disappointment.
On May 22, I felt an overwhelming sense of pity. Sympathy, maybe. As everyone knows, a fringe sect (some might say cult) of Christians believed the world would end on May 21. And they didn't keep it to themselves. They created websites, wrote articles, made t-shirts and paraded through the streets of major cities in buses with fear-mongering verses about hell and damnation. They were passionate, excited and yes, over-the-top. But they really believed the world would end, and for them, assured they would go to heaven, it would be the best day of their lives, the last day they had to live on earth (which for many people, for many reasons, is indeed a happy thought).
But May 21 came and went. The Internet quickly became clogged with jokes, pictures of "rapture pranks" and articles proclaiming the absurdity of how fervently these people believed in something that never happened at all. I admit, I laughed at a few, and we jokingly texted our pastor to see if he was still around. He replied that clearly the good Lord wouldn't let him leave earth until he finished working on the house, so he was still there.
The more I thought about it, and the more mockery I heard, the sadder I felt. No, I didn't believe for a second the world would end on May 21. And no, I don't believe for a second that fear-mongering, extreme behavior and hate-spreading is ever acceptable. But I believe in the pain of disappointment, the sadness of being so damn sure that something will happen ... and then it doesn't.
Every day, weddings are planned. They are elaborate, they are expensive and they are widely publicized. And why not? It's the happiest day in the world for the would-be couple, and so they pick a day and shout it from the rooftops (we did, anyway). Every day after we picked our day, I counted down. 186 days left! 47 days left! 2 days left! Tomorrow! And that morning, I woke up, put on my dress, and got married. But so many weddings don't turn out this way. Some are canceled months before, some days. And some are suddenly canceled on the day of the event, as one or the other gets cold feet or runs away or any number of tragic surprises. So the day after the wedding, the jilted one is still not married. He/she is still alone, and everyone who was invited - everyone who had been frequently reminded of the day it would happen - knew it had not happened. I can't think of a greater disappointment for a bride or groom-to-be, and no greater shame and embarrassment. We told everyone, they must think. We told everyone and invited them and nothing happened.
There is also the unspeakable tragedy of losing a baby. Again, a date is declared. Rooms are painted, clothes are bought. Showers are planned and everyone makes their predictions: the baby will be a day early! It's definitely a boy! And then suddenly, inexplicably, the baby is gone. I know neither the joy of expecting a baby nor the devastation of losing one. But I sense that the depth of disappointment is immeasurable. We knew he was coming. We knew the day. We told everyone. We canceled our summer plans because we would be too far along.
Some people move to start to new jobs. They have a start date, so they sell their houses, pack up their families and move to a new place. Most likely, they arrive a few days before the start date to get settled in. And on the day, there is no job. For one reason or a million others, jobs don't work out. People turn out to be scumbags. Hopeful workers are unemployed. But I moved my family. I quit my other job. I told my kids we couldn't go on vacation because it was the first week of my new job.
Granted, the May 21 crowd was extreme, and seems to happen (at least publicly) with far less frequency than other dashed hopes. But we are all human, and our brains and hearts work together to form appropriate responses. And there is nothing that confuses our brains more than unmet expectations. This is why certain musical sounds hurt our ears, why natural disaster leaves us speechless. This is why we hate movies where the boy shows up with flowers and the girl refuses him anyway. We decide and expect the way the world should work, and when it doesn't, we are shattered.
So I feel pity for the extreme disappointment the May 21 believers must have felt on May 22. I have stopped reading about them because frankly I've lost interest, but I'm sure they have a perfectly logical explanation for why they are still here, 3 days later. The logical explanation might work as a Bandaid, a way to save face when the world says, "You're still here, huh? Nice plan."
But we'd never think that way about a jilted groom or a heart-broken pregnant woman or a suddenly unemployed family member. We know the excitement of having a specific date and the joy of sharing that specific date with the world. We know what it feels like to expect the greatest day of our lives, and the crushing reality of that day turning out like any other, only worse because "we're still here" (on earth, for the May 21 believers, and in the same situation for everyone else).
