You know what I hate? This ridiculous idea that people don’t want to work. I know guys that live with their parents and spend all day watching people stream online, so I know there’s some truth to that. But I know more guys who are working two jobs because one doesn’t pay enough, and other guys who aren’t working at all, because the guy working two jobs is working one of the jobs the other guy could have if one guy wasn’t being two guys.
The Chosen Baptist wouldn’t want me focusing on that right now. He’s got an assignment for me, my final assignment, my last chance to meet him.
I get easily discouraged, but I’m not quick to quit. I’m not quick to quit because I get so easily discouraged. I’ve only had three jobs total in my entire life, worked no less than four years at any of them. When the manager calls you up and offers you a position, you treat that like gold, not copper. How many pennies do you find laying about? How many gold bars?
I’ve been working as a secretary for close to six years at a humble office building downtown. Baltimore doesn’t have the kind of skyscrapers you find in New York, but there are some lofty places to be employed. It’d be great to be on the top floor, overlooking the harbor, but job security is the real treasure. Twenty-minute commute to get to a four-story building sorting through various administrative work that’s just complex enough to not have to worry about it being phased out by AI. At least, I’m fairly confident. No job can be replaced by technology until technology comes and replaces it.
My space isn’t big, but it’s personalized. A few pictures from family reunions, my wedding day, my son’s first recital and the first car I ever owned. And that one picture my mother took of me that I wish I was mean enough to throw out. I’ve got sticky notes with a few encouraging quotes for those days I lose perspective. I’m good with the boss, only person in the whole place that really matters, so I could spend the rest of my career here until retirement.
The resignation letter on my desk isn’t superfluous, but it manages to capture all my feelings in a single page double-spaced. I’ve been working on it for weeks, trying to figure out the best way to articulate my thoughts. I don’t want to lie; my boss has been very good to me. But my boss is also…not stupid — I’d say naïve. He thinks this world will last forever.
So, the details of the letter that explain my departure because of the impending rapture will likely go over his head.
He’s not a quiet guy, but he doesn’t take up more attention than the thought of my coming savior, so when he leans over to see what I’m doing, it startles me.
“That’s cap, right?” He asks.
I turn to look at him. I give a bittersweet half smile as I size up his outfit. He’s the opposite of corporate America. Bright yellow shirt with a sky-blue suit. Tries to talk to me on my level, even when it gets cringy. Bends just about every rule you can think of just so the office feels welcoming for all involved. He’s got two concerns, making sure his employees have a way to feed their families, and making sure they aren’t miserable doing it. A guy like him deserves happiness by our standards, but it’s not our standards he has to answer for. The coming tribulation calls for a different suit.
We sit in his office together, door closed so the others won’t know what’s going on.
Usually, he’d be sitting at his desk, but he’s pacing. He’s already read the letter twice. “Two weeks?” he asks.
“Two weeks.” I confirm.
“September twenty-second?” he asks.
“Or twenty-third, to account for time zones.” I confirm.
It’s a direct conversation. We both play it straight. I don’t try to hide my conviction, and as sensitive as he is to people’s various beliefs, he doesn’t try to act like he doesn’t think I’m foolish. But I pity him, for he is the fool. Not in an arrogant way, but an ignorant one. He’s the kind of guy who says he doesn’t believe in physics but reads every fortune in his Chinese food.
“What are you going to do when this thing doesn’t happen?” he asks.
He’s not much older than me. He’s lived through the year two thousand. He remembers June sixth, two-thousand and six. He recalls two-thousand and twelve. He appeals to the same tired argument I’ve heard before. If none of those were right, why would this date be right? I look at the diploma on his wall, the years he worked to earn it. He doesn’t realize that he woke up day after day and those days weren’t the last day. Until one day was the last day. He doesn’t understand how silly his argument is.
“It will.” No need to belittle him.
He has enough to worry about. He shouldn’t bother, but he’s going to jump right into finding a replacement for my position. Staffing is already stretched thin. I wish I had the time to explain the calculations to him. I wish I could explain to him The Chosen Baptist, the dreams, the coming feasts, the full moons. But he has no ears to hear. He has no heart to receive. Praise to the Most High, he’ll get a seven-year return policy.
I shake his hand, with something resembling mist in my eyes. He shakes my hand with the same look of compassion. We both know only one of us is right. We both know who it is. We both know the other will be devastated when the truth reveals itself. Only I know that he only thinks these things; I know these things.
