Artifacts of a Life Once Lived

ethereal and earthly in discombobulation This is the world I know. I know of no other sphere of being outside that which I have experienced. What have I to rest my time upon, if that which is like me has no foundation of being either? My being is contingent upon the order of the universe. I cannot survive unless that which I know remains as such. If man is responsible for the world as it is then I have man to thank for my existence, but I cannot find another who will claim that man is the foundation of my existence. What I have experienced is that my sphere of life commonly yearns for a life that is beyond this life, we cannot be satisfied with fullness even of the earthly type. If my life is the determination of a man then I ought, in common sense, to simply desire all that which man has created in its purposes; this is not my experience. I wish for the higher and realer, that which hard, bright, clear, and whole. I wish for that which man cannot provide, ever. This world smells of

Marsden, like many other devoted American evangelicals who have grown up within the conservative movements of protestant theologies, was a man of considerable spiritual appetite. Marsden tells his story, as do hundreds of other like-minded Sunday school fed followers, about the world in which he grew up. His story trots a path somewhat like this, though I have filled in the details where it might be necessary. “I grew up in home where the bible was the center of our daily living regiment. My parents, though well meaning and often bullishly honest, were under the strictest conviction that the world was haven of brooding rebels of the fantastic sort, enigmatically labeled as harbingers of destruction. It was not as if they viewed the delinquents, the hoodlums, and violators of societal law as the culprits; no, quite the contrary, it was the good citizens; the democrats especially, the university professors, the bartenders, etc. who were to be feared at utmost precaution. After all, thei

One of the strongest catalyzers of the missions movement during the twentieth century has been the idea that in taking the gospel around the world we are actually shortening the time of Christ’s return. That is, we believe that we can somehow, in our schemes “hurry up” or “hasten” the coming kingdom of God. Is God on our timetable? Does God actually have some plan where once the gospel has reached this last place He will commence the apocalypse? If this were so why wouldn’t we just do a massive airdrop of literature with airplanes all over the world, that would seem to solve the problem, right? If all that God is interested in is making a necessary stop on the last island of Iwo Jima why don’t we just send a group over there, do a mass evangelistic campaign, and if nothing comes of it than nothing comes of it, but we have taken the gospel there, and that’s all that matters because we are that much closer to bliss. Now I have a difficulty with this mentality. There is no love in this sc

My difficulty in coming to terms with the idea of a secret rapture finds itself in the very ideology of life that I am attempting to expose as purely individual and self-serving. In the light of the fact that the scriptures speak so little on such a significant topic, I am dumbfounded at my once unapologetic acceptance of this undoubtedly European doctrine. In trying to come to grips with the scriptural and historical evidence for understanding a secret rapture, I have found little support. The doctrine itself represents a world of science more than it does a world of biblical perspective. The scientists of the early 18th and into the 19th have suggested that all truth when scrutinized under tooth and scalpel is able, with pinpoint precision, to be exposed in unified propositional statements. The idea of Christian prophecy lends itself to this pursuit of scientific discovery, especially in the community of Protestantism in the early modern period. In seeking the biblical understanding

This is how the world ends. This is how the world ends. This is how the world ends. Not with a bang but with a whimper.