Altar Ego

Oct 18-20 Column

The Chaplain's Day Off

Long before the 1986 movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I too imagined a day off work of fun and frivolity.

After all, who hasn't feigned illness to take a day off from work?

This was my self-justifying question as I called the Baylor University Bookstore one Friday morning in the fall of 1978. When my manager picked up the line, I winked knowingly at my new girlfriend sitting beside me.

"I'm not feeling well today." Cough, cough. "I can't come in until Monday."

"Then you're fired!" he said.

I wasn't expecting the finality in his answer. I could hear a pulse in my ears.

"Don't come back," he added before slamming down the phone receiver.

My face flushed and my eyes suddenly felt overhydrated. I was having a grief reaction, anticipating the loss of the prestige I'd enjoyed interacting with university professors and freshman co-eds.

How had I miscalculated this scenario? Was my boss aware of the love-struck hormonal illness with which I was afflicted? How would I afford to take my girlfriend to the back-to-school dance?

I had to make this right for many reasons. The bookstore was the center of university life and I didn't want to be dodging my boss for the next year. I needed to apologize.

How does one apologize for such bald-faced lying?

First, it's always good to allow a cool-down period. I waited a few weeks for the back-to-school rush to end and called for an appointment.

Once inside the manager's office, I kept it simple. I admitted that I hadn't been sick. Plain and guileless. "I'm sorry for lying."

I didn't excuse my action or bring my girlfriend into the picture.

Second, I expressed understanding for his situation. I admitted that I abandoned my colleagues, causing them to be short-handed at his busiest time of the year.

Third, I asked for forgiveness. He granted that.

Finally, I think I surprised him when I asked his help to clarify the lessons I needed to learn.

That question brought his deepest thought.

"Who is it you want to be?" he asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Well, I know you're a ministerial student, so I know WHAT you want to be. But beyond that, WHO do you want be?"

I thought I got his drift, but I wasn't entirely sure.

"I think above all," he said, "you want to be a person who people trust. I think you want to be a person who keeps his word."

"I see three lessons," he continued.

"First, don't lie. Lying demonstrates that you don't believe you're capable of being who you want to be. Don't sell yourself short. I know you are capable of being who you want to be."

"Second, if I'm not mistaken, Jesus said, "Let your yes be yes, and your no, no. Whatever is more than these is from the evil one."

In other words, my ex-boss was telling me to be sure of what I want before I commit to something. And when I do commit, I should keep my word.

"Third." He cleared his throat, trying to remember his third point.

He gave up on that. "Just remember those two for now. Don't lie and keep your word."

The bookstore manager was OK in my book – even if he didn't give me my old job back.

Fortunately, he gave me a good reference to a better-paying job as a night watchman in a local bank. Good thing too. I could afford to take the girl to the dance.

Unfortunately, since I can't dance, she broke up with me.

Happily, I met and married my wife Becky a few years after that. But that's a story for another day.

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For an autographed copy of "Tell It To The Chaplain," or any of my books, order from my website or send a check for $20 (per book) to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comments to comment@thechaplain.net or by text or voicemail to (843) 608-9715. See past columns and other books at website www.thechaplain.net.

Oct 11-13 Column

What Would You Do If You Weren't Afraid?

Earlier this month, I celebrated my 67^th birthday with a couple of pieces of German chocolate cake.

Fortunately, experience told me not to go for a third.

That's because I still remember my seventh birthday when I sneaked a half-dozen cupcakes from my mom's cake carrier, devoured them and threw up just prior to the party.

But still, that birthday wasn't the worst.

My worst birthday was my 45^th when my Air Force chaplain supervisor came into my office at Patrick Air Force Base, Florida, wearing a strained expression.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he said, "but your name didn't appear on the Air Force promotion list to major."

I was unsure how to interpret the news. The pessimist in me said I'd just been fired.

And if my optimist was saying anything, I couldn't hear it because the pessimist was choking him out.

The military doesn't keep officers who don't make the rank of major. This meant I had only six months to find a new job before I would be unemployed and stranded 3,000 miles from my California home.

The only reaction I offered my supervisor was, "And this is my birthday."

