla, "Did you give her some water?" 

To hear Becky's mother tell it, Wilbur stared at his young wife as cluelessly as if she was speaking Farsi with an Oklahoma accent. 

"You never mentioned that," he said. 

The story has a parallel in Christian tradition when Jesus left his followers alone and returned to his father. He left instructions, but not a lot of detail. 

This lack of detail prompts a lot of Christ-followers to be like my ill-informed father-in-law and say, "Well, Jesus never mentioned that."

For instance, "Jesus never said anything about how to treat the refugee." 

Yes, and Jesus was also completely mute about universal healthcare. 

He made no mention of tobacco or whether Baptists can drink beer, either.

Jesus said little or nothing about common-sense sword or gun control. 

And I suppose these are accurate observations. There's so much that is absent from Jesus' teachings. 

However, much like my mother-in-law, Jesus was fundamentally clear.

For the uninformed, he offered additional clarity when he was asked to name the greatest commandment. 

Jesus replied: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'" 

But in case folks didn't understand his basic message, Jesus offered the Golden Rule, a standard in most world religions.

The Message translation of the Bible offers extra transparency of Mathew 7:12. 

"Here is a simple, rule-of-thumb guide for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you, then grab the initiative and do it for them." 

Whenever I'm feeling short of divine instruction, this one is my go-to rule. Just treat others the way I would want to be treated. 

This means I ask myself tough questions as if the answers impacted me, like what would I want done if it was my daughter? How would I feel if my kids' school was shot up? Or what if my refugee family had been turned away? Or how will my disabled brother get the health care he needs in his declining years? 

Simple. The answers are there when we want to hear them. 

As soon as Becky's mom gave her some water, the protests ended. But in the future, if we ever leave my new granddaughter with my father-in-law, I'll be sure and tell him, "Wilbur, if you are drinking water, give the baby water, too."

 

-------------------------- 

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All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.netor by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.     

 

 

 

 

March 21 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Note to readers: The woman described in this column is a composite character representing the many conversations I've had with those seeking chaplain jobs.

   

You Can Ask and They Will Tell

 

Not long ago, I was working for a hospice group when a woman stopped by my office considering chaplain employment. Touting her recent graduation from a five-week "chaplain course," the 70-year-old still had questions. 

 

With some excitement, she showed her assumptions early. "I'll bet you get to lead a lot of people to Jesus in this job." 

 

"Not really," I said. "Our patients are from many religious and nonreligious backgrounds that I must respect." 

 

"Oh," she said, "So would I need to understand all religions to work here as a chaplain?"  

 

I shook my head, "Honestly, there are far too many religions on this planet to learn them all. My approach is to ask the patient to share their beliefs. I call this strategy Ask. They'll tell.'"   

She tilted her head with confusion, like a dog trying to track a high-pitched sound.   

 

I kept talking, as I tend to do.

   

"When you meet a person from an unfamiliar religion, you can simply ask them what they believe or how they practice their religion.  

"If you are willing to wait for the answers, the question will prompt most folks to tell you all you need to know."

   

I took her silence as an invitation to continue.   

 

"But I caution you to ask your questions with respectful curiosity. You must show a sincerity that outweighs your determination to convert them to your way of thinking.   

"If they sense that you are willing to honor their beliefs, they will be forthcoming.  

 

"This process involves a two-way discourse my theology teacher called 'Listening Love.'  

 

The strategy serves me well as a hospice chaplain as I often ask patients, "How does your faith inform you about dying? 

 

"The answers that sprout from that question have offered me an impromptu course in world religions."   

 

"For instance?" she asked, giving her head an opposite tilt.  

 

I told her about a Hmong couple who asked me to help them retrieve a placenta after they lost their newborn. The grieving couple said they would bury the placenta under a tree so the baby's soul could journey back through the past and become reborn.   

 

When I asked a Muslim father what we could do for his dying child in a combat hospital in Iraq, he asked me to place a Koran in bed with the child.   

When I asked my question of two brothers at the bedside of their dying mother, they described a New Age belief quite foreign to me. Nonetheless, I listened for what they found comforting, and together, we tied a crystal around their mother's wrist.   

