All of us put on a parachute every day without realizing it. We trust in things without much evidence or careful examination. You take your car to work, eat food from a restaurant, and take prescribed medication without much of a second thought. Yet people die every day from car crashes and malfunctions, food poisoning, and from doctors misprescribing medication or pharmacists mixing up meds. Why do you trust these things without a meticulous review every single time you get behind the wheel or take a bite of pasta?

If you’ve ever been skydiving, then you know that you have to trust the person and machine which made and packed the parachute you use. This reminds me a whole lot of the afterlife. It has inspired me to write a short story about it.

The Plane

Adam found himself aboard a massive plane that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions. Every seat was occupied, representing the entirety of humanity. The atmosphere was a mix of chatter and apprehension. Suddenly, the pilot’s voice echoed over the intercom, calm yet urgent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this plane will eventually crash. But fear not—I have provided parachutes for everyone. Please, take one and jump to safety when you’re ready.”

Adam glanced around, noticing people sifting through piles of parachutes. They came in all colors and designs, each more elaborate than the last. Yet, a peculiar pattern emerged: every parachute had red-colored parts. Amidst the variety, there was one that stood out—a pure red parachute, simple yet striking.

He watched as some passengers chose the pure red parachute without hesitation. Others picked different ones, some even disassembling the red parachute to incorporate its parts into their own creations. Curiosity piqued, Adam approached the pilot, who was standing by the cockpit door.

“Excuse me,” Adam began, “where did these red parachutes come from? And why are there so many other kinds?”

The pilot smiled warmly. “The pure red parachutes are crafted by a master craftsman. They’ve been inspected and verified by three experts to be flawless and reliable. The others? They’re made by amateurs, patchworks of various materials and strings. They haven’t been tested by any expert—just by those who made them or others with similar experience.”

Adam pondered this. “Why would anyone choose a parachute that isn’t guaranteed to work?”

The pilot sighed softly. “Everyone has the freedom to choose. Some trust the craftsmanship of the master; others prefer their own designs or trust in the opinions of those around them.”

As Adam contemplated his options, he observed people leaping from the plane. Their parachutes opened, displaying names like “Islam,” “Buddhism,” “Being a Good Person,” “Spirituality,” “Naturalism,” and even “Thor.” They were all decorated with beautiful looking fabrics and embroidery. Adam was taken by the beauty of these parachutes and desired them. He went to grab one he thought was beautiful. But then, to his horror, he heard screaming. He looked down again and saw all of these parachutes start to fail, the fabric tearing away, as the people plummeted downward. Panic surged through him.

He noticed some passengers jumping without any parachute at all. Stunned, Adam turned to the pilot. “Why are they jumping without parachutes?”

“Oh, them?” the pilot replied. “They are the Aparachutists. They don’t believe in parachutes. They think they can fly on their own.”

Adam shook his head in disbelief. “But that’s madness! No one can survive a fall from this height without help.”

“They don’t trust in me or the parachute I provided,” the pilot explained. “They have faith only in themselves.”

Amidst the chaos, Adam’s attention was drawn to those who had chosen the pure red parachute. As they descended, their parachutes radiated a gentle light reflecting the sun as it billowed in the wind. Their parachutes were strong and held together when the others ripped apart. They made it safely to the ground. Intrigued, he asked the pilot, “Why do those parachutes work when all the others fail?”

The pilot met his gaze. “Because those parachutes were made by me. They are the work of my own hands.”

Looking closely, Adam saw a name inscribed on the red parachutes: “The Blood of the Lamb.”

A profound realization washed over him. The master craftsman—the pilot—had provided a perfect parachute for everyone, freely given. The choice was simple yet significant: trust in the parachute made by the master or rely on one’s own creation.

As Adam stood near the open door of the plane, clutching the pure red parachute, he glanced back at the remaining passengers. Many were still busy customizing their parachutes, taking pieces of the red fabric and combining them with materials of their own choosing. They seemed confident, even proud, of their unique creations.

A passenger nearby was meticulously stitching together a parachute adorned with various symbols and colors. Noticing Adam’s gaze, she smiled and said, “I’ve taken the best parts from different parachutes to make mine. This way, I’m sure it will work.”

