A very nice person stopped by my church this week to leave off an envelope labeled in blue Sharpie “The Time of Trouble 2024: Are You Ready?” and then at the bottom, underlined, “God Bless!” Inside was a reem of typed pages, festooned with pictures, of “proof” that Mr. Trump is the anti-Christ, and Mr. Obama the false prophet. Each page is titled things like “The Man of Peace Transforms into a Dove,” “American people and the sleeping American church,” “Counting the number of the Beast,” Why America is Babylon! If Not America, Then Who??” and “Daniel 9-24 The End, 7 Confirmations,” among others. The cover letter read thusly:
Ezekial 33:6 “But if the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people are not warned; if the sword come, and take any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at the watchman’s hand.”
The time of trouble or tribulation will begin this year. It begins with the eclipse on April 8, 2024 and the 66 days that lead up to the 77th Feast of Shavuot/weeks.
Judgment upon America/Babylon will be severe according to the prophets.
I trust you will take this information seriously and share it with the church/The People.
All glory to God. Amen!
It, and the envelope, were unsigned. I sat yesterday afternoon, catching my breath and neglecting important duties, studying the hard labor of this self-identified watchman. There are a lot of bits I love in the mound of text, but I was especially charmed at the way the author of these alarming warnings joined the mileage marking on his odometer with someone else’s license plate with the outside air temperature on some particular day and thereby worked out that Trump, the 45th president, was Apollo—>Apollyon—>Abaddon—>A Bad Don.
Of all the names given to that former president of the United States, that wasn’t one I had heard before, but it’s leaped to the top of my shortlist.
I didn’t know, either, that Mr. Trump’s birthday is June 14. Last year, in 2023, he turned 77 years old, or 924 months. Quoting the author, “Daniel 9-24, 77 Feast of Weeks.” From there he asks, “What are the chances State Route 924 Ends on the main street of Frackville, the town that I live in? Daniel 9-24, 77 Feast of weeks or Shavuot, End Date 06-12-24, THE END! 06-12-24 the end date (the time of trouble!) 6+1+2=9-24 (The Holy Spirit inspired me to take pictures as confirmations) All glory to God!”
As much as I would like to comb through the rest of these pages—there are so many, small font, front to back—the Holy Spirit is reminding me that I have to run along to church in short order to veil the crosses for the service at noon, and then hunt down heaps of Easter flowers.
This stack of papers, at first glance, is amusing. Someone has devoted himself (although I suppose it could be a woman) to figuring out the precise moment of “the time of trouble” and then warning even strangers about it which is almost the greatest act of love that one can bestow. To go out of one’s way to alert someone to danger looming ahead, or of some bad circumstance that will certainly come to pass is a matter of self-sacrifice, of counting others as more significant than yourself. I wish I had so much zeal for the safety of others.
Of course, like so many of us, the person who has worked out the coming “time of trouble” is straining the gnat and swallowing the camel, is lost amongst the trees searching for the forest, is missing the point. Jesus is right there, not on his pages, but in the Bible, his voice and look and love calling out across the generations to rescue the lost out of the very greatest trouble—death.
I’m immensely comforted, though, by looking over all the numbers and underlined sentences on these pieces of paper. All of us are like pinballs, banging around the world, crashing into each other, trying to do good things, and yet failing to accomplish even our most apathetic desires. We crawl out of bed in the morning, determined to do good, to solve problems for people we love, to find happiness and joy, to rebuild the crumbling ruins of sin and sadness. But as the first foot hits the floor, we are caught in the whirlpool, the vortex of evil.
As you stumble into the day, you can choose any person in the Passion narrative to follow after and glean some small insight. If you’re not a member of the vast crowd, baying for the death of the only good Person who ever lived, you could number yourself among the advisors of Pilate, who minced his way to the end of the work week just hoping to keep his job, not expecting to be existentially questioned to the depths of his being by God in human form. Or you could be Simon, just minding your own business, suddenly literally carrying a cross you never wanted to encounter at any cost. Or you could be a thief, nailed there, shouting curses in frustration and rage, just trying to thrust the loathing and shame away from you once more before you draw that last breath. Or you could be Nicodemus, tortured and anxious about the fact that all this time you could have done something but didn’t. Or you could be a drunken soldier, casting lots, determined never to look up and see the face of that man. Or you could be one of those helpless people who knew and loved the Lord, who traveled all that way for glory and triumph, who wanted to be useful but are now too terrified to even open the window onto the street, for fear of who might recognize you and your associations. Pick anyone at all in each Gospel text and wonder how it was that God took all those fears and sins and assumptions and used them to save the world.
Because he did. That’s why it’s a good day. The time of trouble is all swallowed up by the Savior. Whatever trouble lies ahead, we never have to fear it because he is with us always, even to the end of the age.
Have a nice day!
I’m still amazed that I am loved so much by Him that is so great. Oh glorious day, Christ died for me (and us all) so that I ( all of us) might live!
Growing up in a Catholic Church we had an interactive gospel reading on Palm Sunday with the congregation saying “crucify him”. I would’ve been one of those. And now I’m one who cries “he is risen, indeed. Alleluia!”