It was about that time that a colleague presented me with a helpful book

titled, "Who Moved My Cheese?" by authors Spencer Johnson, M.D. and Ken Blanchard. Johnson and Blanchard seemed to be proclaiming that change was the only certainty in life, so deal with it.

The book uses a parable format to depict talking lab mice that work to outsmart the scientists who are constantly moving their cheese into an unfamiliar part of their maze.

Somebody had indeed moved my cheese, and the military maze I'd known for eight years became an unfriendly place, so I spent the next hour hunting for help.

About halfway through the book, I stopped, taken aback by a particularly evocative question that the mouse characters found written inside their maze. "What would you do if you weren't afraid?"

I looked away, paraphrasing the conundrum aloud in a slow and thoughtful repetition. "What would I do if I weren't so afraid of change?"

It was abundantly clear what I normally did when I felt afraid. I got upset, I fretted and then became a generally rude person toward those who loved me.

But the authors were insisting that I answer a different question: "What would I do if I weren't afraid?"

I went to the copy machine where I enlarged the quote into a mini poster which I placed above my desk.

A few weeks later, as fear melted from the equation, I came to know exactly what I would do.

I would return to my California home and to the most rewarding ministry of my life — I determined to resume my career in hospital chaplaincy.

No, the cheese question didn't work magic. It didn't totally suspend my fears.

I was still scared, but I was determined to keep fear from obscuring my goal. I printed my resumés, scheduled hospital interviews and kept pressing toward the goal.

Three months later, I had six job offers for hospital chaplaincies and I returned to part-time military life as an Air National Guard chaplain.

Twenty-three years have passed since that harsh announcement. But that day continues to remind me that whenever I'm uncertain, fearful or just plain indecisive, I can reach into my resiliency repertoire for the refrain of that birthday question.

When I think about it long enough, the answer usually floats to the top.

You may ask, "Does that always work for you, Norris?"

No, not always. Sometimes I default to eating a half dozen cupcakes.

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Parts of this column excerpted from my book, "Thriving Beyond Surviving." All of my books are available on my website or by sending a check for $20 (per book) to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comments to comment@thechaplain.net or by text or voicemail to (843) 608-9715. See past columns and other books at website www.thechaplain.net.

Oct 4-6 Column

Don't Talk About God Behind his Back

Last Sunday, I admitted to my congregation that I sometimes, feel like the man who had had enough with life's difficulties, so he went to live in a monastery.

The abbot restricted the man's spoken words to only two words every year.

After his first year, he reported to the abbot to share his first two words – "Bed hard."

On his second annual opportunity, he pronounced, "Food bad."

Finally, on his third year, he came to the abbot's office to proclaim, "I quit."

"I'm not surprised," said the abbot. "You've done nothing but complain since the day you arrived."

Well, I don't want you to think I complain too much, but I once spent a few days fretting over lost keys, car repairs and my daughter's somewhat risky international travel to Honduras.

On those occasions, "Mrs. Chaplain," (that's what I call her when she's not around) asked, "Have you prayed about it?"

"At this point," I said, "honestly, my prayers would sound more like complaining."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked.

I took a few minutes to think about her challenge when I remembered a guy who did a fair bit of complaining himself: Moses.

You remember Moses. He's the one who bugged, literally bugged, the Egyptian Pharoh to free the Jewish people from slavery. Once the people were liberated, Moses ran his egress route through the oppressive heat of the Sinai Desert.

The people quickly forgot their wonderful freedom and started whining about the lack of good Chinese takeout. (OK, maybe they weren't that picky, but they were a bit famished. Read the complete story in Numbers 11.)

So Moses, also resenting his situation, asked God, "Why are you treating me this way? What did I ever to do to deserve this? Where am I supposed to get meat for all these people?"

He continued. "If this is how you intend to treat me, do me a favor and kill me. I've had enough."

Just an observation here – I don't recommend daring God to kill you; it's not a prayer for the faint of heart.

Nevertheless, God threw down a challenge of his own and said to Moses, "Gather together 70 men from among the leaders of Israel, men whom you know to be respected and responsible. . . (and) you won't have to carry the whole thing alone."

In the end, Moses wasn't struck dead for his audacious request. Quite the opposite. God answered the prayer – providing a little help from Moses' friends.

Now, I don't pretend to know how prayer works, but I think Moses' prayer was effective for two reasons.

