That is: for nearly 30 years I've done a 90-mile backroad commute across Californie Profonde. Which is to say, for a long time, for an hour and a half on many a Thursday evening, Camping was my only companion as I hurtled through the dark towards home. I'm an inquisitive guy and I can listen to almost anybody's story once, but I have to admit I got tired enough of the preacher's, ahem, ministrations--so tired that I had begun flailing around for some way to escape this weekly routine: a different job, maybe, or maybe even early retirement. But I didn't want to retire and in particular, I didn't want to be driven out of my place by some guy with a microphone.
What finally bailed me out was the discovery of good audio books. Suffice it to say that I plugged an old (ten pound?) tape deck into my cigarette lighter (sic!) and I pretty well worked my way through the classical canon thanks to Blackstone Audio of Ashland Oregon, together with the settled conviction that I didn't want to go back to the preacher.
What do we learn here, children? We learn that I owe an incalculable debt of gratitude to preacher for having made my world a richer, more varied, altogether more interesting place.
Ah well. I should try to avoid snark here, but as to the preacher's main message--I am already on record as one of those who believes that the rapture has already happened and it is we who are left behind. So I haven't cancelled my dental appointments for Monday. Meanwhile, if you're looking for an absorbing diversion as you beguile away the idle hours of
Περὶ δὲ τῆς ἡμέρας ἐκείνης καὶ ὥρας οὐδεὶς οἶδεν, οὐδὲ οἱ ἄγγελοι τῶν οὐρανῶν οὐδὲ ὁ υἱός, εἰ μὴ ὁ ]πατὴρ μόνος.For those of you keeping score at home, that is Matthew 24:36. For a more emphatic rendering of the point, go here. I've always said that if I'd grown up next door to a good cathedral music program, they'd probably still have me.