Cleared For The Approach

October 12, 2020

By Pastor Tim Shaw

Most of us have been in a commercial aircraft on final approach to an airport when all we can see out the window are clouds and rain. I don’t know whether you’ve ever wondered about this, or if you like to think about stuff like this, but have you ever had this thought? If the view out the window of the cockpit is anything like the view out the window at my seat, how is the pilot going to find the runway? Ever thought about that? 

Most of us have experienced a turbulent descent to the airport on a stormy day. Let’s be honest, it can be a little unnerving. I'll admit it, I always say my prayers before every take-off. And when we’re descending through the clouds in a storm I do pray, sometimes, for the pilots. I’m hoping that the captain has brought her A-game to work and that she knows how to find the airport when the view out of the cockpit is completely obscured.

This approach plate is for the VOR Runway 10 Right approach (Click HERE to view). A chart like this graphically depicts the specific procedure a pilot needs to follow to land on runway 10 Right when they can’t actually see the runway. I’m an instrument-rated private pilot and I have flown this instrument approach to Oakland. And I’ve flown it in a storm. 

The last time I flew that approach I had about 700 hours as pilot in command. I accumulated a lot of those hours by practicing instrument approaches on clear and calm days with a safety pilot on board. When you’re practicing instrument approaches you need another pilot with you. You need an experienced pilot who is keeping an eye on what you’re doing AND an eye on what’s going on outside the aircraft. When pilots practice instrument approaches the pilot flying the airplane often wears a hood on their head until they get to the decision height (sometimes as low as 250 feet above the ground). With a hood on your head you can’t see out the window. All you can see is the instrument panel. 

The goal is to fly the approach, using only the instruments, and fly it all the way down to the decision height, pull off the hood and look up and hopefully see the runway. That’s the goal. And let me tell you, it is an awesome feeling to look up when you’re just 250 feet off the ground and see a big long runway right in front of you (or maybe just off to the right or left a little if you didn’t do it perfectly).

It’s one thing to fly a practice an approach on a clear day when at any minute you can say, "That's it. I’ve had enough," and pull off the hood and simply look out the window. It’s a completely different experience when you actually have to fly an instrument approach in a real storm.

A good friend of mine, who is a Navy pilot, was on board with me the day I flew this approach to Oakland, California in a storm. It was not a practice run. The air traffic controllers cleared me to fly towards the Sausalito VOR, which is a navigation beacon on the ground used by pilots to find their way. The Sausalito VOR has distance-measuring equipment on it. As we approached the VOR from the east, bouncing our way through the clouds and rain (did I tell you it was also at night? It wasn’t just cloudy and rainy – it was dark) - as our little single-engine airplane bounced through the storm, I watched the distance to the VOR decrease. 15 miles. More turbulence. 10 miles. Rain on the windscreen. 5 miles to the VOR. Nothing but clouds out the window.

We were in contact with the air traffic controllers on the ground. I was working hard to stay focused and calm as I waited for it to be my turn to be cleared for the approach. I could feel my shirt gradually getting wet from sweat.

First, United Airlines was cleared for the approach on a nearby runway. "Hey what about me?" Then Southwest Airlines, then another United flight, then American. I checked the distance to the Sausalito VOR, 3 miles, 1 mile and then we were on top of the VOR. The VOR was directly below us. We were now flying away from the Sausalito VOR. Another Southwest flight was cleared for the approach. I thought to myself, "Do I need to remind them that I'm still here? I know I’m just this little guy cruising along at 100 knots, but what about me? Don’t I matter? I checked our distance from Sausalito and the numbers started getting larger. 2 miles. 3 miles. I turned to my friend and said, “I guess we’re on our way to Honolulu.” In a matter of minutes we'd be over the Pacific Ocean. 

Finally, it was my turn and the air traffic controller cleared me for the approach. I was super happy when we popped out the bottom of the cloud deck and there in front of us was this big, long, beautiful runway all lit up in lights. That whole experience was a clinic for me as a pilot. It also reminded me of some of the things I need to remember as a follower of Christ.

I’ve learned a lot of big life lessons from instrument flying. Here's the biggest one: Am I going to trust what the instruments are telling me when I can’t see anything out the window except clouds and rain? Will I let the instruments guide me? On a stormy night, will I trust what the air traffic controllers are telling me to do? Would I trust them even when they’re not talking to me? Would I trust that they have my best interests at heart? Would I trust that they had not forgotten about me? Would I be able to keep my anxious feelings in check as I bounce my way through the darkness? 

You don’t have to be piloting your own aircraft in the middle of a storm to know exactly what this might feel like. All you need to do is to hit a difficult place in your marriage and wonder whether your relationship is going to survive. All you need to do is lose your job in the middle of a worldwide pandemic and you’ll have a pretty good idea what that experience feels like. All you need to do is hit what feels like an impossible challenge with your boss and wonder how you’re going to survive working for your employer. All you need to do is come back from a routine doctors appointment with an unexpected diagnosis. All you need to do is experience the death of someone you love to wonder whether you’re going to make it through this experience in one piece.

When I’m faced with real life challenges like these, I try to remember what I learned as a pilot flying through that storm. I have a highly experienced and capable pilot sitting next to me. Jesus Christ is right there with me, sharing the challenges of this experience and encouraging me on. I can trust that others are there to encourage me and offer me reliable guidance. They, too, are pulling for me. 

The times that I practiced an instrument approach on clear, blue-sky days, played an important role in my ability to face the challenges in the middle of the storm. So, let this be a friendly reminder to all of us. Now is the time to deepen our relationship with Jesus. Today is the day to grow our friendships. Now is the time to spend time reading and reflecting on God’s Word. Now is the time to open our lives up and be filled with the Holy Spirit. He wants to form us more completely into a reflection of Jesus. Don’t put any of this off one more day. Keep learning how to pray (attend HIM’s God on Mute conference on October 17). Get to know the Bible (join a class like Acts to Revelation or start reading through The Bible in One Year). Join a small group (contact Pastor Steve Peich or me to learn more). Because what you will gain when you take these steps will be absolutely essential the next time the storms hit.

Prayer: Dear Jesus, we are so grateful that You are onboard with us. We are not alone. Calm us in the midst of the storms of our lives. Help us to trust You, listen to Your guidance when we can’t see the way forward. Speak to us through Your Word and fill us afresh with the Holy Spirit. Thank You for the companions You have given us for this journey. May we be a source of encouragement to them as they are to us. Together with them, help us grow more and more into Your likeness as we spend time with You. In Your Name we pray, Amen.

Share this with a friend: