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I Wish We Actually Were in the ‘End Times’
My uncle Boyce is an evangelical crank. Born and raised in rural Texas, he used to raise crawfish and grow rice on a farm until he got too old for all that. At family functions, he had the annoying habit of getting Biblical about damn near everything. He’d try to explain most current events by referencing the Good Book, chapter and verse.
Turmoil in Israel? It’s all in there. Ezekiel 39:1–29.
If talk turned to ecological disasters, he’d point you to Revelations 16, which is full of stuff like “The second Angel poured his bowl on the sea: The sea coagulated into blood, and everything in it died.”
I mean it’s hard to argue with that. Maybe everything in the sea hasn’t died yet, but it sure seems headed that way.
Boyce was always something of a joke in our family. Mom habitually called him a “jackass.” My brother and I used to poke fun at his bad combover and worse breath.
But you know what? In many ways, I envy the man.
He’s got it all figured out, doesn’t he?
Here I am all full of anxiety, but he’s a Lily of the Field.
I look around and see a world sliding inexorably into oblivion, and he sees those pearly gates opening wide on the horizon.