First, the prayer was simple and direct.

It wasn't a flowery prayer packed with analogies, metaphors or obtuse tangents.

God likes direct words. (He also dislikes dictionary words like "obtuse.")

Whenever I encounter someone complaining about their raw deal, I've always told them: Stop gossiping about God. Talk to God directly, not behind his back.

Go right up to God (wherever you talk to God) and say, "Hey, God! My life stinks!"

Then turn it into the prayers Anne Lamott describes in her book, "Traveling Mercies."

"Here are the two best prayers I know: 'Help me, help me, help me' and 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.'"

Moses' simple prayer worked because God heard the heart of the prayer — honesty.

In the midst of the griping, God heard a confession known by anyone in a 12-step recovery process.

It's a prayer that has various wordings, but the gist is, "I'm powerless to do anything by myself. I need help."

It was the same kind of prayer my wife was challenging me to pray.

A little later, she asked, "Find your keys yet?"

"No, but I think God's given me a plan to find them."

"Really?"

"Yeah. How do you feel about having 70 readers come over and help me look for my keys?"

"Really? After 23 years of column writing, do you still claim to have at least 70 readers?"

I think I'll start calling her "Mrs. Moses."

Just not to her face.

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Please subscribe to my weekly email newsletter at https://thechaplain.net/newsletter/ All of my books are available on my website or by sending a check for $20 (per book) to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comments to comment@thechaplain.net or by text or voicemail to (843) 608-9715. See past columns and other books at website www.thechaplain.net.

Sept 27-29 Column

Your Sentiments Exactly

For the past 23 years, I've written this syndicated column about my adventures, misadventures and philanthropic ventures. During that time, you've responded to my commentary with hundreds of emails.

Since I've not always answered those emails, I'm taking a moment today to give a summarized response to several concerns. And even if you've never written, you may likely share the sentiments of those who have.

Grammar/Spelling

Some readers gently chastise me for my lack of a comma or overuse of commas. Sadly, I also battle with when to use "me" or "I." Or I misspell something, usually a homophone, words that sound the same but are different, like two, to and too.

Theology

Every once in a while, someone writes trying to convince me that there is no God. They have as much chance of persuading me of a godless world as the white-shirt fellas do who knock on my door trying to convert me though their Bible studies.

Some folks want me to explain God, as to why he did something in the world. I'm not too good at explaining God. Sometimes I gently remind them that I'm in sales, not the service department.

I get the theology critics from both sides. Pluralistic liberals sometimes read my column as being too limited to Christianity while fundamentalist Christians have suggested I might be working for the "enemy."

Politics

Readers have asked me to avoid politics and keep to my religious lane. I usually respond by saying, "I'm in good company with the prophets of old in talking about social injustice."

I once had a reader who seemed convinced that I was wisest-of-the-wise, but he turned on me when I wrote against the hate speech of Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern.

"Your column is no longer fit to line my bird cage," he wrote. I wanted to tell him that birdcage is a single word, not two, but I thought better of it.

Life Advice

But it has been the tragic emails that have broken my heart. Those from readers seeking solace over their lost child or spouse, or their broken marriage. Victims seeking escape from abuse at home or at church, both sexual and psychological.

Many other readers are lonely, like the elderly or terminally ill or the imprisoned population.

How could I possibly give so many people the specific help they seek?

First of all, the only advice I give is to refer people to their local clergy or therapist. I can't give advice by email any more than I can discuss theology by email.

However, I have been known to respond with a few guiding principles.

When readers share their life tragedies, it feels empty to promise "thoughts and prayers." These readers aren't seeking a fix, but rather to make their hurt known to someone who cares. So I begin with, "I've read your email, and I hear your unimaginable pain."

In relationship issues, it's impossible to know all the sides, so I ask them to consider two things.

Listen to understand before insisting that you be understood. Identify the emotions. Fear? Hurt? Embarrassment? Proverbs 18:13 says, "A person who answers without listening first is foolish and disgraceful" (ICB).

I challenge them to consider what part they may have played in the hurt. I try to avoid prescribing a one-size-fits-all Bible verse, but I do hear wisdom in the Psalmist's prayer, "Search me, O God, and examine my heart. Test me and know my anxious thoughts" (139:23-24 NIV).

