The Broken Airplane

I lean over the broken airplane, twisted metal reflecting dim lights from distant hangars. The engine clinks as it cools. My friend, Luke, shakes his head.


Five minutes ago, all was well. And then, as we left the ground, we heard a sharp thump and the airplane darted sideways, away from the runway, its propeller desperately clawing at the night sky. Somehow, she held onto the sky, limping sidelong and tremulous as we circled back to earth, and here we stand in the dark, shaking our heads, taking photos of an airplane that may never fly again.

The thump was a deer, sprinting across the runway. If she had arrived half a second later, we would not have met. But we did meet, and the deer, like the airplane, picked herself up and stumbled a few steps further, finally dragged herself off the runway to die.

As the shock of the moment passes, I begin to ask myself what this means, if it means anything at all. For now, it means I’m largely out of a job because most of my teaching was done in this airplane. It means the loss of a good machine and days of paperwork and email and phone calls. Bad luck, I suppose, yet here we stand, shaken but uninjured. Not dead. Not worse than dead, demolished in some hospital bed.

How many steps do you have to go back to measure your luck? Is it worse to wreck an airplane than to never have an airplane, maybe never to fly at all? Could I even count the hundreds of good things I have received that made this bad thing possible? The thousands of hours airborne in which bad things might have happened but didn’t; the dangers I didn’t even notice; the deer that crossed just after I passed…

I don’t know the moral of this story, but I believe my days are numbered, and that’s a good thing because they are numbered by the one who gave me those days.

* * *

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways…

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

– Psalm 139

– Note: The middle photo is from a flight a couple of days later, showing how little fear deer have of airplanes. The deer that struck our airplane twisted the entire tail section (thus, her insistence on flying sideways) and partially separated the elevator and horizontal stabilizer.

The Party of Fire

I have always enjoyed a quiet fire, chatting with friends, faces glowing in the flickering flame.  There is a cheerful solemnity to it, apparently, whether you burn a few logs or an entire department store.  And everything, it seems, is now fuel for the fire.

The new kind of fire is a bit unsettling until you get into the mood. Homes and cars and banks seem a bit extravagant for use as firewood.  Bibles and American flags, though more affordable, appear especially ill-suited.  One half-expects the government to take an interest, to find some poor policeman whom it has not yet defunded and send him to investigate.

But then, there is no mystery to investigate.  Everything is fuel for the fire because the fire is more important than what it consumes.  Everything is fuel for the fire because, when the businesses and Bibles and flags have settled to ember and ash, something will rise to take their place.

The real mystery is this: Who and what will rise?  Who and what, having tossed onto the flames so much that we love and honor, will build upon the ruins, and what will they honor?

It won’t be people that they honor, regardless of race, gender, or integrity.  A few months ago, Mr. Kavanaugh became fuel for the fire, and now it will be Mrs. Barrett.  Their lives, however innocent, are to be incinerated, as Clarence Thomas was incinerated before them, all for the thought-crime of respecting the Constitution.

It won’t be public safety they honor, because we can see in every police officer they abuse, every police station and emergency vehicle they destroy, every police confrontation they distort and exploit, that they regard law and order as an obstacle to their rise.

It won’t be America they honor, because they want nothing so much as to erode, distort, and finally erase our memory of those who laid the foundation for this place, and the beauty of much that has been built upon that foundation. 

That beauty and even that foundation are fuel for the fire and this year’s virus provides a preview of the new foundation, where fearful obedience is honored and reasonable precaution is mocked, where rage is blessed and peace belittled, where government spills into every corner of our lives and independence in punished.  

The fires in our cities show what we can expect from the party of fire — a party that has (astoundingly) coalesced around the death of children, the closing of our churches and businesses, the defamation of our nation, and the careless destruction of all who impede their power.   Next in their string of firecrackers, our jobs were made fuel for the fire so that our electoral system might become fuel for the fire.   I fear this might be the final blast, the fire that consumes what remains of America.

And against all this, the humble firemen.  In St. Paul’s words, “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good”, and we suddenly stand in urgent need of brave souls who will not only love what God loves but hate what he hates.  The evil is upon us and the fact that it hates our nation tells us much about America.  If we don’t stand now, if we don’t fight the arsonists and defend what is good, let us not speak of God’s love.

The Experiment

As good experiments sometimes do, my experiment proved me wrong.

It’s only one experiment, but the results are spectacular, and you can easily run the test yourself. 

I got the idea a while ago, remembering this story I heard as a kid – a story that has haunted me ever since.  The story was so big, so crazy that I imagined it with a dramatic backdrop – earthquakes, signs in the sky, vast armies marching across the countryside.  Well, it’s been a strange year in America, but not that strange.  Still, I thought I would give it a try.

I began at a restaurant I’ve frequented for years and, yep, it worked.  Then I tried the bank.  And then the grocery store.  Finally, the church.

I’ve been running the experiment for weeks now and it works every time.  It works so well that I’m reconsidering that old bible story, which describes a massive social shift – a movement to unite behind an idea and bake that idea into the daily processes of life.  If you show support for the idea, your life is allowed to continue, much as before.  You don’t have to believe; you just have to go along.

Well, as good experiments sometimes do, my experiment proved me wrong.  I thought that story could not happen here, or that it would at least be accompanied by earthquakes and armies.  I thought it would take longer, or that we would think harder, or be more inclined to resist, or be more loyal to old neighbors than new rulers.

