It was June of 1998, hot and humid in Fort Benning, Georgia, and I was getting ready to make my first jump at the Army Airborne School. I had spent the previous two weeks meticulously learning and rehearsing the procedures for donning my parachute gear, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, executing the controlled crash known as the parachute landing fall, then quickly climbing out of my gear without getting dragged across the drop zone by my parachute. I was as ready as any first-time paratrooper could be. I was confident and sure in my training, my physical ability, and in myself. I had all the right qualifications, I thought, to become a paratrooper.
And yet, as I ambled aboard the
C-130 Hercules Aircraft, I began to feel anxious. The pain and discomfort I felt from the
tightness of my rig testified that my parachute and gear were securely
fastened. I knew our exit and landing
procedures to a tee. We had executed our
drills hundreds of times so that they became embedded in our muscle memory. I felt comfortable that I could exit the
aircraft safely, and land in a way that properly distributed the shock so that
I would not be injured. Yet, the
nervousness was still there.
As I was fastened into the cotton
webbing cargo seating in the back of the C-130, I realized what the problem
was. During our last day of training
before performing our qualification jumps, we had viewed a training tape of all
the things that could go wrong when you jump, as well as the actions to take if
one of these “unlikely” events occurred.
This video provided all the various nightmare scenarios one could
imagine. In one scene we saw what would
occur if someone had a hole in their chute or a blown section, providing a
partial or total failure of lift capability.
In another scene, we saw a cigarette roll. This occurs when the chute is improperly
packed causing it to fuse together during deployment. The worst scenario that kept running through
my brain was the scene showing a hung jumper.
This occurs if your static line fails to rip open the pack-tray securing
your parachute after you step out of the jump door. The result is a man that is still connected
to the aircraft by his static line, slapping up against the skin of the
aircraft. The only way to correct this
parachute malfunction is for the jumpmaster to cut the static line and hope the
jumper is still conscious to deploy his reserve parachute. Our Airborne Instructors had taught us all
the procedures for correcting these parachute malfunctions, cheerily joking
that should one of these malfunctions occur, we had the rest of our Airborne
lives to fix it.
The pilot signaled to the
jumpmasters that we were nearly over the drop zone. The jumpmasters went through the ritual of
inspecting the cargo area and jump doors to make sure conditions were safe to
jump.
I sat there after our five-minute
warning and realized that my ability to survive my jump didn’t come down to my
own skill or knowledge. My abilities
played little into my success or failure as a first-time paratrooper. All the drills and rehearsals in the world
could prepare me to exit the aircraft in perfect form. However, my life rested on the assurance that
my parachute and/or reserve was properly packed and would deploy without
failure when I stepped out of the aircraft.
Suddenly I recognized my utter
helplessness.
The illusion of control had been
ripped away. I realized that my life was
in the hands of an unknown, nameless Rigger.
Airborne Riggers are a specialty in the Army, trained to inspect and
pack parachutes for use in Airborne operations.
Each parachute contained the ID number of the person who packed the
parachute. This made the parachute
traceable to the individual Rigger who packed it. I suddenly wanted to know this person’s
name. I wanted assurance that my life
was in trustworthy hands.
The jumpmasters began to scream
the commands to prepare for jump operations, shaking me out of my
thoughts. We dutifully echoed each
command.
“Outboard personnel, Stand up!”
“OUTBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!”
“Inboard personnel, Stand up!”
“INBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!”
We all ambled to our feet and
formed a line along the aisles of the aircraft.
“Hook Up!”
“HOOK UP!”
We hooked our static lines to the
cargo cables spanning the rear of the aircraft keeping a bent arm’s distance
between ourselves and the person in front of us.
“Check static lines!”
“CHECK STATIC LINES!”
We verified the static lines were
properly hooked to the cargo cable and passed over rather than under our
shoulders.
“Sound off for equipment check!”
“SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!”
Starting from the back of the
aircraft to the front, each paratrooper inspected the parachute of the person
in front of them, making sure there were no visible defects. A wave of “OK,” as each soldier passed the
results of the inspection up the line until the first paratrooper confirmed to
the jumpmaster, “ALL OKAY JUMPMASTER!”
The jumpmaster eyed the jump
light as it turned green. We were over
the drop zone.
“Go!”
“GO!”
We began ambling forward, the
paratroopers in front of me disappearing out of the jump door one by one. I approached the jumpmaster handing him my
static line and made a crisp 45-degree turn. I took my final two steps snapping
my feet together with my body in an L-shaped posture as I began freefalling
from the side of the aircraft.
And there I was, falling through
the sky, completely dependent upon the work of another. I remember seeing my boots and beyond them
the ground blurrily approaching. I began
counting down as I prayed for my chute to open, “ONE THOUSAND! TWO THOUSAND! THREE THOUSAND! FOUR THOUSAND!”
A sharp jerk on my groin and
shoulders as my parachute opened and my descent slowed. My hands went to the risers of my chute and I
looked up. No blown sections, no holes,
no cigarette rolls, or hung jumpers. My
chute had deployed. I would be
okay. My Rigger had proven
faithful.
Scripture makes
clear the helplessness of man in his sin.
In Deuteronomy, Moses recounts in detail the salvation of Israel and the gift of the Law which they have received from the hand of the Lord. And at the end of this recounting, he leaves them with this warning.
“See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, and death and adversity; in that I command you today to love the Lord your God, to walk in His ways and to keep His commandments and His statutes and His judgments, that you may live and multiply, and that the Lord your God may bless you in the land where you are entering to possess it.”
And yet, just paragraphs later, the Lord predicts to Moses that Israel will fall away, just as we do today. Though they possess the revelation of God’s law, we and they fail to follow it and are in bondage to sin. God presented us with life and grace, and we willingly choose death. This is not from our created nature, but from our rebelliousness.
David makes clear that he, and by extension we, are steeped in sin from birth.
“Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin my mother conceived me.”
When we peer into the scorching mirror of the law, we see that we are unrighteous, unholy, wicked, and condemned people before the Lord.
In Paul’s words, we find that we are “dead in the trespasses and sins in which we once walked.”
Not only was he obedient to his Father in these things, but he was obedient even to the point of death. He was obedient not just to death, but the horrible death of the cross. Though he was sinless, Christ bore the sin of us all, and the curse that the law prescribes for sin upon himself. He was mocked, beaten, scourged, crucified, and pierced through with nails and spear for our sake. He took our sin, and credited to us his own righteousness obtained thru obedience to the Father.

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