Finally, there is a little piece of advice I admittedly pass on from the Lord's prayer: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." Forgiveness is the most powerful force in the world. But we must do it first for ourselves.

Sadly, I can't satisfy all my readers, such as the professor from a prestigious New York seminary. She had nearly the entire alphabet following her name, yet saw nothing socially redeeming in my writing.

"Your columns are nothing but drivel!" she told me.

I'm grateful for her comment, because ever since I looked up the word drivel, I take great delight in including a little bit of "hogwash" or "gibberish" in my columns now and then.

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For more detailed response to these issues, consider my book, "Tell It To The Chaplain." All of my books are available on my website or by sending a check for $20 (per book) to 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602. Email comments to comment@thechaplain.net or by text or voicemail to (843) 608-9715. See past columns and other books at website www.thechaplain.net.

Sept 20-22 Column

Don't Try This Verse at Home

During the two years I was stationed in Izmir, Turkey, I made several visits to the nearby ancient ruins in the seaport of Ephesus. In the Christian world, this city is famous for the letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the fledgling church.

However, in all the years I've preached from this letter, I can tell you that there are no ruins more disastrous than when husbands misuse the words Paul wrote in the fifth chapter of that letter we call the book of Ephesians.

In fact, I suspect that there is no verse in the entire Bible that has given marriages more trouble than Ephesians 5:22. Spoken by a seemingly clueless bachelor, Paul urged, "Wives submit yourselves to your husbands."

(Warning Husbands: DO NOT try this verse at home without chaplain supervision.)

My first run-in with the mandate came in the home of a deacon who'd invited his 26-year-old pastor and wife for dinner after church.

Our deacon, Dan, was a 40ish-year-old family man with three daughters who hung on his every word. But a few hours into our meal, it was his wife, Joanne, who was making the biggest impression on us.

Joanne was an incredibly personable woman who exuded confidence in everything she did. Nevertheless, with Dan she seemed almost subservient. She waited on him hand-and-foot, bringing him what he needed before he'd ask.

As Joanne served dessert, Becky dared a nervous laugh at how Joanne fawned over Dan. The deacon's wife responded to Becky's ribbing with the submission verse, telling us it was her Christian duty to serve Dan. With lips pursed, we nodded in feigned agreement, even though our first impressions told us that the arrangement seemed more like servile compliance than a Christian marriage.

On our drive home to the parsonage, my young bride made a few declarations. "I hope you're not expecting our marriage to be like that. I'll be your wife, but I won't be your maid or your waitress."

Of course, this was no major development. On our wedding day, Becky veered away from traditional roles by refusing to be "given away" by her father. Instead, both our parents began the ceremony by announcing their affirmation of our marriage. After our wedding, Becky spent the next four years supporting us through my seminary education.

Now that she was ready to start her teaching career and plan our family, she wanted to be sure I knew that I was expected to do an equal share of home upkeep, diaper duty and cooking included.

Of course I wanted to keep this girl, so I always nodded in perfect agreement.

We remained with that church for 4½ years, just long enough to realize that Joanne wasn't the mousy subservient wife we first mistook her for. Their marriage wasn't so easily judged.

Actually, I was privileged to witness how they'd built a marriage of great love and mutual respect. I saw many moments in which Dan also submitted to Joanne's wishes and lavished her with every bit of love he could muster.

Bottom line was that their marriage worked for them and I had no call to judge that.

I met up with Dan and Joanne a few years back and I can tell you that Dan achieved a wonderful life — not by misusing the verse to domineer Joanne, but by cherishing her. Joanne achieved a wonderful marriage, not by losing who she was in Dan's shadow, but by honoring the man God made Dan to be.

Together, they found the secret that precedes the noisy verse about wives submitting. Ephesians 5:21 makes it clear that both the husband and wife must "submit to one another."

That simply means that couples must work it out. Usually, a good marriage involves the couple taking turns in leading in their relationship. Typically, healthy couples lead together.

Izmir was a very short tour of duty, just a temporary home. Fortunately, my assignment with Becky has been a permanent one.

I don't think she'll tell you that our marriage has always been equal because I know it hasn't. But I also know that, as we near the 45-year mark, submitting to one another continues to work for us.

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