“Even if I knew the world would end tomorrow, I would still plant my apple tree.” —Martin Luther
I recently read a first-person account by Alisa Vlades-Rodriguez1 who was on a Delta shuttle from Boston to New York City, that lost its entire hydraulic system as it was about to land at LaGuardia Airport.
As she told her harrowing tale, she reflected, “Many of us wonder why no one is “doing something” about the nightmare engulfing us all in the United States right now. I think I know why.”
For this morning’s meditation, let’s listen to Alisa’s wisdom in her own words:
“We’d already been told to fasten our seatbelts, turn off our electronic devices, and put our tray tables up. The plane was on its way down. I was seated over the right wing. When the pilot tried to lower the flaps and wheels, there was a hollow clicking and sickly whirring sound beneath my seat.
The pilot told us the truth. He was calm as he said it. But the news was terrible. We had no wheels, no flaps, no brakes, and, once we were on the ground, no steering. We circled four hours over Manhattan, and out to sea, and back, to burn fuel, so that in the event we caught fire when we finally crash landed somewhere, the fireball would be minimized. He told us all air traffic to LaGuardia was being rerouted to JFK and Newark so that they could prepare a runway at LaGuardia for our crash landing. No, I am not kidding.
Now, before I experienced this, I imagined people would be screaming, crying, praying, begging God at the tops of their lungs in such a situation. But that’s not what happened. Instead, the cabin was eerily silent. I was in the window seat. The middle seat was empty. In the aisle seat was an older businessman, reading the Wall Street Journal. I asked him if I could hold his hand. He rolled his eyes, scoffed, and said, “This stuff happens all the time. It’s fine,” and kept reading. “Please?” I said, and he relented. I held his hand. Despite his rolled eyes and unworried words, his hand was cold and slick with sweat. He, too, was afraid.
Eventually, the captain was able to get one of two emergency hydraulic systems up and running, but, he told us, we were still without steering on the ground. He would have to land perfectly straight, or we’d tip right into the water. Everyone stayed quiet. The plane landed. The pilot landed it perfectly straight. The sides of the runway were lined with rescue vehicles and TV news crews. We did not die. Then and only then did people begin to cry, and clap, and hug each other, and thank their Gods.
What I learned from this is that there is a period of time between realizing you are crashing and actually crashing when, as long as the plane still appears to be okay, people cling to hope more than terror. Even though we all knew the plane had no hydraulics and we were burning and dumping fuel, and they’d closed the airport down and mostly evacuated it so we could crash there, we all still held on to hope.
I think that’s where the people of the United States of America are right now. In that place where trustworthy pilots of history, sociology and political science have all told us just how bad this is. We’re circling, and burning off all the fuel. The news gets worse by the minute. Soon, we will crash or crash land or land.
The human heart hangs on to hope until there’s no other choice. People will not fight back in the ways that will work, until they realize there is no other choice, until the only other choice is their own imprisonment or death, or that of someone they love. For many of us, that moment is already here. But for most of us, it’s not.
Yet.
This has to be a survival mechanism. Freeze. Fawn. Flee. We try all of those first. And only when they’ve failed, do we fight.”
In moments like these, when the descent is real and the landing uncertain, we are reminded that courage is not the absence of fear, but the presence of one another. There is holiness in the hand we reach for, in the truth we tell, in the hope we dare to carry when the world grows quiet with dread. This is not a time for denial, nor for despair—but for radical presence, for staying awake to the danger without surrendering to panic, for becoming, together, the calm in the cabin and the prayer on the runway.
Faith, in times like these, is not naïve optimism—it’s shared breath, steady hands, and the will to love each other all the way through the fire.
We are in this together,
Cameron
Reflection Questions
When have you faced a moment where fear and calm coexisted within you? What helped you hold steady?
In your own life, where might you be circling, avoiding the crash, hoping it will all resolve without your intervention?
Who is holding your hand right now—metaphorically or literally—and whose hand might be reaching for yours?
A Prayer for the Day
Steady Us In the Descent
Spirit of Unflinching Presence, When the world tilts and the systems fail, when the warnings come clear and the turbulence starts— steady our hands, our hearts, our hope. Teach us not to look away, but to stay with each other in the silence between knowing and acting. Where fear tempts us into denial, awaken us to courage. Where numbness dulls our response, stir our compassion. May we become, for one another, a presence that anchors, a voice that calms, a spirit that refuses to abandon love in the face of collapse. Amen.
Spiritual Practice
Holding the Hand of the Moment
Today, pause and imagine yourself in that cabin. Feel the hush. The heaviness. The flicker of fear in your chest. Now look to your left or right—imagine someone reaching for your hand. Let yourself feel the power of shared presence. Then ask: who in your life is reaching for connection in a time of fear, uncertainty, or quiet despair? Reach out to them. Even a simple message—“I’m with you”—can be enough to land the plane.
And if you are the one in descent, whisper this: “I will not go through this alone. I will let someone hold my hand.”
Let that be your act of hope today.
Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…
October 18, 2025 - No Kings 2.0 Protest - Scholars of authoritarianism teach us that we need 3.5% of the population rising up to disrupt the rise of authoritarians. The last protest had over 6 million people in the streets in the US (more around the world) which was one of the largest protest in US history. We need to double that number. So here we go again. The movement builds. See you on the streets.
October 23, 30, November 13, 20 2025, 7pm ET - In Search of a New Story: Reimagining What Comes Next, A 4-Part Online Series with Dr. Matthew Fox, Cameron Trimble, Ilia Delio, Diana Butler Bass, Caroline Myss and Luther Smith. We are living through the unraveling of many old stories—about who we are, why we’re here, and how we are meant to live together on this Earth. As these inherited narratives collapse under the weight of climate crisis, social fragmentation, and spiritual disconnection, the question becomes clear: What story will guide us now? REGISTRATION NOW OPEN!
I drafted a Strategic Framework for Congregations as we move into the coming years of increased authoritarianism around the world. If interested, you can download it here.
If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.
cells of creative resistance everywhere—we are not all on the same plane—to push the analogy,prepare the landing strips, rig up a temporary hydraulic system—do whatever you-we-can-because we know for sure the ride is rough—the landing uncertain—. A small act—each Sunday eve mu neighborhood gathers to sing along—always ending with our chosen anthem, Singing through the Hard times. —we each other’s back. I’m in Minneapolis,Minn. https://share.google/images/
Thank you again. I so much appreciate your ability to create, find and share beautiful and helpful things day after day.