Adam hesitated. “But the pilot said the red parachute is crafted by the master craftsman and fully reliable. Why not trust it as it is?”

She shrugged. “I believe all parachutes have some truth in them. By blending them, I create something that suits me better.”

Reflecting on her words, Adam realized that many were doing the same—taking fragments of the master craftsman’s work and molding it to fit their personal preferences. They acknowledged the value of the red fabric but couldn’t let go of their own designs.

He thought of how this mirrored humanity’s approach to spirituality. Throughout history, people have recognized glimpses of truth yet often reshaped it to fit their own narratives. They took pieces of divine revelation but mixed them with personal ideologies, creating belief systems that felt comfortable but deviated from the original truth.

The pilot, observing Adam’s contemplation, approached him. “It’s important to trust the parachute as I’ve given it,” he said gently. “Altering it diminishes its integrity. I designed it perfectly for your safety.”

Looking back once more, Adam felt a mix of sadness and urgency. He saw the futility in trying to save oneself through personal efforts when salvation was already freely offered. The other parachutes, no matter how elaborately designed, or alluring, lacked the essential integrity provided by the master’s craftsmanship.

“Every parachute out there has some of the red fabric,” Adam mused aloud. “They all contain bits of truth but miss the fullness of it.”

The pilot smiled. “Yes, they recognize aspects of the truth but haven’t fully embraced it. Trusting in the complete work I’ve provided is the only way to ensure your safety.”

With renewed conviction, Adam secured the pure red parachute to his back. “I choose to trust you entirely,” he said. “No additions, no alterations.” He stepped toward the open door, ready to take the leap of faith.

Faith in the Blood

I hope this story illustrates an important aspect of faith and salvation. Just as Adam chose to trust in the parachute crafted by the master, we are called to place our faith wholly in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ—the “Blood of the Lamb.” When we attempt to add our efforts or “good works” to the equation, it’s akin to tampering with a flawlessly designed parachute, substituting parts with our inferior materials.

In Isaiah 64:6 God says, “All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags”. “Filthy rags” is beged ‘iddim (?????? ???????) in Hebrew. It is used to refer to menstrual cloths. These are things women would sit on back in the day when they had their period. They would soak up the blood and tissue and discharge that would come out and it would stain the cloth red, and they would smell awful.

By trying to earn salvation through our deeds, we are effectively replacing the pure, redemptive “fabric” of Christ’s sacrifice with our soiled rags. It’s a futile effort that not only fails to secure our salvation but also undermines the perfect work accomplished on the cross.

You are using the wrong blood. The blood that covers us is clean, pure, and innocent. The blood from us is dirty and full of death. A period occurs because a pregnancy didn’t. It is the byproduct of life failing to start. It is, by definition, blood that is full of death—the discarded and destroyed egg and uterine lining. What could have brought life was unused, corrupted, and discarded.

In spiritual terms, relying on our works is like clinging to death rather than embracing the life offered through Christ’s shed blood. It’s only through His pure and innocent blood that we can be cleansed and made whole. Can death bring us life? Can good works add to our salvation or bring salvation in and of itself? Does God forgive us based on the number of good deeds we do? No.

The act of taking pieces of the red parachute to make their own symbolizes how various religions and personal belief systems may incorporate elements of divine truth yet alter or add to it, creating a distorted version of what was originally provided.

By insisting on customizing the parachute, the passengers demonstrate a form of idolatry—valuing their own understanding over the master’s design. This mirrors the way people might respect certain teachings of God but choose to ignore or reinterpret others to suit personal desires or cultural norms. The so-called “Progressive Christians”.

Every religion does have some aspect of truth in it. They take some of the red fabric from Yahweh and try to make it fit with their own view. This is idolatry and foolishness. God revealed who He was to us in His Word. To ignore what He says is a form of rebellion, and to make Him fit your view rather than listening to Him is like me telling you my name is Chris and you calling me Bob no matter how many times I try to correct you. It’s disrespectful.

We all have a day that we will jump from this plane. We can trust in our own works or religions that are based on works for salvation. Or we can trust in the blood of Christ to cover our sins and bring us life after death.

Will you trust the master craftsman or yourself?