Mr. Aaron is the founder of Judah I, a small aeronautical firm flying out of Shreveport, Louisiana, on a Christian mission to export missionaries all over the world. Aaron had a vision, apparently, of a fleet of planes stuffed full of Bibles and other missionary goodies, lined up on runways in America, being boarded by godly guys and girls eager to fly off to deep jungles to give indigenous peoples books they couldn’t read and modern Western diseases they wouldn’t survive.
One of the things Aaron is proudest of is that Judah I will be able to fly into countries that otherwise wouldn’t let Americans in, because currently we wheeze out more coronavirus particles than any other people on Earth. Other nations have to let missionaries in, he insisted, because of the Godly nature of their work.
For all I know, some nations may do this. Others may say, “Are you fucking stoned?” when Everett approaches them about flying in planeloads of coughing Americans in the middle of the pandemic.
Aaron drops hints about a future Christian commercial airline, which may not be a bad idea. Praying has always been associated with air travel, from the moment Wilbur prayed Orville would get off the ground in Kitty Hawk to the last people who flew in a 737-Max praying they wouldn’t merge with it, which only goes to show that prayer has as mixed a record in aviation as it has in any other field.
I’m not much of a prayer myself, though if I was in Shreveport, I’d be tempted to pray to get out of it. But I’m sure there’s a market out there for an airline where they start off with a Hail Mary before they tell you where the life preserver is and serve you Communion wafers instead of little bags of equally tasteless snacks. Sharing a chalice of wine with the other passengers instead of selecting a cocktail from a well-stocked beverage cart wouldn’t be to my liking, though, and the in-flight entertainment might be a little chaste for my taste.
My opportunities for getting one of the female flight attendants to commit adultery with me would be even fewer than they are now, and all the male flight attendants would be rugged men of the cross instead of fashionably gay, so that would take getting used to. My chance of getting crammed in coach next to a Christian who’s been to too many church bake sales would probably be about the same as getting wedged in next to a guy who weighs as much as a taco truck on an agnostic carrier, so no advantage to Jesus there.
So, I’m probably not going to book a flight on a Christian airline for the foreseeable.
Unless I could fly in first class, or as they call it on Jesus Air, Holier Than Thou.