In fact, my experiment proved that the story I feared has already come true.  I have been turned away from the restaurant and the bank, the grocery store, and the church; turned away by old friends who doubt whether the idea behind the current story is even true.  I don’t blame them for turning me away.  That’s the way the story works.  You don’t have to believe, but if you want to participate in this society – to buy or sell or bank or worship – you do have to go along.

And go along, we do.  The book of Revelation tells of a “mark” that will be required by the government “to buy or sell”.  We’re not there yet, but if the story seems far-fetched to you, take off your mask and try.

Screwtape Explains a Crisis*

My dim-witted Wormwood, I write in haste. Stand down and – if you value your life – say no more of your proposal to anyone. For one thing, it has been tried (and how exquisitely that fool suffered for it – Satan digest his soul). For another, it shows how little you understand our program.

Yes, the fat is finally in the fire, but do not be intoxicated by the fumes. We have far to go and naturally our journey will end with a bonfire of churches, but for now we want them as they stand – bright white and innocuous.

I have not forgotten your inexperience, but can even you fail to see their importance? The humans have a term for changing bad resources into good – “money laundering”, I think it is – and this is our use for the Church. As you say, the Enemy’s words are heard there, and that is a risk, but less than you think. We have convinced many in the Church to set aside his words and promote our own views of sex and life and race and the rest – all under his flag! The laundering of our Father’s principles, the deprecation of the Enemy’s ideas, the marketing value of the Church marching alongside us, the embarrassment and suppression of those inside the Church who might have done us harm… All this, my short-sighted apprentice: THIS is the profitable enterprise you propose to burn down?!!

Now attend, and I will correct your thinking on the other project you mention.

Our hope for the virus is not to kill humans (they live briefly enough in any case), but to marinate them for our later enjoyment. The Enemy would have them prepare for their death by living bravely and well. We want them to consider death a surprising and preventable event. (I hear you laugh, but you know it works.) Give them terror of what they cannot avoid. Give them a sense of control that will always be frustrated. Set them at war against their own creaturely nature. That is the stuff that seasons their soul.

And there is a broader application. Your human’s nation, though substantially repaired in recent years, remains tainted. The little beasts are taught they were born to be free and they still speak openly of the Enemy and his ideas, even at state-sponsored events. I don’t need to tell you how this increases our workload. A decision has been made by the Lower Downs to deal with the country as a whole.

A task force is working to shift the nation to a new foundation, built upon the timeless and bracing themes of control and conflict, similar to our own organization’s constitution. Their current health crisis will advance this effort in several ways.

1. In times of peace, the creatures’ minds wander to beauty and the greater good, and we must prevent this. Keep them in a state of perplexity and fear through the next election – wearing face-masks wherever they go, separated from their friends and routines, hanging upon the “news” (delicious word!). We must, at all costs, preserve in their minds a state of emergency.

2. Like all good things, the virus will come to an end, but with care, we can draw it out a few more months. Of course, most humans are not physically affected and, if they once stop to think about this, they might go back to their lives, become immune, and our beautiful emergency would soon be over. By all means possible, we must flatten the recovery.

3. Our primary goal is to improve their elections, allowing us much greater influence in the process. The fear we nourish will obviously draw voters away from principle and toward perceived safety. Far more important, it will justify our plan to create wide-open spaces between voters and vote counters. We cannot yet control voters, but we will control their ballots, and that is enough for the moment.

I trust you now see, Wormwood, that your personal initiative is both unwanted and potentially harmful to our ongoing work. In the future, take care to do as you are told and lure your human patient along, or you may find yourself an entrée at the next quarterly barbecue.

Your voraciously affectionate uncle,

Screwtape

*Apologies to C. S. Lewis, author of the brilliant Screwtape Letters, from which the characters and concept are derived (https://www.amazon.com/…/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_GCTfFbB6G35…)

The Strange Tattoo

It’s a strange story, but it’s been told for thousands of years.  An irresistible crowd, following an irresistible leader, all wearing the same tattoo. 

It sounded sinister when I read the story as a kid, but I was missing the point.  There’s a lot to be said for irresistible force, as long as you’re moving with it.  And that tattoo – well, it doesn’t just get you into the crowd, it also gets you into the grocery store and the bank. 

I’m slow, but I think I finally get it.  The story is not about the leader.  It’s about us.

If this year has taught us anything, it’s this: America has become a wave pool of passion, and Americans are far more likely to dive in than ask where the waves are coming from.

And the waves are spectacular.  In just a few months we have all faced death, and then become systemically racist, and finally realized that our nation was always evil.  That’s quite a summer, and there’s more to come.

There’s more to come because waves don’t last very long.   They soar and smash and disappear.  They are big because they are big, and not because they are true.  They may be led by swimmers, but they are fed by floaters – by the much larger body of people who decide that resistance is futile, or at least too expensive.  Floaters are the real power behind every wave.  They magnify its force by bobbing along, adding their own weight to its influence.

Waves soar and smash and disappear, and all that remains is the damage… which makes you wonder where these waves are coming from because they all point at the same target.  In the old days of, say, six months ago, we called ourselves “a nation of laws and not of men”.  Today, we watch the lawless on TV, left free to destroy whatever they will.  Our leaders, too, are lawless, claiming for themselves new powers or standing quietly aside as others do, dismantling the system they were hired to protect.  We are quickly becoming a nation of men and not law.

I don’t think the beast of the Bible story is here, or that his mark is a mask or BLM t-shirt, but we begin to see how easy it will be.  The Antichrist will be a bum, of course, but he will have a few tricks up his sleeve, and that will be enough.  He will make waves, and many will dive in, and most of the rest will play it safe and bob along.  For the few who refuse, there will be fear and shame and a guy in front of the grocery store checking tattoos.