I have something of a ritual in aeroplanes. After the flight attendants make their final passes and go sit down for landing, I pull my headphones back out. As the plane rattles and rumbles toward earth, I sit peacefully with my palms facing upward in my lap and say the Jesus Prayer.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy.
Lord Jesus Christ. Have mercy, have mercy, have mercy.
Then I think about how I’m sitting in a heavy plastic and metal container, sinking through air and elements. I think about how easy it would be to hit the ground straight on, to turn everything I can presently see into fire and smouldering rubble. And then I don’t necessarily will for that to happen — it seems presumptuous to give God notes on when I should die — but I let the idea linger, imagining how all my stressors would be would be wiped out immediately, how peaceful death would be. I let the notion be present while I’m praying.
The plane shudders and vibrates and my lips keep moving silently, palms open to the heavens. [Delta Spirit.]