For those who don’t worship at arguably the most visibly popular of our secular shrines, the sport of football, the New Year’s weekend’s most interesting event for many older folks was (the ball drop at midnight excluded), perhaps, the Rose Bowl Parade.

While not watching every minute, and only somewhat interested, I had my attention drawn by this year’s much-stated theme, “Dream, Believe, Achieve.”

The “Believe” slogan, I have noticed, has appeared in a number of places in the last few years, amusingly, despite, and maybe as a result of, the absence of belief all around. Believe what? A verb without an object, or a predicate, leaves us clueless. Are we now clueless? No pun intended. Is there anymore any meaning left in the word, “believe”?

Shades of Dr. Ralph McLean! His question lives on: “Does it matter what you believe, if you are sincere?” Here’s the reply I gave to my venerable professor in 1957, (actually, his take, also, which he passed off to me). “Yes, it matters. You can be sincerely wrong.” You might notice I am still pleased with my answer.

A featured parade float heralded dreaming, believing, and achieving, and tagged the “achieving” part of the theme, in and by, “catching a wave,” or “climbing a mountain” — and I forgot the third achievement.

Numerous other encouragements and references were made to eating healthier, exercising more (and more smartly) — and I forgot the next thing.

Another flower-bedecked float dared a thoughtful platform in the midst of the gaiety and hilarity of welcoming 2022. It featured a “flower” nurse ready to administer a COVID-19 shot, and exhorted in huge letters, “Vaccinate the World.”

I agree that we can reasonably “dream, believe, and (aspire to) achieve” worldwide innoculation in 2022. But will we?

Here I go again. But, come on! We are a culture and age of narcissists! Nihilists! Nothing of intrinsic value exists, except what we want, when we want, and how we want. Does it? Certainly, nothing has authoritative, absolute religious or moral value and meaning. Does it? (Tongue-in-cheek? Of course. Thank God.)

Marvel Comics may have caught on to the prevalence of narcissism, and Nihilism, before most saw what was coming down. Thank you, Mac, for showing me Marvel’s characters, the Star Wars nihils.

Just as the comics caught on to the possibility of unimagined forces bent against us out there, with the explosion of “Star Wars” in the late 1970s, the comics now, much more than the “funny books” I bought at Standard Drug in the 1940s in Kinston, shadow a story of sociopolitical forces, and “nihils,” right here, right now, that we might well note. (However, the 40s comics had savvy things to say and show about totalitarianism during WWII. We should have paid more attention.)

Maybe the requirements of Duke University’s doctoral program, of two minors, one inside religion, and a minor outside religion, both, are informing my reflection now, as I also look toward 2022. As I struggle (or at least exert myself) to assess the sociological realities and political challenges confronting and threatening us, along with my primary responsibility of assessing the theological relevance of it all, my two minors, ethics and sociology of religion, are relevant even more now than in earlier decades. (And maybe the 40s funny books helped, too. Superman was pretty amazing, I remember.)

Star Wars, indisputably, claims a substantial and widespread influence today, especially among the young and the almost-young. I expect that I will bring Star Wars, and particularly their interesting characters, the nihils, often into this column, as we move farther into 2022.

Sadly, I expect to discover that Marvel’s nihils look uncomfortably like us. As one has said, “We have met the enemy. And it is us.”

If Marvel tackles the “death of God” theme underpinning Nihilism, they’ve surely got a winner. And so do we.

This is certainty. Christ Jesus is our Victor, our Redeemer.

Thanks be to God.

Dr. Elizabeth Barnes is a retired professor emerita of Christian Theology and Ethics at the Baptist Theological Seminary in Richmond, Virginia, and a resident of White Lake.