 

When I asked a Chinese man what his faith taught him about consoling his dying wife, he suggested we move the hospital bed in the healing direction of feng shui. He saw this movement as the best way to use energy forces to harmonize individuals with their surrounding environment.

  

 I know, these practices seem a bit odd to our Western sense of mainstream religion. Believe me, these encounters pushed me far out of my Christian comfort zone, too.   

When a chaplain begins a dialogue with someone of a different religion, he or she must ask themselves-- "Am I seeking the information because I've targeted them for conversion – or am I seeking the information I needed to show respect for them?"   

 

Concluding my conversation with the woman, I said "If you really want to become a chaplain, you'll need to adopt an approach that opens the faith dialogue.  

Listen to those of other faiths. Only when you show them respect will you be given the opportunity to demonstrate the love taught by your own faith."   

The woman rubbed her chin, releasing some thoughtful tones, but I'm really not sure what her thoughts were. 

 

But next time I see her, maybe I'll employ my own advice and simply ask her. After all, "listening love" is probably a strategy for most all circumstances.  

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

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email box at https://thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net. 

 

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.    

 

March 14 weekend 2025 spirituality column

Chaplain Predicts Fire and Brimstone

 

Today's column comes straight out of ancient times. This is wrath-of-God stuff.  We are talking "Fire and brimstone, baby, right out of the Old

Testament cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

 

Nah, you know I'm messing with you. You don't read this column to get the hellish diatribe made famous by the televangelists.

 

These preachers often compare the "homosexual debaucheries" of Sodom and Gomorrah with what they see as the decline of America. They use it as a cautionary tale to ban books, define sexes, and shape elections.

 

It's funny how debauchery has often been a favorite of the judgmental crowd. But these preachers don't hold a candle to the combustible prophet Ezekiel.

 

You could even say, "This dude was totally lit."

 

However, he interpreted the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah far differently than our current politicians and preachers.

 

In Ezk.16:49-50, Zeke handed down a detailed indictment as he channeled the voice of God. 

 

"'Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me. Therefore, I did away with them as you have seen.'"

 

"Did away" is a euphonism. God turned the residents into crispy critters.

 

Ezekiel saw this as a judgment day, not so much for sexual sins, but for very specific sins.

 

1. Arrogance.
2. Selfishness
3. Uncharitable greediness
4. Gluttony.
5. Apathy.

 

Seems to me that the crusty old prophet was clear.

 

Sodomite lives were cut short by fire and brimstone, not so much because of their debauchery, but because they lived selfish, lazy and gluttonous lives without ever extending their hands to help the poor and the hungry.

 

This past month, the US withdrew their hand of charity from hungry people when this Administration shut down the U.S. Agency for International Development, (USAID).

 

The first casualty of selfishness is always the hungry people of the world.

 

Consider the story of Plumpy'Nut. Goofy name, but a grand product to feed the world's hungry.

 

Plumpy'Nut is the brand name for a ready-to-use therapeutic food produced by Edesia, a Rhode Island based company, with USAID funding. It's life-saving paste containing peanuts, milk powder, sugar, vegetable oil, and vitamins and minerals.

 

Typically administered by charities like Doctors Without Borders, a severely malnourished child will consume packets every day for eight weeks to help them regain health.

 

Each box opened is stamped with "From the American people." But now the US is withdrawing that helpful hand and shipments of this crucial product are being turned off and on -- and back off again -- like a spurting hose.

 

William Lambers, author of "Ending World Hunger" voiced his concern last week in a Newsweek editorial.

 

"If USAID closes and funding decreases, they cannot continue to send this paste to the war-afflicted Congo and other countries. We should be increasing our shipments of Plumpy'Nut and other foods to war and famine zones. It makes no sense to shut down USAID especially during a time of massive humanitarian need."

 

Lambers' words resonate with the sermon Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde recently delivered before our 47^th president at the National Cathedral. "Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land."

 

This brave pastor said it much better than I, so I'll just channel the hellfire Ezekial and say, "The closure of USAID is a national sin. And that sin has every possibility of bringing a significant weather change."

