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I have a name for these kinds of prayers — “nonsensical.” I call it that because I know that no matter what I pray, the damage is already done. It’s a prayer after the fact, as if my plea would change history.

Our stories beg the complicated question: “Can one be a liar if one doesn’t know he’s lying?” Another facet of the question is: “Does one’s story default to becoming the truth if one doesn’t bother to fact-check the story?”

I learned a lot that year, but this event, more than most, taught me that while not every patient sought healing, Jesus demonstrated that everyone deserves a caring touch.

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There are times in our exchanges with people that we become pretty sure something stinks. On those occasions, what is our first reaction? Do we lean close to our friends and examine their smell first? Or do we check our own breath?

Scripture defines love’s highest price: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13) That price makes $70 roses seem like a bargain.

In case you didn’t know, your digital calendar will probably remind you that this past Friday was Groundhog Day. The outdated day gained modern fame from the 1993 movie “Groundhog Day,” where Bill Murray wakes up to repeat the same day over and over.

People evoking biblical clarity on their pet issue sometimes land on the wrong side of history. The Bible remains my clear inspiration for faith. Put another way, biblical clarity needn’t be blinding.

Is God really love? If God loves us, why does he hurt his children? ...I listened to them without trying to defend or explain God, [and] the couple allowed me a place in their sacred grief. In the end, that’s a gamble I’ll take every time.

The truth is that comforting grieving people has nothing to do with saying the correct thing. It has nothing to do with your thoughts and prayers. Instead, it has everything to do with being present for those who hurt. That’s why I’m leaving you with this better alternative: Don’t speak. Just do.

It’s easy to see the exchange of vows as the most beautiful part of the ceremony, but as a chaplain who’s been doing this marrying-burying thing for more than 40 years, I can testify that nothing matches the beauty of witnessing the fulfillment of those vows by couples who meant what they said when they promised, “For better or for worse … till death do us part.”

However, in many cases, patient families recorded their prayers in the public journal of our hospital chapel. The journal was a spiral notebook on the altar where visitors wrote anonymous requests.

This column is a Christmas meditation Norris Burkes wrote from the point of view of Jesus’ parents, Mary and Joseph. It proved to be a reader favorite when it was published in 2017, so he's repeating it this year.

I saw a man holding a sign with a much kinder, gentler Baptist message. “Jesus Christ Loves You.” I also appreciated what his sign did not say. In a time when fundamentalist fanatics picket the funerals of war veterans and thrust placards of dead babies in the faces of confused mothers... . Maybe it comes down to a variation of what our mothers taught us: If you can’t say something nice about God, don’t say anything at all.

While I think I’ve shared my entire life in this column, I still hear you say that I’ve left a few questions unanswered. So, this week, I ask that you’ll allow me a moment of shameless self-promotion to tie up the loose ends from past columns.

So this month, I have a favor to ask. As you offer a grateful handshake to a veteran, turn to the spouse and say, “Thanks for your understanding.” After all, most of them have certainly done more than they ever “volunteered” to do.

That’s why years ago, when my then-teenage son, Michael, asked for a corn snake, his schoolteacher-mother obliged. But as we would discover, the most difficult thing about snakes is that, like my teenage son, they tend to escape from their cage.

The program was called Clinical Pastoral Education and was the hospital-based internship required to begin a career in health care chaplaincy. Each morning, the interns went onto the wards to support patients in need of spiritual care.

In the Air Force, I had ample opportunities to “troll for souls” because each base chaplain is assigned workplaces they must routinely visit. My assigned areas were the hospital and the Security Police station. 

Coach Gary Kuhn smiles and repeats my name with the feigned recognition people give at high school class reunions. Still, 50 years is a long time ago, so I retrace the way back to where our stories intersected.

The survey began with a visit from the base psychologist, who interviewed each staff member involved. He asked each of us to make a choice. “Which do you think most important,” he said. “To get the job done correctly or to get along with the people you are working with?”

Returning to the question, “Is Chispa Project Christ-centered?” An educational organization doesn’t become “Christ-centered” just because it incorporates theology into its written mission statement. The Christian part, or the “Christ-centeredness,” comes not from the organization, but from the heart of the one serving.

PK is an old-time church abbreviation for “preacher’s kid.” My father pastored multiple churches, moving us every three to four years to a new congregation. We were PKs and proud of it. 

Self-destruct scenarios aren’t limited to the movies. For instance, consider the consequences of engaging in what I call the Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda Game. If you’re human, you’ll recognize this game -- the perils of lamenting your life choices instead of appreciating what you do have. 

Today, I offer you a look at my shelves in this annual Labor Day column of the books I’ve read. As you’ll see, I don’t read a lot of religious books. So please, no judgment.

“Where to from here?” is the question we all must ask ourselves when tragedy strikes. What will I become from here? Will I become so mired in this tragic moment that my whole life is defined by it?

The good news was we made our way out of the fog. The bad news was we were deep into deserted farmland — a long way from the pulpit, where my parishioners expected to find me within the next few hours.

In the 2000s, I comforted the parents of premature babies born in our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. In recent years, I’ve seen the other end of life’s journey with hospice patients, most of whom are elderly and struggling for a few more weeks of time.

As I was seeking chiropractic treatment for a neck injury, my first doctor did something my friends describe as “speaking healing into my life.” On the other hand, my second doctor spoke pessimism, gloom and hopelessness into my life. Speaking faith into what ails you will always be the best healing prescription for this stubborn and sometimes stiff-necked chaplain.

The extra “A” in my title, C-h-a-p-l-A-i-n, is silent and spells the difference between Charlie Chaplin, the silent actor, and Norris, the opinionated chaplain. Charlie Chaplin, like most chaplains, knew that more wisdom can be gained by listening, observing and not rushing to judgment.

Near-death experiences, or NDEs, are the spiritual stories people tell when they wake in the emergency room from being dead. I have to admit that I’m inexperienced with that experience but a bit more familiar with what often leads to these NDEs. Medical folks call it “risk-related behavior.”

How easy it is to bring unholy intentions to plain events. However, if we choose to see these irritations as moments to remember God, they can become a reality check on how we walk in this world.

In our hearts, we know these vanity products have little value. Still, we cling to them. We employ magical thinking by asserting they add value to our lives.