I hope that the disappointment of May 21 will lead some of those people to some deeper reflection and understanding. I hope they will learn greater compassion for the people they so quickly condemned to hell on May 22, and I hope that in turn, they will receive the same compassion we all so desperately need every time we feel the world has ended.
But May 21 came and went. The Internet quickly became clogged with jokes, pictures of "rapture pranks" and articles proclaiming the absurdity of how fervently these people believed in something that never happened at all. I admit, I laughed at a few, and we jokingly texted our pastor to see if he was still around. He replied that clearly the good Lord wouldn't let him leave earth until he finished working on the house, so he was still there.
The more I thought about it, and the more mockery I heard, the sadder I felt. No, I didn't believe for a second the world would end on May 21. And no, I don't believe for a second that fear-mongering, extreme behavior and hate-spreading is ever acceptable. But I believe in the pain of disappointment, the sadness of being so damn sure that something will happen ... and then it doesn't.
Every day, weddings are planned. They are elaborate, they are expensive and they are widely publicized. And why not? It's the happiest day in the world for the would-be couple, and so they pick a day and shout it from the rooftops (we did, anyway). Every day after we picked our day, I counted down. 186 days left! 47 days left! 2 days left! Tomorrow! And that morning, I woke up, put on my dress, and got married. But so many weddings don't turn out this way. Some are canceled months before, some days. And some are suddenly canceled on the day of the event, as one or the other gets cold feet or runs away or any number of tragic surprises. So the day after the wedding, the jilted one is still not married. He/she is still alone, and everyone who was invited - everyone who had been frequently reminded of the day it would happen - knew it had not happened. I can't think of a greater disappointment for a bride or groom-to-be, and no greater shame and embarrassment. We told everyone, they must think. We told everyone and invited them and nothing happened.
There is also the unspeakable tragedy of losing a baby. Again, a date is declared. Rooms are painted, clothes are bought. Showers are planned and everyone makes their predictions: the baby will be a day early! It's definitely a boy! And then suddenly, inexplicably, the baby is gone. I know neither the joy of expecting a baby nor the devastation of losing one. But I sense that the depth of disappointment is immeasurable. We knew he was coming. We knew the day. We told everyone. We canceled our summer plans because we would be too far along.
Some people move to start to new jobs. They have a start date, so they sell their houses, pack up their families and move to a new place. Most likely, they arrive a few days before the start date to get settled in. And on the day, there is no job. For one reason or a million others, jobs don't work out. People turn out to be scumbags. Hopeful workers are unemployed. But I moved my family. I quit my other job. I told my kids we couldn't go on vacation because it was the first week of my new job.
Granted, the May 21 crowd was extreme, and seems to happen (at least publicly) with far less frequency than other dashed hopes. But we are all human, and our brains and hearts work together to form appropriate responses. And there is nothing that confuses our brains more than unmet expectations. This is why certain musical sounds hurt our ears, why natural disaster leaves us speechless. This is why we hate movies where the boy shows up with flowers and the girl refuses him anyway. We decide and expect the way the world should work, and when it doesn't, we are shattered.
So I feel pity for the extreme disappointment the May 21 believers must have felt on May 22. I have stopped reading about them because frankly I've lost interest, but I'm sure they have a perfectly logical explanation for why they are still here, 3 days later. The logical explanation might work as a Bandaid, a way to save face when the world says, "You're still here, huh? Nice plan."
But we'd never think that way about a jilted groom or a heart-broken pregnant woman or a suddenly unemployed family member. We know the excitement of having a specific date and the joy of sharing that specific date with the world. We know what it feels like to expect the greatest day of our lives, and the crushing reality of that day turning out like any other, only worse because "we're still here" (on earth, for the May 21 believers, and in the same situation for everyone else).
I hope that the disappointment of May 21 will lead some of those people to some deeper reflection and understanding. I hope they will learn greater compassion for the people they so quickly condemned to hell on May 22, and I hope that in turn, they will receive the same compassion we all so desperately need every time we feel the world has ended.