Free The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

Fundamentalists have come to be known as people who kill those they disagree with. When was the last time you heard of a Christian doing that?”
    “Granted. But do you know what someone asked me the last time I went to that new church with you? They asked what God was doing in my life.”
    “And what did you say?”
    “I said He was blessing my socks off. You’d have thought I’d made their day. Now what’s all this both you and Raymie are trying to tell me about the preacher and some hobbyhorse he’s on lately?”
    “It’s not a hobbyhorse,” Irene said. “It’s one of the major thrusts of this church. They believe in Bible prophecy, which says that Jesus is coming back someday, and we don’t know when. That’s why I wish you’d come with us this Sunday, because Pastor Billings is finishing up his series on the topic and he’s really going to put it all together. It’s amazing.”
    “So it is a hobbyhorse.”
    Irene shook her head and looked away, as if interested in the muted highlights on TV.
    Rayford used the occasion to peek at the sports section of the paper. He fully expected her to scold him for not listening, but she was not talking. Rayford found something intriguing in the paper and was soon reading for real.
    “I’m reading everything I can get my hands on about the rapture of the church,” Irene said.
    “Hmm?”
    “Nothing.”
    “That’s what Raymie was trying to tell me. Jesus is coming back and all that.”
    Suddenly she was engaged again. “Can you imagine, Rafe? Jesus coming back to get us before we die?”
    “Yeah, boy,” he said, peeking over the top of his newspaper, “that would kill me.”
    She was not amused. “If I didn’t know what would happen to me,” she said, “I wouldn’t be so glib about it.”
    “I do know what would happen to me,” he said. “I’d be dead, gone, finis. But you, of course, you would fly right up to heaven.”
    He hadn’t meant to offend her. He was just having fun. When she turned away he rose and pursued her. He spun her around and tried to kiss her, but she was cold. “Come on, Irene,” he said. “Tell me thousands wouldn’t just keel over if they saw Jesus coming back for all the good people.”
    She pulled away in tears. “I’ve told you and told you. Saved people aren’t good people, they’re—”
    “Just forgiven, yeah, I know,” he said, feeling rejected and vulnerable in his own living room. He returned to his chair and his paper. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m happy for you that you can be so cocksure.”
    “I only believe what the Bible says,” Irene said.
    Rayford shrugged. He wanted to say, “Good for you,” but he didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. In a way he envied her confidence, but in truth he wrote it off to her being a more emotional, more feelings-oriented person. He didn’t want to articulate it, but the fact was, he was more intelligent. He believed in rules, systems, laws, patterns, things you could see and feel and hear and touch.
    If God was part of all that, okay. A higher power, a loving being, a force behind the laws of nature, fine. Let’s sing about it, pray about it, feel good about our ability to be kind to others, and go about our business. Rayford’s greatest fear was that this religious fixation would not fade like Irene’s Amway days, her Tupper-ware phase, and her aerobics spell. He could just see her ringing doorbells and asking if she could read people a verse or two. Surely she knew better than to dream of his tagging along.
    Irene had become a full-fledged religious fanatic, and somehow that freed Rayford to daydream without guilt about Hattie Durham.
    Buck Williams had never seen Jim Borland like this. The longtime religion editor of Global Weekly had been a Princeton religious studies major a couple of decades before, and while they did not see eye to eye on everything, Buck considered Jim one of the savvy veterans on the staff.
    But here was Borland,