The barcode turned 30 years old recently. Perhaps you missed the celebration.

Today we think nothing of zipping merchandise with the familiar printed patterns across scanners at self-service checkout kiosks and then rapidly sliding our credit or debit cards through as means of payment. It is amazing how quickly we take new, innovative technology for granted.

However, technological advances were not the first thoughts to come to mind when hearing that the barcode had been around for three decades. Best remembered from its introduction in 1974 are the warnings from the fearful among the faithful.

Surely the barcode was the Mark of Beast as foretold in Revelation, some suggested. It would help bring about the promised and dreaded one-world government. At the least, it was another clear sign that the end of the world is near.

At the time, most of us could not imagine that this strange ink pattern would someday replace price tags, inventory takers and the need to manually enter the cost of products into a cash register. But we found it equally hard, if not harder, to believe that the innocent little barcode had anything to do with the Second Coming.

In fact, few of us made any connection at all between checkout lines and eternity unless price tags were missing, the cashier was incompetent or the person in line ahead of us couldn’t find their wallet or checkbook.

Parents and experience can be good teachers. Both can teach the value of a healthy dose of suspicion.

Growing up in the northwest corner of Georgia, our kitchen radio stayed tuned to the same Chattanooga station from the time my mom arose early to make breakfast until just about dinnertime. It was then that an announcer would introduce, “The World Tomorrow with Garner Ted Armstrong …”

CLICK. That would be the end of radio listening until the next morning, unless the Braves had a night game.

On occasion I’d ask my mother why she cut off the radio so quickly after an uninterrupted day of listening to local personalities like Luther and Jolly Charlie, and such perky tunes as “Downtown” and “The Chattanoogie Shoeshine Boy.”

She never went into details, but expressed her doubts about this man’s interpretations of the Bible and the end of the world. Dad agreed.

He was a bit suspicious of most gospel music groups too. He said they tend to bounce around the country entertaining folks without getting involved in a local church and its broader mission like they should.

Both parents taught me that you don’t need formal theological training to have a pretty good truth meter.

Experience is another way to build healthy suspicion. However, not all people learn from being snookered the first time.

Hal Lindsey came on the scene about the same time as the barcode. He had many of us trying to match the daily news with his advancing eschatological timetable. And he sold a ton of books.

Recently I saw the grayer and wider former tugboat captain turned prognosticator on television still dispensing his predictions to eager listeners. He spoke from a podium proclaiming, “On the Brink of Rapture.”

There is something attractive, I guess, about being part of an esoteric group. But I gave up such pious puzzle solvers about 30 years ago — along with my leisure suits and platform shoes.

There is something about falling for the same trick twice that is appropriately embarrassing.

However, care must be taken to avoid an overdose of suspicion. The resulting cynicism is no more productive to individuals and the church than floundering naivety.

But a good dose of healthy suspicion would serve most Christians well. It is important to remember that Jesus calls his followers to childlike faith, not gullibility.

The challenge to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves can serve us well in an age where discernment of truth is a challenging responsibility.