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

moping about the New York office, appearing in shock. Buck was dying to ask him what was wrong, but Borland surprised him by knocking softly on his door. “You got a minute?”
    “Sure, Jimmy. What’s up?”
    “You know where I am on this God stuff, right?”
    “God stuff?” Buck said.
    “The whole religious thing. I mean, I’m the religion guy but not that religious, okay? I come from the school of thought that believes a little bit of god is in everybody—whoever or whatever you consider god. Probably a strength for someone in my job.”
    “As long as you know about and understand a lot of religions, sure.”
    Borland reluctantly sat when Buck pointed to a chair. “Well, you know I was in Eastern Europe on some religious confab stories. Somebody invited me to what they call an evangelistic crusade. No interest. None. I have always wondered what these evangelists were thinking when they decided to call these mass rallies crusades, when they’re the first ones to howl when we remind them of the shame of the Crusades in the name of their God.”
    “Right. So you don’t go.”
    “No, I go.”
    “You do?”
    “Yeah, and here’s why. The so-called crusade is being held in Albania, okay? And the evangelist is not an American TV-type guy. I mean, I guess he’s an American citizen now, but it’s this Gonzalo Islando from Argentina. Heard of him?”
    “Don’t think so.”
    “Came to this country when he was young, patterned himself after Moody, Sunday, Graham—those types. Preaching salvation to the masses, you know.”
    “Okay.”
    “So I’m intrigued, because this is real cross-cultural stuff. This guy may be a naturalized American citizen by now, but he’s an Argentine and he’s preaching in Albania. Might be interesting. I’m thinking maybe I’ll catch him in some cultural gaffe, some ignorant move. So I check it out, and guess what? I end up going back two more nights in a row.”
    “That impressive, eh?”
    “Well, no. He wasn’t that big a deal. I’ll give him this—he knew the culture, was self-effacing, handled the press well, was self-deprecating, had a sense of humor, really seemed to love and care about the people of Albania—who knows why? As a preacher he was good, I guess. These guys are pretty simple, you know. Nothing deep. Nothing earth-shattering. You hear one hellfire-and-brimstone-except-that-Jesus-died-for-your-sins sermon, you’ve heard “Em all. I decided he was no charlatan; he really believes this stuff. You can’t earn your way to heaven, trust in the blood of Christ—all that.”
    “So you became a believer.”
    Borland snorted. “Hardly. I became convinced of Islando’s sincerity; that’s all. What got to me was the response. I’ve been to these things before, Williams, and I’ve always found them a little strange and amusing. There’s lots of emotion, a bunch of people following each other like sheep, people coming forward and getting saved—you know the drill.”
    “Sure.”
    “But this is different. Islando holds this deal at a stadium that holds around fifty thousand, and it’s packed. There’s cheesy music, then people witnessing or giving testimony or whatever they call it when they tell everybody else how bad they used to be and how good they are now because of Jesus. Then Islando preaches this simple message—pretty much the same every night. Being good isn’t good enough. You can’t earn it. Trust Jesus.”
    “Same old same old.”
    “Except that people start getting out of their seats and coming forward long before he invites them to. And it’s not just a bunch of counselors getting into position. I’ve seen that happen. It serves as a sort of priming of the pump. You realize the first thousand people down there are part of the deal, carrying their Bibles and their literature and wearing their badges.”
    “But… ?”
    “But not this time. Well, some of them, sure, but there were people weeping, crying out. It was like they couldn’t