Thoughts after Jumping outta the plane...

This morning I jumped out of an airplane.  It’s not that big a deal; while I don’t have a USPA license to jump, today marked my 7^th dive, including one from 18,000 feet, billed as “the world’s highest skydive” (technically it’s just the highest you can do without having to don an oxygen mask).

Today was only 13,500 or so, so it wasn't that big a deal.  I’m not crazy; it’s terrifying every time I even think about jumping out of an airplane.  I sort of do it for the thrill, but I also do it as a very real reminder of God’s provision.  I often challenge my preacher friends to “step out on faith,” but I know that every thing is not for every body.  Just like I don’t understand how you can proclaim to trust Jesus and express fear at anything in the natural world, some of my folk don’t understand many of my behaviors and/or theological positions.  Since this really isn’t about my preacher friends but about me, I’mma move on.

So not only was I at a new dropzone, I was going to be at a dropzone in the South.  Conservatives and/or Republicans collectively puzzle me.  Individually they're usually cool, but when they come together behind a "Republican" or "conservative" veneer that is seemingly inconsistent with who they are, it tends to puzzle me.  So not only am I in a conservative, probably Republican area, but it’s the Bible Belt. I love people who love Jesus, but sometimes I feel there may be agendas other than Jesus' being carried out... So as I drove to the dropzone I wondered what it would be like if my tandem instructor were an obvious trumpster or a racist or a misogynist – after all, I’m about to join my fate to someone I don’t even know! (And if you’ve never skydived, the standard waver you sign talks about how you are going to be in close physical proximity to someone and you might be touched by them in ways that make you uncomfortable; I dare not write publicly HOW close we get, but suffice it to say you are INTIMATELY connected to your tandem partner).  Could I do it with a trumpster?  More importantly, could they do it with ME?

I went to the dropzone, I had a wonderful jump (did I mention how my tandem partner stripped to his skivvies right in front of me?  He had to change into his jumpsuit and was in a hurry.  A coupla guys changed their shirts, and while I do notice physiques, all I did was come to the conclusion that skydiving must make your upper body strong, the adrenalin is prolly good cardio, but it doesn’t seem to burn a lot of fat.  But I've digressed again.). I had a wonderful jump, and by the time I saw the “Hillary for Prison 2016” sticker on a jug, I was much more concerned with what might have been in the jug than I was with the politics of whomever may have put the sticker there.

I’ve jumped now in four different dropzones and I’ve noticed some similarities in them that perhaps could be employed in the church.  I was a walkin, even though I’d called; I just didn’t want to make an appointment because I didn’t want to be committed to a time.  I told them that, and there was absolutely no judgement; they just worked me into the next load.  When you first go for a tandem jump, they sit you down and make you watch a video.  It acknowledges that you came to skydive because you want to, but that to get the thrill, there are risks.  It goes over those risks and tells you what the worst possible outcomes could be.  Then they spend an inordinate amount of time suiting you up and giving you instructions and cheering you up and attending to your needs so that the possibility of negative outcomes is minimized.  At any point in the process, you are free to say “hey, I don’t think this is for me” with no judgement and a complete refund.

What if when people came to church, instead of trying to get them to join or even to get them to give their lives to Christ, we just took them, just as they are? What if they could come to us on their own time, rather than at 10:30 or 11:00 or whenever we tell them service starts?  What if we then had a conversation with them, acknowledging they came for something, maybe even figuring out what that something is, and letting them know we’ve got something and it looks like it may be what they need, and they are welcome to partake, but that it will require something from them.  And what if we were really upfront with them about all the time and toil and trouble and blood and sweat and tears it will cost them to follow Christ?  What if we then girded them up with spiritual armor, dd our best to strap them in tightly so they wouldn't fall, taught them about their responsibilities, coached them on things they could do to achieve the best outcomes, attached ourselves to them and answered their every question before joining with them on the ride of their lives?  What would our churches – and our own faith walks – look like then?

At one point Brian, my jumpmaster, was telling me how we’d exit the plane.  I have an arthritic knee, so crouching is hard for me.  We’re at 13,500 feet in a single-engine Cessna that is filled to its 14 passenger capacity.  Brian’s not commenting on any of that, he simply makes sure the hop and pops go out first so the aircraft will be relatively empty when the time comes for us to go out.  And he’s telling me how we’ll exit, that we’ll do a 180 degree turn and face the wings.  Not fully understanding, I say to him, “so you’ll go out first?,” (I just meant his body would exit the aircraft in front of mine) but he immediately responded “No. We go out together.  We’re doing all of this TOGETHER.”  What if we took that attitude in our churches, say if we had a new member who was slow or needed special accommodations or didn’t understand?  What if our focus was on our unity rather than on the obstacles to unity?

I always say there’s a bond among swimmers because no matter how much we exercise, train, and try to tame our bodies, our sport places us ultimately at the mercy of a natural element that cannot be completely controlled.  Our safety and our lives depend upon proper respect and communication.  I think the same thing is true of people who jump out of planes.  No matter how good a plane or a rig you may have, no matter how much skill or experience you may have, the wind can take your chute and leave you freefalling to the earth.  Proper respect for the natural environment and good communication does not eradicate the danger, but it does lessen it.

So what if we were like that in church?  What if we acted like our very survival depended not on anything we have or anything we do, but what if we acted like our survival was anchored somewhere deep inside a respect for the environment – the Body of Christ --  and in proper communication?  What would that look like?  Could we then create and foster an environment in which our differences did not define us?  Could we flourish in an atmosphere that focused on the love that binds us together rather than those points upon which we disagree?

