Some of you may recall Harold Camping, a Christian radio broadcaster and evangelist. He served as president of Family Radio, and he became famous after predicting the arrival of Judgment Day on May 21, 2011. On that day, he pinky-promised, Jesus would return with tickets to paradise. Sadly, those who weren’t saved would be left to combat fire, brimstone, and plagues, with millions of people dying each day, up until October 21, when God would deliver the final blow to the universe.
(As an interesting aside, Merrriam-Webster defines “brimstone” with a single word: “sulfur.” You can interpret that divine final blow however you see fit.)
Followers worldwide promptly began donating their life savings to Mr. Camping. They told their bosses to go screw, quit their jobs, relinquished all their earthly possessions, and spent what they presumed their final days in glorious pre-rapturous rapture.
May 21 came and went. Nothing happened.
I thought about Harold Camping as I was hunkering down yesterday after just about every school district in the state called for an early dismissal. So far, I had been hunkering down for five hours straight, and not a snowflake was to be seen.
Now, where was I in my story? Ah, yes. Harold Camping.
On May 22, 2011, his followers were tweaking. How can this have happened? We have no jobs. We have no homes. The sinners are laughing at us, and the world is still deploringly intact.
Not to worry, reassured Camping. What happened on May 21 was actually an invisible “spiritual judgment” of sorts. The actual, physical rapture would occur on October 21, simultaneously with the destruction of the universe. Sit tight, he assured his followers. The end is near.
My thoughts were interrupted by Bruce DePrest, who was delivering his forecast on WFSB under the screaming headline: “Winter Storm Genny Will Bring Snow to All of Connecticut Tonight!”
“Winter Storm Genny has been off to a slow start, to say the least.” Bruce cleared his throat. “But the worst of Winter Storm Genny will occur this evening and tonight. It will intensify offshore as it moves to the south and east of New England…”
I was sold. I forewent planning my lessons for the next day, and instead, I stayed up until 1 a.m. watching videos of cats getting scared out of their wits by cucumbers. I didn’t set my alarm clock.
When I woke up a half hour before the school’s opening, I strained my pre-caffeinated eyes upon a blurry laptop screen.
No email from my principal announcing a closing. Strange.
I ventured over to WFSB and examined each listing.
Not even a delay.
Just outside our front door, a dusting settled upon the driveway.
Every story should have an ending, even if it’s not a happy one. When October 21, 2011 came and went without flame, sulfur or plague, Harold Camping was a global disgrace. He promptly retired from his position as president of Family Radio, and two months later, he suffered a stroke. His former followers dubbed him a “false prophet.” Family Radio went on in his absence, but suffered a massive loss of assets, staff, and revenue.
Where was I going with this?
Oh, right. I was going to make a forecast of my own.
Bruce & the friends at WFSB, you can start hunkering down now. It doesn’t look like blue skies ahead.