I walk past my desk without collecting my things. There is no place for them up in the clouds. I respectfully say my goodbyes to my coworkers, but I don’t tell them why I’m leaving. I don’t tell them about the final assignment. I’ll let our boss explain that in the next team email, if he thinks my explanation is even worth mentioning. He likely won’t. The same way he didn’t inform us that one of our coworkers’ sudden departure was due to them being incarcerated, a detail I only obtained because I was good with his mother.
I walk to my car and look at the building that has defined the end of my professional career. I wonder if it will continue to stand in the coming chaos. Will it be a safe haven for those seeking refuge from the demons roaming the streets? Will it be used to house food as famine ravages the country and the world at large? Or will it just be drywall left abandoned? A macabre part of my mind wishes, briefly, that I could see the state of the world when the tribulation begins.
I drive home, rejoicing in the freedom of such a heavy burden lifted off my shoulders. I blast gospel music the entire time, at one point becoming so overwhelmed with gratitude that I have to pull over so I don’t become a danger to other drivers. But I can’t linger. The time is coming for the final assignment. The Chosen Baptist is waiting for me.
I get home, and I barely reach the door of the modest town house before my wife Jessica rushes out with our son. I can tell by her puffy eyes that she has been enjoying intense worship for quite some time. Blood rushes to my cheeks at the sight of my radiant better half, a woman of near perfection who came into my life right after the woman who should have protected me left it. I thank God that Jessica is nothing like my mother. Her skin is glistening as the sun catches her at the perfect angle. I was a wretched believer when she met me. I had no thoughts for those outside of the ark of safety. She taught me to care for them. She taught me how to understand them.
“Off we go then.” she says, and rushes to the car. I want to stop her for just a second, just for the briefest of moments so that we can embrace each other as husband and wife. Just so I can hug our child and we can be the family we formed before stepping into the servants we were made to be.
We three climb in the car and make our way to the temple. Tonight is a big night. The night of final assignment. We can hardly contain ourselves as I recall stories of our faith journey and she carries on about the Chosen Baptist. When we arrive at the temple, she jumps out of the car almost before I even park it.
“He’s arriving any moment,” she says hurriedly. I unbuckle our child from his car seat and try to catch up with her. The countdown has begun.
The parking lot of the temple is full of booths, food trucks, makeshift stages and more. There’s entertainment, prayer circles and information booths. Balloons fly high, sparklers illuminate small areas, the victorious cries of the children of God fill the air. My beautiful wife takes our son and joins the crowd. I’m waiting for one person, but while the Chosen Baptist prepares to make his entrance, I seek out another.
I push through the sea of faces until I see the stage that Jeremy stands on. Perhaps my oldest and closest friend.
“These are truly the final days. You are all my brothers and sisters, even now as you flirt with annihilation, even now as you mock our Lord, I pray for you. There is still time. There is still time to come into Salvation. The Lord has room in his Kingdom for you.” They laugh at him.
“Do not give your pearls to the swine.” I say to him. He sees me, comes down from his stage, and takes me into his arms with the vigor of one who has not seen me in decades, but it’s only been a few days.
“And here I thought Jessica had softened you. Who will share with them if we don’t?” Jeremy asks.
“I was willing, but ever since the Chosen Baptist announced his dream and we’ve had a date, I haven’t seen the point. They haven’t listened in twenty years. You think they’ll listen in two weeks? We’re going home…finally.”
“Two weeks. Doesn’t that make our charge even more crucial in the final hour? Last call for the great commission.”
He always warms my heart, even when he’s behaving like a fool. “Securing our place in the ark of safety is our top priority. We have been faithful for years, but now is the time for silence. We have to put all our focus on the task and make sure we’re ready for the return.”
“My brother it is precisely because we are ready that we must not forsake those of the world.” Our conversation is cut short by the sound of trumpets, and not a second too soon, as I can’t see either of us reaching the other. If I can’t be bothered to try and save my mother, I definitely can’t be bothered to waste words on mockers and scoffers.
Not those trumpets. I’m proud of all of us in that moment. Not a single one of us looks at the sky; we know this is not the moment. Instead, we look at the entrance of the temple where clergy exit the building. The unity in their modest robes fills me with confidence. There has been such division in the church, fractured almost beyond repair. But in these final days, a standard has been raised.
They march out of the temple in perfect harmony, and line up on either side of the entrance, facing each other. The glorious sound of their trumpets touch every ear, and quickens every pulse, signifying the arrival of the man who will lead us through these final days.
At last, he steps out of the temple, clad in purple, adorned in jewels gifted to him by the many people he has brought to salvation, a crucifix around his neck, a zucchetto on his head. He is the sent man of God. He is the sign many of us have prayed for years to receive. He is the Chosen Baptist.
