Unrapturously yours

Woke up Sunday morning and realized I’m still here. Now what?

Apparently I didn’t get raptured, or whatever the term is, on Harold Camping’s Judgment Day, May 21, 2011. IOW, I wasn’t one of the 200 million pious folk instantly translated to heaven.

Or if I was, heaven is so much like my former life that I’m having trouble telling the difference. Food for thought.

For argument’s sake, however, let’s assume that I’m not writing this blogpost from heaven. That means one of two things:

• I’m in for a hell of a ride (excuse the expression) until I reach my final destination on October 21, when a fireball evaporates Earth.
• Harold Camping was wrong. Again.

There’s been a lot of jokes and speculation about the folks who bought the whole Camping apocalypse thing. These guys quit their jobs, left their families, sold their houses, spent every penny on Judgment Day advertising, and confidently waited for the end.

Now, I can see where folks might desperately want to put a stop to life as we know it. Think about it: What if you’d never really gotten where you wanted to go, if the bills were piling up, if nobody knew your name, if you were always at the back of the line, if your life was simply a neverending treadmill to mediocrity …and then one day someone offered to take you back behind the velvet ropes to the next life. Would you go for it?

Wouldn’t that sound good to you, especially if those ahead of you in line weren’t invited?

Remember, the second half of doomsday prophecies isn’t, “…and WE are all gonna die and go to hell.” It’s “…and YOU are all gonna die and go to hell.”

Camp’s followers aren’t passively suiciding, they’re cutting in line. They believe there are only 200 million seats on that train bound for glory, and by damn they’re gonna be in first class, short-circuit the Ten Commandments and all that other nonsense and go straight to heaven.

The rest of us chumps simply have to hope we were good enough to sneak a ride in the baggage car six months from now. Not the most “Christian” of strategies, but hey–we’re talking eternity, not just a seat on the crosstown bus, right?

Right. And now, on Sunday, Mr. Camping’s website still proclaims that, as of yesterday, the world has 00 days left to live, and Mr. Camping is nowhere to be found.

Uhm, guys? Maybe he went on without you.

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