By Press Release
St Jude is the patron saint of lost causes; St Anthony is your go-to if you’re in need of an actual miracle. I rarely pray, unless I’m desperate, which means my prayers are completely self-serving, which makes them pointless. The way things are, even if I wanted to pray unselfishly, where would I start?
Twenty years ago, flying near Atlanta, Georgia, we were enduring some horrendously bad weather. The pilot told us that “things could get a little bumpy;” outside, we could see ominously dark skies and lightning. He said, “Not to worry, he’d have us on the ground in 20 minutes.” An hour later, we were still being thrown around like pebbles in a cement mixer. Several passengers seated around me were sobbing openly. My kids seemed blissfully unaware of the apparent danger I’d put them in. Helpless, and with little else to do but fret and hope, I decided to make a deal with God. In exchange for a safe landing, I promised never to fly again. When you’re up there hurtling along at 500 mph, unless the skies are gin clear, it’s hardly surprising you get anxious. I flew a lot in my youth and, for a while, even had a job involving daily flights. I began to fear my luck might run out.
In the ’70s, aircraft still crashed often, the technology was still in development. We passengers were unwitting guinea pigs. In 1979 my sister and I were flying on an Eastern Airlines Tristar that had an uncontained engine fire. In the darkness, that was truly spectacular – and terrifying! Don’t cancel your holiday; these days it’s the drive to the airport that’s risky; flights are incredibly safe. When I recall that horror flight near Atlanta, I hope that God forgot our little arrangement, although if I’m struck down unexpectedly, remember what I just told you, and try not to break your promises. If, after all these years, God still wants to teach me a lesson, so be it.
In more recent years, I prayed for the health of my son and my sister. Medical science was already doing its best to heal the pair of them, but I thought a little divine intervention couldn’t hurt. Some additional insurance. I have no memory of offering anything in return on those occasions; maybe I’d learned my lesson. Once past the point of crisis, regardless of whether you feel your prayers were answered, it’s easy to forget that you asked for help. No wonder the churches are empty.
I had the pleasure of meeting Eric Moody a few times. He’s the remarkable British Airways pilot who, in 1982, unknowingly flew a 747 jumbo jet through a huge volcanic eruption in Indonesia. All four engines failed, but cool, calm and collected, Eric simply turned, and glided back to Jakarta, landing safely. Unintentionally, he’d created a new world gliding record. During the crisis, Eric and his amazing flight deck crew relentlessly went through the engine restart procedure, and eventually that sort of worked. I asked how his passengers reacted when it got a little quiet up there. He told me the announcement he made: “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, we have a small problem. All four engines have stopped, but we are doing our damnedest to get them going again. I trust you are not in too much distress.” What masterful British understatement. He didn’t mention having time to pray, so how did the passengers react? “Calmly,”said Eric, “Only one, an Australian, made a fuss, and her husband told her to shut up.” You’d never get away with that sort of thing nowadays, and afterward, everyone would want compensation.
Answered prayers are never enough, but I’ve always been sure someone, somewhere looks after me.