The parking lot goes silent.
“Praise be to the Most High!” he shouts. We respond in kind. “Tonight, is the most important night of our lives. The night we receive our final assignment. I and my fellow pointers will issue to each and every one of you, your tasks that you are to fulfill up to the day of the Master’s return. Some of you will find your assignment more lustrous than others. Fret not my watchers, for all who stand under the sound of my voice can rejoice. All under the sound of my voice play a role in preparing the way, whether big or small, tonight begins the most important work this world has ever and will ever see. I have been sent a dream, a dream of the return of our Master. I have been selected to deliver the message and the instructions. Many of you came in groups, some with family or friends, maybe pairs. But all of you will stand alone as you receive your final assignment. There will be separation of a temporary nature. Some of you will not greet each other again until we meet in the clouds. Take heart my brothers and sisters. Join us in the temple and receive you final calling from the Lord. Maranatha!”
Cheers erupt from the crowd. I bless the name of the Chosen Baptist, and for a moment, my flesh drives me to wish that it had been me who received the dream from the Lord. The amount of faith that our God has in his chosen servant surpasses what I can imagine. Just the amount of responsibility in that charge…it seizes my heart. But I am not the Chosen Baptist. I am not to prepare the way. I am to watch.
I get in line with Jeremy, lamenting the absence of my wife and child, and await my turn in the temple, scanning each face, seeing hopeful optimism, nervousness, fear, joy, pride, as well as every other emotion on the spectrum. I can’t imagine what my final assignment will be, but I allow myself to voice my wish.
“I’d like nothing more than to go door to door evangelizing.” Jeremy says. “What about you?”
“I want Jessica and I to be selected by the Chosen Baptist to remain here. Can you imagine what it would be like, to be connected to a true prophet?”
Jeremy doesn’t seem as enthralled by the idea. “He’s undeniably blessed by God, but he is still just a man.”
“Just a man? Lower your voice.” I say with trembling, not realizing my reaction has done more to draw attention than his disrespectful claim. “He is the last prophet before the coming Savior.”
“And like John before him, he must decrease so that the Most High may increase.”
“I’ll never quite understand you.” I admit to Jeremy. “The sign we have prayed for, and you treat him like he’s no big deal. Be careful asking God to reveal to you and then dismissing its significance.”
The line moves slowly. The first hour goes by unnoticed. The second is filled with conversation with whoever is calm enough to speak. Hour three is the first one I feel. The fourth hour I begin to feel weary. The fifth hour I find a second wind. The sixth hour, frustration almost wins. I take a nap during the seventh hour. Halfway through the eighth hour, it is my turn to receive my final assignment. My meeting is with one of the clergy. We sit in a pew at the back of the temple. I can see the Chosen Baptist at the altar, giving assignments to others. How great it would have been to speak to him. I’ve followed him since I heard about his dream. My last great prayer: assign us to serve by his side.
“The voice of God is telling me to go to your mother.” The clergyman says to me.
Time stands still for a brief second as I process that task. I wouldn’t dare question the calling of the Lord. The material of the pew that normally soothes my skin feels like it’s pressing into my skin as I grip it. I am not permitted to share my final assignment with anyone except my wife. Spousal privilege.
I walk out of the temple with my head held high, for I am one of the privileged few watchers who will play a role in the final days. There are those who dream of being where I am right now. I take one last look at the temple. My assignment doesn’t require me to come back to it. I’ll see everyone here in the clouds.
I wait by the car until my wife finds me. She’s joyful, but I can see something heavy is on her mind. I don’t have to ask. There’s only one topic that holds any weight tonight.
“I’ve been called to watch over the children. The Chosen Baptist is opening the temple to the children of the other watchers so that we can all fulfill our duties ‘unincumbered’ is the word he used. I’ll remain here with him. The Most High blesses my years of service with this honor.”
“You were chosen by the Chosen Baptist…to stand with the Chosen Baptist?” I ask.
“Is that jealousy in your voice?” she asks. It is a fair question.
“Humility. To know the love of a woman so favored by God.” But after I say it, I realize what this means. It is time to say goodbye to my family. Of all the things I imagined, I never thought that we would ascend separately. I go for one last hug or kiss, but she has already begun to head back to the temple. Her mind is beyond earthly concerns. And as much as I love her, I know that in these final days, our marriage qualifies as earthly things. She must do her work, and I must do mine. She will return to the temple, and I will go back to where life began for me. I understand the power of God more in that moment than I ever have, as he gives me the strength to walk away from the only woman I have ever truly loved. I will see her in the clouds. Maranatha.
To Be Continued…