THE RAPTURE'S CURTAIN

THE RAPTURE'S CURTAIN

We have been invited to the banquet. Our reservations are in order to be greeters, to those who squeeze in, before the ceremony begins. For it grows late near curtain time. The orchestra tune their instruments, waiting for the opening moment. The chorus of voices, ready, waiting to sing praises. The choir robes, are ready, for assemble. The songs have been chosen. The invitations are being written. The harp strings are taut, creating prisms of heavenly sounds, calling out. The crowds are gathering. The trumpets all in a row, glisten in the sun, waiting for their sounds of triumph, to move forward. We await the word from the Father, as curtain time nears. 

Jesus gathers in His audience' still coming still being called. All have been invited many have no reservations, many won't come. The Father is in waiting, waiting to send forth His Son Jesus the conductor to orchestrate the final chapter of the Book of Light. The baton sits on the podium waiting for the hands, that start the proceedings. The rooms are in readiness, in preparation for our homecoming. The head table, set for twelve the reunion to feast. For the wine has fermented, from the harvest, to be served. 

The birth-pangs' rage increasing, increasing Armageddon waits on standby. The Four Winds, await the unveiling of the scroll. The clouds formulate, to carry Our Lord to glory; to gather His flock. The sky grows heavy and weary in preparation for the climactic overture. The Antichrist laughs, louder and louder, pushing further and further destroying deceiving. 

The stars, quiver in the dark skis, waiting like cymbals, to clash. The anticipation mounts. The animals hover close; the birds remain silent. The rumbling of nature begins; the four seasons clash, churning, not knowing which is which. 

The Ark of the Covenant awaits; ready. The moment of rapture awaits to be called to be raised up, to the Lord's Kingdom. Others will shake, in disbelief of the Lord's presence, to be left to bake, in their entanglement of sins of self. For the worst, is bestowed on the ones, who rejected the invitation, to the banquet. No eyes, no mind, no heart, will escape the treacherous evil of the Antichrist. For the clock winds down, the spring unable to rewind. The tides roll in, unchangeable in their course. The Father's hand controls the speed of waves, waiting, waiting for the last soul to repent. 

Noah's Ark waits all is in readiness for the Lord's coming; for the pathway to the ark, is narrow and slippery, as the Antichrist bites at your coattails, to deceive you, to hold you back. The almanac compiles statistics for the last time; the cover closes, forever. 

The Book of Light: Its cover opens, to register all who have come; to serve; to rejoice; to welcome each soul, as they enter. Page after page, the names of the faithful fill the lines, increasing in thanksgiving, and praise. The glory of the Lord is at hand; calling by name, each soul, who has believed. 

Our Blessed Mother awaits for her children; the red roses have bloomed, ready to be given in honor, to those who enter. The family gathers; the confessions all heard; the prayers all said. It is near curtain time; the first note ready to be heard. Time sits; time waits; for the hands to grasp the baton, to glorify the Lord. The banquet nears; He is coming.

Robert J. Varrick

rjvarrick@gmail.com