I don’t know the answers.  I know that I went, I was welcomed, I was safe, I got what I came for, and even after seeing the “Hillary for Prison” sticker, the experience was a positive enough one that I’d go back in a heartbeat.  Do we have that same atmosphere in our churches?

Going Home

My cousin’s funeral is set for Tuesday, March 14 at 10 am.  I was fortunate enough to get a 6 am flight on Tuesday scheduled to get me into RDU at 8:30, so even if there are delays, I should be able to make it.  Then the meteorologists decide there’s going to be a nor’easter in the City.  They forecast blizzard like conditions from Monday midnite thru Tuesday midnite.  We’d spent Monday in Albany lobbying politicians for more money for housing.  So I’m thinking I’ll come home from Albany, maybe hit the gym, maybe not, and head to the airport about midnite in case there really is a snowstorm.  That way I can beat it, and hopefully there won’t be too much accumulation before my 6 am flight.

On the way to Albany I get a message from the airline that my flight has been cancelled.  I start to rebook, but we lost the signal, and because I’m a genius I didn’t think it was that big a deal.  We go to Albany, we have a VERY productive meeting with a couple of State Senators, and get on the bus to come home.  I use my phone as a hotspot instead of relying on the bus’s wifi, and look at the airline’s options.  There’s a 4 pm flight and an 8 pm flight, both out of Newark.  The 4 pm isn’t even possible since we didn’t leave Albany til after 2;  the 8 pm could possibly work.

Long story short:  traffic was a bear, which slowed us down.  I made a conscious effort to remain calm and rely on God’s Will.  We got off the bus, I got in my car and amazingly zipped through 5:00 traffic in the South Bronx.  I’d told myself that if I got home by 5:30, I might have a chance.  It was 5:29 when I pulled into the parking lot.

I go into the house and can’t find the duffel bag I’d wanted to use.  I found another one, and managed to stave off the OCD enough that I didn’t go through every pocket in it reminiscing about what I might have used it for.  Instead, I put in my robe and stoles, grabbed some stockings and some dressy-ish boots, (the funeral is at a Missionary Baptist Church with a pastor whose own preferences overruled those of the family and who actually had an opinion on what type of collar I should wear), and my good black preacher suit.  Come to think of it, I should have taken a different one, but the one I took is my favorite.  Of course the jacket and skirt were in two different places, but I managed to pull them together, a collar, a gift for my brother, stuff it all in a bag, and skedaddle.  By this point I’m not watching the time. 

The bag doesn’t have wheels, and I have to schlep it to the train, with my laptop (including not-yet-completed remarks) slung across my back.  My metrocard is around my neck where I keep it for easy access.  Get to the train station, and a train is pulling up.  Except I can’t unzip my coat to get to my metrocard.  I look like a 5-year old standing there trying to unzip my coat while the train pulls out of the station.  Next train is 6 minutes later.  Plane is due to take off at 8, board between 7:25 and 7:45.  Six minutes means a lot.

But I get to the next train and get to Penn Station.  I wander around NJTransit because I don’t see any schedules or fare machines.  Go to Customer service who tells me there’s a train now on Track 10. I go to track 10, passing a ticket machine on the way and getting a round trip ticket to Newark Airport.  I meant to get money, since I forgot to bring some from home and tipped the Albany driver with my last, but the two Chase ATMs I saw were both out of service.  So I get my ticket and go to the train which is full.  No problem, I’m standing, even though there’s a lot of traffic pushing by me.  Finally decide to go to the upper level of the packed train where I immediately find a seat.

The journey to EWR was uneventful (except for the fact that my NJTransit ticket to Newark airport included the Airtrain  -- I thought I’d have to buy a separate ticket for it!), but I was on standby.  Somehow United failed to put my TSA pre-check status on my standby ticket.  It’s now 7:25 or so, I think boarding has started, and these people at Newark literally sent me walking around in a circle before I got to the TSA line.  There not only did I have to take off my shoes and take out my laptop, but my scarf fell out of the bin and got caught in the rollers. After we got that untangled, this little girl kept feeling me up.  She explained what she was gonna do, but it was basically feeling me up.  As always, I made awkward jokes about how much she seemed to like it and who should pay whom, but it didn’t serve to make her move any quicker.  She even swabbed the palms of my hands and it seemed the machine took forever to tell her there was nothing on them.  I’m thinking I’m not getting on the plane.

Then I go to the gate, which is located on bumblefuck lane in west hell.  Seriously.  It was like gate 120-something. And while there were a lot of little cart thingies, the people who were spozed to be driving them all seemed to be talking to each other. I had no confidence they’d get me there any quicker than I would get there walking, so I walked.  And walked.  And walked. And walked.  I even lamented loudly at how ridiculous it was to have a gate that far away.

I finally got to the gate and waited behind a couple of people, only to find out I was at the gate for the Los Angeles flight.  I finally got to the correct gate.  I’d checked the app, which had gone from 7 available seats to zero, and where I had gone from #6 on the waitlist to #7.  It didn’t look good.  But the woman at the counter told us to hang out.  I told God I would trust God’s decision.

Turns out there were 6 available seats on the flight.  I was #7 and the guy I was talking to was #8.  Somehow, we both made it onto the plane!! Seems three people failed to show up.  I ain’t saying it was the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, I’m just noticing three people failed to show up….

There were obstacles on every side.  Every rational indicator suggested I would not make it.  But I’m writing this from 30,000 feet (did I mention I got a window seat?), as we prepare to begin our descent to RDU where I’ll go to be with my family as we prepare to say our final goodbyes to our beloved cousin, father, husband and friend.  I’ll be talking about Faithfulness.  He was a Marine, and Semper Fi was their motto.  I’mma be talking about the faithfulness of God.  I know what I’m talking about.