If you’re reading this, the world didn’t end on October 7. Which is, you know, a pretty good deal for a Wednesday. Though if it had happened, it would’ve made that particular Wednesday pretty much one of the most memorable Wednesdays ever. Because let’s face it — Ash Wednesday aside, Wednesdays are generally pretty mundane.
But boy, Chris McCann of The eBible Fellowship has gotta be more than a little embarrassed.
McCann is the latest religious-fringe leader to make headlines by claiming the world was going to end. Working forward from Christian radio host Harold Camping’s famed and failed prediction that it was all going to be over on May 21, 2011, and creatively interpreting a few choice Bible verses, McCann came to the conclusion that God would destroy sinful, dirty, sex-out-of-wedlock-having, “happy holidays”-saying, non-compliant Earth with cleansing fire on October 7, 2015.
(Of course, McCann’s statement also included the words, “There’s a strong likelihood that this will happen. Which means there’s an unlikely possibility it will not,” which makes him kind of a noncommittal, bet-hedging poltroon amid the End of Days set.)
Not all doomsday cults are waiting, vials of poison hung handily ’round their necks, for the denizens of the Crab Nebula to come back, rescue the dolphins and lay waste to the planet-destroying leg-walkers; many have their roots in some of the world’s most accepted theologies. And while they’re more prevalent and newsworthy near major date changes — ends of decades, new millenniums and such — doomsday cults are always around. There are always impressionable (and also, forgive me, stupid and mentally ill) folks waiting for someone to tell them, in a charismatic way that jibes with their worldview, that they’re In On The Secret, that they’ve been reserved a VIP opera-box seat from which they can witness it all come tumbling down. And there are always folks for whom Twitter will never provide the kind of followers they’re looking for.
But why? What’s so attractive about the idea of the destruction of the world?
Well, there’s the argument that some people will do anything to feel special. What’s more special than, to paraphrase Stephen Wright, knowing the expiration date on humanity’s birth certificate? Being invited to Bruce’s house party where his folks bought all the booze and voluntarily went out for the night sort of pales in comparison.
Then there’s the idea that total commitment to a wholly unprovable concept is somehow the ultimate expression of one’s spiritual worth. It’s the biggest, baddest leap of faith there is. Oh, you believe in a higher power? How nice, and metaphysically pedestrian, for you — I put all my chips on a single day, rookie.
I think, though, that the real draw lies in the little things.
Life is hard in a million tiny ways. It must be an almost unbelievable relief to know that sometime, sometime soon, none of that shit’s gonna matter anymore. Yeah, taxes are a bitch — thank Lord Septron I won’t be doing ’em again. Sure, I just got a November court date for my fifth speeding ticket, but the joke’s on them! The in-laws want to come for Thanksgiving and stay through Christmas? Baby, you tell your mom they’re welcome for as long as they like, but it’s likely to be unseasonably warm this year.
Sure, it’s delusional at best, and shamelessly deceitful at worst, to claim to know the mind of God in order to lord power over others. But c’mon — you’ve gotta admit that avoiding the same conversation about where to have dinner this Saturday is a singularly persuasive argument in favor of armageddon.
This article appears in Oct 1-7, 2015.