(Author’s note: And so begins an occasional series of reports from the religious insanity front. This is, after all, 21st Century America, and we do religious insanity like nobody’s business.)
Religious Insanity in Action
One American’s Experience
by Charles McKelvy
The religious insanity in North America really kicked into high gear with the arrival of the first European colonizers and has continued unabated to the present day.
Case in point:
I was waiting outside the women’s room for my wife Natalie recently when a man with a hand-held device began pacing back and forth in front of me.
I took him for another husband waiting for his wife to finish powdering her nose. So I ignored him, as best I could under the circumstances.
When I refused to make eye contact with him—and I should note here that I was studiously avoiding him because we were standing in the evangelization department of a religious institution known for its aggressive evangelization of the whole, wide world—he got in my face with his hand-held device and asked if I was a pastor.
I said no, and he countered, asking if I was a member of the sect that runs institution in which we were standing. When I said no, he impatiently asked if I was at least a Christian.
I said yes, and he immediately asked if I believed that Jesus was crucified on a Friday.
When I assured him that I did, he wanted to know what kind of Christian I was, and when I told him, he took it upon himself to save me from my misguided ways by asserting that Jesus was indeed crucified on a Wednesday, because, well, the evangelizer went off the wharf with his wackiness.
Ah, I thought, religious insanity in America. He’s continuing the fine tradition of Cotton Mather and the slave-owning Confederates who refused to fight on Sunday for fear of offending the Lord.
Right, and I get this loony-tunes and his hand-held device spouting his unbending theories in an uninvited harangue about how everybody got it wrong and, well, of course, he and his handy device had calculated the year of the Second Coming: 2030.
I wanted to remind him of the Big Disappointment of the 19th Century when a group of his co-religionists had picked the exact date of the Second Coming of Christ and had sold their homes and farms and gone out to the nearest high ground to eagerly await his coming to save them, and only them.
And when Jesus failed to appear on their schedule, they had egg all over their righteous faces and no homes or farms to go home to.
But I didn’t have the heart to tell him, so I just thanked him for his invasion of my privacy and went off with my dear wife, who had finished powdering her nose, wondering as we went how we were going to productively spend the remaining 14 years of our lives.