The Christian Airplane

(Editor's Note: When I first read "The Christian Airplane" I nearly
laughed until I cried. The funniest of all humor is that humor which
reflects reality and forces us to laugh at ourselves - something
Christians don't do very well. If you want to actually see the Christian
airplane, click on this link:
www.parousianetwork.org/The_Christian_Airplane.htm)

Early on Saturday morning the phone rang. My friend Wilfred was on the
line. Excitedly he announced, "My project's finished."

"What project?" I asked.

There was a pause, and his voice dropped to an intense whisper. "I've
built a Christian airplane," he said.

"A what?"

"You've got to come see it. You know that little airfield north of town?"

"Yes," I said.

"Meet me there at noon. Boy, are you gonna be impressed!"

With that, he hung up. I put the receiver down and scratched my chin. A
Christian airplane, I thought. I never heard of such a thing. But
Wilfred sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so at a quarter
to twelve I hopped into my car and headed for the airstrip. When I got
there Wilfred grabbed me by the elbow and hurried me toward a nearby
hanger.

"It around the corner," he said in that confident voice of his. "I
built it in my garage, then towed it out here behind my station wagon."

"Really?" I asked. "Is that legal, to tow an airplane down the highway?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? But they wouldn't arrest me for a little thing
like that. After all, it a Christian airplane It for a good cause."

I stopped. "Excuse me, Wilfred," I said. "What is a Christian airplane
anyway? What it for?"

"Why, for Christian stuff," Wilfred said impatiently. "Flying
missionaries around, maybe even putting on Gospel stunt shows. C'mon,
you've gotta see it."

He grabbed my elbow again and led me around the corner of the hanger.
"There it is," he said proudly. "Pretty fantastic, don't you think?" I
gazed in wonderment. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"I . . . I don't know much about planes, Wilfred. But aren't they supposed
to have wings?"

"Wings?", Wilfred asked, puzzled. "They would have been awfully
expensive. I didn't exactly have a big budget, you know."

"Oh," I said. I studied the fuselage. "What's it made of?" I asked.

"Empty cereal boxes," he answered, smiling. "My nephew works in a
supermarket, and he gave me all their damaged ones. Took me six months
to collect enough of them."

"Very thrifty," I murmured. Bending over, I studied the cockpit.

"How do you like those controls? Great, huh?"

I peered at the panel, which had a Cheerios box background, and saw an
impressive array of dials and switches. There were a couple of alarm
clocks, an old Mickey Mouse watch, a ruler, a Boy Scout compass, a
radio dial, and a broken pocket calculator. Smack in the middle was a
row of wall switches. "What do the switches do?" I asked..

"Nothing," he said.

"Oh," I said, and walked around the front of the plane. "This must be
the propeller," I said.

"Right on," he answered. "Naturally, those real propellers cost a small
fortune. So I used this agitating thing from my sister's old washing
machine. Looks a lot like a prop, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," I said. "An amazing resemblance."

"Want to see the engine?" Wilfred asked. He opened a cardboard door on
the side of the fuselage. "Look at that baby," he said proudly. "It ran
my lawn-mower perfectly for 15 years. Now it going to power this plane."

I cocked my head to one side, doubtful. "A lawn-mower engine?" I said.
"Are you sure that's enough for an airplane?"

He waved my question aside and chuckled. "C'mon, man," he said. "This is
a Christian airplane. The Lord knows we can't afford one of those fancy
aircraft engines. Just as long as we're trusting Him, what does it
matter?"

"I . . . I guess you're right," I said sheepishly.

"Hey, it's all right," he said soothingly. "Even my faith used to flag
once in a while. Now take a look at this." He pointed underneath the
plane, where the landing gear would have been on a non-Christian
aircraft.

"Very nice," I said. "Two pairs of roller skates, huh?"

"That's extra margin of safety," Wilfred said knowingly.

"Good idea," I said.

"And now for the crowning touch," he declared, leading me to the rear
of the plane. "Here's the most important part of the whole aircraft."

"The tail?" I asked.

"Nope," he said.

"The fuel tank?"

"No," he said with a laugh. "Take a look."

I did, and saw painted on the tail a large fish symbol. "Oh," I said.
"A Christian sign."

"Right," he said gleefully. "And John3:16 is on the other side."

We stood there admiring the Christian airplane for a few moments before
Wilfred spoke again, excited. "Well, shall we go up?"

"Huh?" I said.

"I wanted to share the honor of the first flight with you, since you're
such a good friend."

I swallowed. "You mean fly in it? I didn't know you knew how to fly,
Wilfred."

"Ah, there can't be much to it. I've seen planes take off before. I even
rode in one once."

He climbed confidently into the cockpit. "Uh . . . I'm not sure that's
enough," I ventured nervously. "Aren't you supposed to take flying
lessons, get a pilot's license?"

He laughed. "Oh, thou of little faith," he said. "What do we need that
stuff for? We're Christians. Nobody expects us to be professionals, after
all."

"Uh - right. But there's only one chair. I guess you'll have to go up
alone."

"You're right. I knew I'd forgotten something. Well, maybe next time." He
reached between his feet, yanked the cord of the lawn-mower engine, and
the motor putt-putted to life.

"Have you got a parachute?" I asked.

"Of course not," he said. "How could a Christian plane fail? Give me a
push, will you?"

Gently, so as not to damage the cardboard, I pushed the plane a few
feet. Soon, it began to move under its own power, rolling along with
the speed and sound of a go_cart.

"Up we go!" Wilfred cried. But the Christian airplane just buzzed along
slowly on the ground until it crashed into the side of the control
tower. Maybe crumpled would be a better word, as the cereal boxes just
sort of collapsed without much of a noise. I ran over to Wilfred.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course," he said, looking dazed.

"Too bad it was a flop," I said shaking my head.

Wilfred looked sternly at me. "What are you talking about?" he
demanded. "This was a Christian airplane. Just because it seems to us
to have been unsuccessful doesn't mean a thing."

"Oh," I said.

"We have planted a seed here today. Why, someone probably saw the fish
sigh on the tail and started thinking."

"You're right, Wilfred," I said, feeling ashamed of myself. "Here, let me
help you clean up this mess."

"Mess?" he said indignantly. "We're going to leave this right here, as a
witness."

After making sure the tail was sticking up out of the rubble, he walked
back to the car with me.

"Don't worry," he said, putting an arm around my shoulder. "Someday this
will all come together and we'll see how it fits perfectly into God's plan.
Till then, have faith."

My friend Wilfred does have faith. There can be no denying it. After
all, he's been working on projects like the Christian airplane for years
now. But that's Wilfred. (-END-)

What about you? What are you building? An ekklesia that will be a
channel for the River of God Spirit to receive the coming monsoon of
revival and transform your neighborhood for the Kingdom of God, or
another "Christian airplane" in your garage, hoping against hope that
the inevitable wreckage will somehow be "a testimony" to your
neighbors? Please don't invite me over to see it. I used to be a pilot,
and it would just be too painful for me to come and watch you crash &
burn for Jesus.