I’m Not Buying Rapture Insurance

I don’t know how old I was when the rapture insurance salesman came to my church. He was pretty slick. For not a particularly tall man, he had a big voice that sounded more like the booming guy who does movie trailers. He had charts with newspaper clippings that had red threads connecting to passages of the book of Revelation. I’m not sure why he was even allowed to speak, but he was a sweet talker and had made his way to the front of our little congregation of free-range Christians. A woman named Rita was the one who called…