I was once on a flight from Hong Kong to Manila. It was a bumpy, nerve-wracking ride, and when the plane touched down, passengers from first class to the bathroom in the back erupted in applause.
I like to keep to myself on flights, my nose in a book, my ears plugged into a podcast or filled with music. But I remember, on that particular flight, reluctantly releasing my death grip on the armrests and joining in the joyful noise.
It’s an odd thing, I think, that applause after a bumpy flight. Justified, sure, but also an uncomfortable admission that things could’ve gone quite differently. That we — a collection of disparate passengers — are glad to still be alive and fully aware that we came quite close to the alternative.
And yet, this isn’t such a rare thing, right? We celebrate successful surgeries. We embrace friends and family members all the more tightly when they’ve survived close calls. We welcome home veterans of conflicts. And we lift up those who have made it through difficult, dangerous situations — who have survived against the odds: victims of natural disasters, violence, drug overdoses and more.
We see someone pulled back from the brink — from that jarring line that separates life and death — and our impulse is rightly one of joy. We erupt in applause because we have more time, another chance.
Look at the father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son: “Let us celebrate with a feast,” he exclaims, “because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.” (Luke 15:23-24)
So, then, what to make of those folks who clap at the end of every flight? We’ve all been on one of those flights, right? I, for one, roll my eyes, scowl, and think: That flight wasn’t so bad. Save your applause.
I think, though, that I’m wrong.
Because perhaps we should always assume a disposition of joyful celebration. We should always appreciate the lives around us, the time we have with one another. We should always be mindful of that line that separates life from death, knowing that God might call us home at any moment.
And that, too, is ultimately cause for celebration — though, perhaps of a more somber sort.
Let us commit today to celebrate: the life we’ve been given, and the lives we’ve been given to accompany.
