IN-FLIGHT MOVIE
We take off from O’Hare to Seattle after a precious time of fellowship and communion with Joel’s friends at his memorial. Initially every movement of the plane is noticeable – the slow passing of nearby waiting planes and baggage cars, as we taxi out – and the wind and grind of flaps and ailerons being tested.
Then take-off. The rumble and roar, the building pressure of thrust, the rake of the tube suddenly increasing, up into that nothingness but everythingness called air; thicker at first (they say) and then increasingly thin, the faster and higher we rise.
As we level off at 35,000 ft. the very present awareness that we are in a human-filled sausage, a mere speck if seen from a distance, begins to fade. The container we ride in so effortlessly becomes everything; all in all. The realization that we are indeed suspended a hopelessly unsafe distance from the ground, palatable at first, fades, and a strange disconnect with the reality of our precarious position occurs. The book, the magazines, the movie, force that awareness away, substituting in its place a surreal and false contentment that nothing is really going on; almost like we’re simply sitting on the runway again, being jostled by mechanical arms, or sliding safely along on some atmospheric conveyor belt that will certainly, and with no cause for question, carry us home.
In fact, it becomes virtually impossible to maintain that awareness of the real truth of our position. It pops in with a glance out the window at the clouds or ground, but pops out again as the chase scene on the “in-flight” movie intrudes again on that consciousness and becomes the current reality, absorbing one’s attention, as though these flickering images on a screen can magically erase the truth; the truth that but for every system, component and computer on this aging manmade device (note the frayed seat cushions) continuing to work flawlessly, we will be plunged into a downward spiral with as much chance of recovery as that of a pot-bellied stove being dropped out of the emergency exit.
For some strange reason, I find myself wanting to hold onto that initial awareness of the true reality of what is going on. I resist losing it, and struggle to listen to the whine of the engines, glancing out periodically for a glimpse of the ground, or at least the clouds below. I am not afraid of flying, just anxious to keep it in proper perspective.
Can I maintain this level of awareness with God? After Joel’s death every movement of God’s Spirit in comfort, in recognition of His plan in action, upholding and supporting me in my grief held me focused on Him, His Word and the absolute necessity of surviving each moment only with His intervention. But the awareness of the fragility of my walk with God as I struggle to maintain a vision of the truth of my need for Christ every moment threatens to fade. The demands of daily life begin to intrude and distract, at first for moments, then an hour . . .
The “in flight movies” of the daily grind beckon and threaten to pull my focus away from the real truth that except for the continual, persistent and undeniable work of God upholding my life, working perfectly in every circumstance for Good (though often seen as bad) I am as destined to lean on my flesh and fall into a shortsighted, narrow, selfish existence as the potbellied stove would plunge to the earth.
Will it be possible to maintain that awareness of my position in Christ through His Grace seated in heavenly places in Him, with my citizenship in heaven not just a future hope but a present reality? Will Joel’s death with the severe pain of his loss driving me to my knees before God continue to keep me there? Dare I waste the severe mercy of losing Joel?
Ralph McLin 9/8/03