Vail Daily Editor Don Rogers: And so the world keeps turning
May 26, 2011
Well, we’re still here.
The clock is still ticking to December something, 2012, unless you are willing to give that Camping fellow a chance at strike three with his new doom date.
So went Y2K, those nights in Arizona or wherever the space aliens were coming to pick up the faithful. Each World War had its adherents of the End Times. The Civil War, too. Each breaking of a new millennium.
The Apostles thought they’d see Rapture in their lifetimes.
We’re still waiting for the shock and awe that is biblical rather than W. gearing up for Iraq.
I confess that even after reading all about it in newspapers including the front page of The New York Times, I clean forgot last Saturday.
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I was in Reno, visiting my son and daughter-in-law, more focused on getting my legs loose for our 90-minute trail run, more interested in coffee at the restaurant later because they were out at home, more concerned about getting Sunday’s commentary out before the copy desk hollered.
I guess I didn’t take Doomsday with sufficient seriousness.
My friend and fellow columnist Richard Carnes of course found this great fodder. Are you kidding? This was T-Ball for the atheists.
But I don’t think many ardent Christians entered the day with thoughts all that different than mine, either.
All the faiths have their cults, their kooks, their holy rollers who think they have direct knowledge to share with precision.
I’m not clear how Harold Camping, head of Family Radio, gathered a following or became quite so much a curiosity. Maybe his birthplace provides a clue: Boulder. Works for the rightwingers. That and the always damnable sin of moving to California.
The pop psychologists and the pastors are having their day, enough so you almost wish the poor ol’ prophet had been right. Camping dissed church faith, so he’s in for some extra helpings of brimstone.
The eggheads focus on difficult times leading the vulnerable inevitably to believe in a door out as part of the lucky 3 percent God chose.
No doubt the numerologists are furious at the shoddy arithmetic and bad name given to their sacred art.
I just think we like to believe we’re special. There must be some reason we are here now, right? We had to be selected for this somehow, being the pattern seekers that we are.
So we wind up biting on the coverage, albeit with a chuckle. Or selling everything and learning firsthand about … hubris.
That God, what a kidder.