The Flying Pastor

Andrew Mathieson
FLYING a contraption that resembles an oversized stork making a delivery, one of God’s messengers does his best work in the sky.
Few get closer to the Lord above or have the same faith in the heavens as Rob Lithgow.
Rob has been dubbed The Flying Pastor around Torquay for hanging onto his favourite powered paraglider at speeds around 60km/h.
The joke behind the title is not lost on the carefree 48-year-old father of four.
He uses the nickname in conversation and on his Adventures Life Ministries website like a gliding gush of wind.
“I think a part of the thrill of living is pushing the limits,” Rob philosophises, “just seeing how far you can push the envelope to explore and discover what I would see is this great world of ours.”
There are no beg-your-pardons for preaching more under a pair of wings than inside a church. But his website home page shows a serious side behind the frivolity.
The message says “Flying with purpose to impact a generation”.
“Part of my journey in life is to realise that flying is what I do and God can use that to do a whole lot of good in the world,” Rob tells.
“To me, it’s still just flying but I can use it for something more important than me.”
Raising awareness to eradicate malaria is Rob’s latest mission. With anti-malaria pills costing just 10 cents for half a dozen, his task should be easier than getting a doctor’s script.
Rob puts some of the proceeds from his adventure business toward the cause.
The rest of the cash pays for his pastoral activities, which include taking his family on the road for months at a time in a motorhome to spread God’s words.
A recent charity flight from his Torquay home to Adelaide earlier this year raised $4000 during a turbulent week in the skies.
“We could’ve done it in fewer days but we had lots of mechanical problems with the engines that we had to stop and fix,” Rob tells.
“We even had to chase around and get a part in some country towns, then on other days we had to wait for weather.”
The paraglider’s two-stroke engine packed it in over Portland on the third day.
The mission’s travelling crew had no idea what was wrong and seemed certain to remain grounded.
One of the preachers at a church where Rob was staying the night took one quick look and guessed right it was a muffler problem.
By chance or divine intervention, the mission’s saviour just happened to be a two-stroke racing motorbike mechanic.
“The thing that blew me away is that we went to church when we should be flying but instead we mixed with these blokes on a faith level,” Rob says.
“Out of that we meet this guy who solved our problem.”
Rob grew up in the surrounds of a Papua New Guinean missionary where light aircraft was the preferred mode of transport among the highlands.
Dreaming to fly like a bird, a young Rob tossed paper gliders around until his grandfather introduced him to building model airplanes.
“When I was in late primary school, I thought I could build them big enough to hold my little boyhood weight,” he grins.
Jumping onto the “kite-man” craze in the 1970s, Rob would tie a sheet of plastic to a crudely square frame of sticks and jump off a gentle slope.
Self-preservation was paramount in the days before hang gliders.
“All my other friends were into motorbikes, which my father considered far too dangerous,” Rob laughs.
“He was a doctor and he used to patch up the broken bones every Saturday.”
With just a sail to break his fall, Rob logically points out that birds don’t think flying is dangerous.
“And there’s less traffic in the sky,” he adds.