Speaking as I was the other week about Hell, I can expect to be in purgatory any minute now. As I have to work fast here, please excuse any typos.
You see, today is when the Rapture comes. Could have been yesterday, but Heaven’s accounting software seemed to have gone down for a while. I hear it’s been fixed, so stay tuned.
How can we know that it’s Rapture time, when Jesus descends to earth to gather his Protestant believers and escort them to salvation in God’s limo, when the Bible doesn’t specify when it will happen? (King James Bible: “But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.”)
It seems that South African pastor Joshua Mhlakela knows. He claimed in a YouTube video earlier this year that Jesus Christ told him that is when the world is ending — either on the 23rd or 24th of September. Since then he’s been all over social media, spreading the good news, collecting acolytes. On TikTok they call posts about it RaptureTok. There and elsewhere on social media, people are pledging to unlock their phones so others can spread the good word after they’ve ascended. But wait, I thought the Rapture was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What good would calling strangers do when y’all have been left behind?
It’s a crying shame Charlie Kirk had to miss it. But soon he’ll be partying with a bunch of his buddies who can tell him what it was like. The question arises, what will they be wearing? Aren’t one’s clothes supposed to drop off when the trumpets sound? I don’t think Charlie would approve of a gathering of naked men. I mean, who knows if some might be trans, for goodness sake.
Not that everyone expecting to be raptured expects to arrive in their birthday suit. Take this young lady named Jenna, who has shared her “rules for the rapture” on TikTok. She said she’ll be wearing “a denim miniskirt with built-in shorts underneath” (chastity belt not included) for when she ascends. She also vows to no longer count calories, since she’ll be given her dream body in heaven anyway.
“I’m going to be livestreaming while I ascend, and I’ll also be making videos and posting about what heaven is like and stuff like that once I get up there. So if you’re going to be left behind,” she added, “make sure to follow now so you can get updates.” (Yahoo News, 9/24/25)
As for the rest of us, I expect whatever tortures await us can’t be worse than the annoying nattering of soon-to-depart evangelists. Have a nice afterlife, y’all. Wave as you pass by.
And now for a different sort of rapture, of the carnal variety. Before the big event, I wanted you to know that I’m working on a short story that’s swiftly becoming a novella. A cautionary tale about the wages of lust in an affluent suburb, it’s tentatively titled High Infidelity. Here’s how it begins:
Despite being Saturday, Jack Barber had arisen early. Today was his 40th birthday and he wanted to make the most of it, not that he especially looked forward to that evening’s dinner party that Melissa had arranged with his overbearing boss and his trophy wife. But it was his special day, and he appreciated that she was going all out for the sake of his career, as she had put it.
The thing was, Jack wasn’t even sure he wanted to be elevated at Ford, Young. He didn’t welcome the added responsibility of flushing out new clients with estates to settle, impending divorces, and other disputes to adjudicate, but in the wake of Grayson Ford’s unexpected aneurism, as Don Young’s most senior associate, Jack was his logical successor.
Even if Jack wasn’t so sure, Melissa was keen for him to do whatever it takes to make partner. After all, college was coming up in three years, and Steve didn’t seem a likely candidate for a merit scholarship or financial aid. She also wanted to update the kitchen and build a deck with a Jacuzzi, all projects that would strain their current resources.
Rather than wrestle with all that — especially on his special day — Jack picked up the book he was reading by an Israeli historian on how Homo sapiens had come to dominate the planet to its detriment. He took it and a mug of coffee to the armchair in the living room and settled in. He had read two chapters and was reflecting on the predicaments their son’s generation would face when he felt a jab at his shoulder.
“Jack! Have you seen my minivan key? I thought I tossed my key ring on my dresser when I came back from the dentist yesterday but they’re nowhere to be seen.”
Melissa paced about, shedding nervous energy like cat hair. Jack sat up.
“Hell if I know,” he muttered. Accepting that his reverie was as doomed as the planet itself, he laid down his book and pushed out of his chair with a sigh that could have been his or the cushion’s. At least she could have said happy birthday.
…
Marital relations get complicated fast. This is a departure from other fiction I’ve written, and I wonder how my audience will take it. Feel free to encourage or discourage me, but hurry because especially given what’s supposed to happen don’t put off to tomorrow what you can do today.
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