Thursday, January 21, 2010

When you line your weekend with post-apocalyptic imagery, first with a matinee showing of The Book of Eli, followed by sermon on the Book of Revelation the next day, you may find yourself slightly less rested. Contemplative is the better adjective, and so I’ve found myself thinking about my relationship with church. I’m three for three in attendance this year, which is no small feat, considering three–consecutive!–Sundays have already elapsed, but I’ve got to tell you: this recent service was tough.

It dealt with eschatology, the study of end times, and throughout the message I found myself wondering where exactly this was leading and why I was even there. Understand I was raised Protestant, specifically Baptist, and I still carry the core tenets with me. I find the central account compelling, from carpenter to cross, and I appreciate the accompanying themes. Sacrifice. Redemption. Fallibility. Stewardship. But when I sat down on the pew and cracked open the bulletin to find a chart detailing, in bold font, the twilight of humanity, I found it alarming.

The main point of contention was the Rapture–crassly put, when the flock is beamed up to the mothership–and there are different schools of thought built upon when such an event may occur. “Schools” may be putting it lightly. Theological war rooms may be more apt, based on the fiery certitude with which the pastor held forth, and the import of the argument was lost on me. Honestly it felt more like prognosticating, rather than worship, and if I wanted that shit I’d buy a couple Magic 8-Balls. Is the pretribulation viewpoint valid? Or do the posttribulationists have it? Does it even matter? The congregation may as well have been debating the over-under of Gryffindor sweeping the Quidditch preliminaries, or how best to construct a lightsaber.

But enough of that. I’m placing value in the simple act of showing up at church last week, and at this point the effort made is enough for me. Here’s my other revelation. On Monday or Tuesday it occurred to me I had the perfect entry to contribute to Urban Dictionary. I could taste the prestige–the word of the day splayed on the homepage for a marveling online public, a fitting capstone to my life’s work. Behold:

Dou•che’ [doo-shey]
—interjection
1. To acknowledge a witty retort delivered by a douchebag or douchebaguette

Usage:
Douchebag: That’s what she said. [Shoots, then holsters finger guns.]
You: Douche’.

I excitedly surfed–indeed, websurfed–over to the site, only to find that two other people had beaten me to it. Two! That’s the Internet for you, I suppose. A megaphone for mankind, a clearinghouse of such scale that your original idea may in fact be…secondhand. Dun dun dunnn.