Having survived our arrival in Lisbon, we approached our departure with a quiet confidence. After all, how difficult can it be to leave a country? The answer, as it turns out, is: surprisingly difficult if you’re in Europe and someone has recently invented a machine.
Our adventure began before we had even entered the airport. The departures area wasn’t on the ground floor. No. That would have been far too logical. Instead, we had to take a lift to the fourth floor. Who designs an airport where departures begin by going up? Surely airports should be designed by travellers rather than architects who enjoy practical jokes.
Check-in itself was wonderfully smooth. The gentleman behind the desk was friendly and efficient. Then he offered what would later prove to be a prophetic warning: ‘Leave plenty of time for passport control.’ At the time, we smiled politely. We still had two and a half hours before our flight.
Security was reasonable. Then we made what historians may one day refer to as The Sardine Incident. We stopped to buy Portuguese sardines and pastéis de nata for our team. A simple act of kindness. As we approached passport control, we noticed a queue.
Actually, ‘queue’ is not the right word. It was more of a geographical feature that snaked around cafés, wrapped around pillars, disappeared into the horizon and possibly entered another postcode. I checked my steps app later. By the time we reached the end of the process we had walked 1.6 miles. That is not an airport experience. That is a sponsored walk. The queue to reach passport control alone took one hour.
Standing behind us was a delightful young couple returning from their honeymoon. When they discovered Killy and I had been married for forty-three years, they looked genuinely stunned. ‘Forty-three years? We don’t know anybody who’s been married that long.’ For the next hour, passport control became marriage counselling. There we were, trapped in a queue that wasn’t moving, giving advice on staying married.
Eventually we reached the shiny new biometric machines. These had been introduced to speed everything up. We had already surrendered our fingerprints, passports, photographs and facial scans when we entered Portugal. Surely departure would be effortless. The machine disagreed. It examined my passport. Paused. Rejected it. It examined Killy’s passport. Paused. Rejected it. Apparently, after several days in Portugal we had become persons of interest. So we joined another queue. Another hour. Finally, we reached a human official. I use the term ‘human’ biologically rather than emotionally. We offered a cheerful greeting. Nothing. Not even a flicker. She took our passports while having a conversation with a colleague. No eye contact. No smile. No acknowledgement. When she finished, she simply left the passports on the counter. Not handed back.
Then came the sprint to the gate where boarding had already begun. We jumped onto a crowded bus. And waited. The doors remained open. The passengers remained standing. The driver remained absent. Where was he? Nobody knew. Perhaps he’d gone for lunch. Eventually he arrived.
The bus lurched forward. Every bump created a new friendship. Every corner strengthened community. I became intimately acquainted with several complete strangers. Then came the emergency stop. The driver appeared genuinely surprised to discover a plane parked at an airport. I was launched backward and collided with three women.
At last we arrived beside the aircraft. And then waited again. No air conditioning. In fact, no noticeable air. Passengers were sweating. People were coughing. The Covid-type of dry cough! Nearby stood a member of staff apparently engaged in a very important phone conversation. The interesting thing was that she never actually spoke. Not once. We concluded she was either pretending to be on the phone or conducting silent negotiations for world peace.
Eventually the aircraft doors opened. We boarded. The cabin crew smiled. Actual smiles. Human smiles. At that moment they looked like angels. And for the first time in several hours, hope returned.
Spiritual Lessons from Lisbon Airport
The whole experience reminded me of Proverbs 15:30: ‘A cheerful look brings joy to the heart’ (NLT). How true. The absence of smiles can make an airport feel longer. A smile can make a journey lighter. A smile costs nothing but gives much.
First, not every innovation is progress. The machines were introduced to speed things up. Instead they created a second queue. Technology is a wonderful servant but a terrible master. Sometimes the newest solution is not the best solution.
Second, people matter more than processes. The thing we remember most is not the queues, it’s the honeymoon couple. People will forget systems. People rarely forget kindness.
Third, delays are often divine opportunities. What looked like wasted time became ministry time. What looked like inconvenience became conversation. What looked like interruption became investment. God often does some of his best work in our waiting rooms.
Fourth, patience is developed in places we would never choose. Killy and I did not wake up and pray, ‘Lord, give me patience through airport bureaucracy.’ But that is often how he answers.
Finally, heaven will be wonderfully different. No passport queues. No biometric scanners. No delayed boarding. No mysterious officials. No buses without drivers. Instead, there will be a welcome. A smile. A greeting. And a King who knows our name.
A Final Word to Our European Friends
May I respectfully offer some advice to the architects of modern travel?
If thousands of people are rejected by the machine, perhaps the problem is not the thousands of people.
If travellers spend longer proving they are human than actually travelling, something may need reconsidering.
And if every problem is solved by adding another machine, eventually you’ll need a machine to explain why the other machines aren’t working.
May I suggest a revolutionary concept?
More humans. More smiles. More eye contact. More common sense.
After all, civilisation was not built by algorithms. It was built by people.
Bring back humans. The machines have had their turn!
Grace and peace,
J.John
