“Time flies when you’re having fun.” and “a watched pot never boils” are different ways of saying the same thing. Our perception of the pace of time passing is altered by how much we enjoy what we’re doing. Having fun? Time passes in the blink of an eye. Eagerly anticipating something? Time seems to slow to a snail’s pace. I was reminded of the truth of this recently.
On Sunday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend I found myself in downtown Phoenix. It being downtown, a Sunday, 106* F, and a holiday weekend to boot, there was no one on the street as I walked back to my car. Looking ahead, I could see a man at the next corner. He was gesticulating wildly and shouting. He didn’t seem particularly threatening. I assumed he was troubled and was shouting down his inner demons. It was only when I got closer that I realized he wasn’t shouting, at least not to his way of thinking, he was preaching. And he was preaching to raise the dead, with the Good Book in his right hand and the wrath of a vengeful God in his heart. Wasn’t in Jane Wagner who wondered why when we talk to God it is called ‘prayer’ but when God talks to us it is called ‘schizophrenia’? I think Brother Brimstone had a double dose of both.
I grew up in a fundamentalist church so histrionic evangelists don’t intimidate me. Had I been in a tent revival with a hundred other people I wouldn’t have even thought him unusual but, circling back to the topic, can you imagine how long it takes for “Don’t Walk” to become “Walk” when you’re standing on a corner, two feet from Pastor Diatribe and he has no one to preach to but you? When the light finally changed, after what seemed like 20 minutes, I swear I heard a choir of angels heralding the good news. I rejoiced all the way to my car.