The other day a lady asked me if I had ever flown a jumbo jet – one of those huge birds that holds 400 passengers in its metal gullet. I almost said, “Yes,” but had to limit my answer to, “Well, almost.”
How do you almost fly a jumbo jet?
My good friend Roy Long, a senior pilot with a larger commercial airline, is in charge of a jet pilot training program in Miami. Pilots preparing to fly the company’s mammoth airships get their initial checkout in what is a called a “simulator.” It’s an awesome-looking piece of machinery which contains a simulated jumbo-jet cockpit. Housed in a multi-million dollar training center, it stands on tall mechanical stilts which move a few feet back and forth – up and down – controlled by then, a roomful of computers.
One night Roy invited me to join him in a training session. While the regular pilots were taking a coffee break, he gestured toward the simulator.
“Strap yourself in the left seat, Bernie, and let’s make a couple takeoffs and landings.”
While I buckled up, Roy punched a few buttons on the console and somewhere a few rooms over, a metallic brain clicked and whirled in response and went right to work.
We found ourselves on the end of Runway 9-Left at Miami International. The computer left nothing to the imagination. I’d never been in such a complicated looking cockpit in my life. There was the Miami runway stretching out in front of me – glaring white in the mid-morning sun. I advanced throttle, heard the engines go from throaty rumble to mechanical scream, spooling up to max RPM. My jumbo started to roll forward as a stewardess somewhere in the back greeted the passengers. Beads of sweat formed on my brow while the runway flashed under me. The airspeed indicator crept past 140 KTS and Roy called out, “Rotate!”
I eased back the yoke. We were airborne – climbing into the hazy blue over Miami. In the weight of the controls, I could feel the huge craft behind me. Sure would hate to land this bird in the Andes, I thought to myself. We climbed to pattern altitude. My copilot nodded as I circled the great field and lined up for the landing. Roy was calling out airspeed as I worked the throttles and controls – letting down for the landing. I heard the wheels screech a protest on the runway and then felt the weight of the plane settle on the gear. My feet were on the brakes as I reversed the engines. We coasted to a shuddering halt.
“Not bad, Captain,” Roy grinned. “Not bad at all for your very first landing in the L-1011.” Running my sleeve across my brow, I was warmed by a feeling of accomplishment. No hitches or hang-ups. It felt good.
But it wasn’t real. It was all a Disneyland make-believe. We hadn’t traveled two feet. We never went higher than our stilts.
And that, I am slowly realizing, is a parable of much of our Christian experience. We build million-dollar simulators. We climb in, sing passionate hymns with an electric organ that simulates 20 different instruments. We listen to exciting stories and even make emotional commitments. There’s only one minor fraud. W never really take off. There is noise and motion – but we haven’t gone anywhere.
“Spectator Christianity” has vaccinated us against the genuine article – participation Christianity. One church advertises, “ For those who want more than a Sunday religion.” Now, that’s the way it should be.
Dr. Samuel Shoemaker asks us all, “What has Jesus Christ meant to you since 7:00 this morning? Is your Christianity ancient history, or is it current events?”
God’s invitation is to mount up with wings as eagles. Why be content with a stimulator when you can fly?
Taken verbatim from Bernie May’s book “Climbing On Course.” This book was loaned me by Glenn Shoup who had served as a young man with Wycliff in several locations around the world. Last week during Sunday school, Glenn told me a time before JAARS was at the airport, Bernie May was at an event here in Wayne county with two other pilots in a helicopter. While touring the area in the helicopter, they saw an Amish farm threshing oats so they unannounced landed beside the operation. Since it was nearly lunchtime, they shut it down early and of course, the three were invited for lunch. It was the highlight of day for both Bernie and the threshers; especially when they were ready to start threshing again, when everyone grabbed a hold of the drive belt between the tractor and the threshing machine, and while tugging on that drive belt moving as fast as possible, they were able to start the tractor’s engine. That demonstration of physics prompted Bernie when they were ready to lift off, to invite several Amish youth and teasing them into thinking they could start the helicopters engine by simply spinning its rotor blades… but they soon realized Bernie was just joking with them.
Bernie May served thirty years as a missionary pilot for Wycliff/JAARS (Jungle Aviation and Radio Service) and past president of Wycliffe USA.
FYI, over the years, Glenn Shoup, already 83 years young, has blessed his Kidron Mennonite congregation during their Children’s Moments as well as numerous other churches, fellowships, and of late, Amish schools, reunions and their business events and dinners with his magical encounters highlighting front and center the Gospel message of salvation, thoroughly enjoyed by young and old alike.
The following is verbatim from the book’s Introduction by Bernie on Pg. 5.
Sometime ago a BOAC jet came apart in a thunderstorm shortly after takeoff out of New Delhi, India. All the crew and the passengers were killed in the crash. The last words spoken by the captain before entering the fatal storm were, “We’re climbing on course.” When I heard about it, I thought, What a great last position report – climbing on course.
“Position reports” are vital – for both pilots and pilgrims. They indicate where we are at any given time. Whether I have learned more about flying from my moments with God – or more about God from my experiences in the air – I don’t know. But I do know that as I have tracked the skies of this world – putting my confidence in instruments which have guided me through dark and rainy nights, or listening to a distant controller steering me to a final approach – God has taught me about faith, discipline and eternal values.
Frequently I have been what is called a “critical attitude.” That means the aircraft is in danger of crashing because of its position in the air – nose high, one wing low, power off. That’s me: nose high in pride, doctrinally off balance, and spiritually powerless. It’s a bad position report. But you know, more and more, as His Spirit takes the controls, I’m climbing back on course.
I share my experiences with you, hoping that you, too, will want to know Him better, and to learn with me what it means to “mount up with wings as eagles.”
Climbing on course,
Bernie May