(I feel fine, by the way)
I’m still waiting, though, for Christ to return in 1988. Edgar Whisenant said he would, printed out a bunch of books and Christians of a fundamental/Evangelical leaning went on full prep mode.
I remember sitting in the front row at 1st Baptist Church in Elkhart in September, days before the event, and listening to our pastor talk about how kids had come home from college to be with their families at the end. I remember my stomach tying itself in knots.
What if I wasn’t Christian enough? What if all the times I prayed the sinner’s prayer, over and over and over again, didn’t work? Maybe I hadn’t meant it. Maybe I hadn’t been serious enough. I looked around at my youth group-mates. They didn’t seemed stressed at all, so maybe they were better Christians. Maybe I wasn’t a Christian at all.
I know I’ve blogged about this before, and I will probably do so again. I guess the reason is this: this terror of being “left behind” constantly occupied my mind, sometimes like a low, steady hum but other times like crashing cymbals. It literally drove me nuts as a kid, and even a bit into college. (Taylor U helped me grow out of it a bit.)
God does not want us to come to Him out of terror. He does not ordain some for heaven and others for hell. The patchwork quilt of rapturist theology, cobbled together from disparate texts in both the old and new Testaments, is not the security blanket He intended for us.
He said trust in Me. Follow Me. Believe in Me and My word. He, the Triune God, who built a road back to fellowship with Him, is good and full of love for mankind. Terror breeds hate and that always interferes with love.
I hear it’s 11 p.m. in New Zealand, five hours post-apocalypse there…