 

On Monday, Secretary of State Marco Rubio Trump officially canceled 83% of U.S. foreign aid contracts.

Do you feel a hot rain coming?

 

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

 

More info on Edesia at WWW.edesianutrition.org

 

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email box at https://thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net. 

 

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.

 

 

March 7 weekend 2025 spirituality column

God's Not finished With This Chaplain, Yet

 

When a reader once left a voicemail suggesting that I wasn't worthy of my chaplain title, I shrugged. That's OK, I thought, I've heard that before. 

 

The worst occasion happened during my USAF deployment to Saudi Arabia in 1999. That's when my supervisor, Col. Mike Bradshaw, told me I wasn't being promoted to the rank of Major.

 

"You'll be reconsidered next year," he promised. "But trust me," he added in his signature truism, "it's really a 'one-chance-mistake-Air-Force.' You won't remain active duty."

 

So, I guess it was appropriate that a few mornings later, I walked into the chapel men's room to evacuate the constipation of my disappointment. Before entering the stall, I followed military tradition and tucked my hat into the beltline at the small of my back. 

 

Before taking my place on the porcelain throne, I noticed the toilet brand name, "Norris." I shrugged. It fit the "career" I was having.

 

I stayed for much longer than I should have. I didn't want to go to the office. How was I supposed to be a supportive chaplain to the deployed troops when I felt so low?

 

Finally, however, I stood to do my "paperwork." As I discarded the paper into the receptacle, I noticed that some careless fool had ditched his hat in my toilet. 

First, I wondered, why hadn't I previously noticed this?

 

But my second and more sober observation was that this fool's hat had a Christian cross affixed on it. That fool was me! 

 

I almost cried looking at my hat in the flusher. Was God using a metaphor to tell me that my chaplain career was in the toilet? If so, was the military my only path of ministry? Or were there other ministry venues? I wasn't sure. 

 

I had no choice but to go to the chapel office and ask our NCOIC (office manager) for a new hat.  As I unfolded my story, Master Sgt. Steve Carothers folded his 6-foot-5-inch frame in half, overcome with near stroke-inducing laughter.

 

He then made a comical demand. "If you want me to give you a new hat, you are going to have to give me just one good reason why I should overlook such a blame fool mistake as that." 

 

"Well," I admitted, "there are some foolish officers in this Air Force who seem like they operate with a head full of crap." 

He shook his head with large, agreeable nods. 

 

"But" I said, "don't you think it takes a really good officer like me to admit that he has a hat full of crap?"

 

Hearing my logic, he dropped to the floor, hysterically beating the tile with his fist.

 

"I give up, Chaplain," he declared. "You got your new hat." 

 

The Bible says in James 5:16, "Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed." 

 

I confessed my mistake—my sin—and got a new hat. But better than that, I got a new ministry.

 

For you see, despite my sinking feeling that my career was flushed in the crapper of chaplain careerism, I had a creatively hysterical moment in which I emailed my "hat-full" story to a Florida friend, a newspaper editor named Tom Clifford. Tom thought it was riotously funny but too inappropriate for a newspaper.

Still, he saw through my "crap," and 10 months later, he invited me to begin this syndicated newspaper column. 

 

Col. Bradshaw had asked me to trust him. Trust is best left to God, not man. Now, almost 25 years after the famous toilet week, I look back over a long and rewarding career as a healthcare chaplain.

 

Better yet, I managed to finish a career in uniform. In 2002, I transferred to the California Air National Guard and was twice promoted, retiring as a lieutenant colonel in 2014.

 

So, now I know that if I ever meet up with Col. Bradshaw again, I'd like to tell him one thing: "Trust me, God's still not finished with me."  

This column was excerpted from my book "Thriving Beyond Surviving."

 —————————– 

Sign up to receive this weekly column in your email box at https://thechaplain.net/newsletter/ or send me your email address to comment@thechaplain.net.

All of Norris's books can be ordered on Amazon. Autographed copies can be obtained on his website www.thechaplain.net or by sending a check for $20 for each book to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602.