I’m one who travels by jet, a lot.
Those who – as one of my Ivorian students put it, “vivent dans les avions” (live in planes) – get over thinking about the thousands things that could go wrong on an airplane at take-off, landing, or mid-flight. Statistics that prove you’re more likely to die in a car crash than in an airplane are comforting.
But whatever probability theory teaches, I find peace in theology, knowing that I am in God’s hands.
When our older son, John, was just 3 years old, he learned the Sunday School chorus, “He’s got the whole world in His hands.” “Dad and Mom,” he asked one day from the back seat of the car, “does God really have the whole world in His hands?” “He sure does, Johnny” we replied. Johnny was quiet for about 10 seconds, then finally commented: “God sure must have big hands.”
I sang tenor with the A Cappella choir at Eastern Nazarene College. The choir was known for closing out its concerts with an interpretation of Psalm 31:15a, with lyrics by William F. Lloyd:
“My times are in Thy Hand,
My God I wish them there.
My life, my friends, my soul I leave entirely to thy care.”
But I really like the last line of the song: “Then after death, at Thy right hand, I shall forever be.”
The hope that we have in Christ is the resurrection of the body. No human or diabolical scheme can shake that faith. No missile can shoot it down.
Our love and prayers go out to those mourning the loss of loved ones on Malaysia Airlines Flight 17.
I believe in the resurrection, when wrongs not righted on this earth will be squared away and loved ones separated by evil and senseless acts will be reunited. God will have the last word.
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus, and complete your Kingdom.
Image credit: Cyber Hymnal