"And Saul was there, giving approval to [Stephen's] death. On that day a great persecution broke out against the church at Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria... Those who had been scattered preached the word wherever they went." Acts 8:1-4
A tempest of persecution swept them wide, Through want and sorrow, exile's bitter road. It seemed that death might turn the spring-time tide Of Christianity's still-tender growth.
Yet refugees with children and their all Bore in their hearts the Word of life and light, And truth's bright flames would kindle and enthrall, Sustained by martyrs' suffering and might.
By Spirit's power alone they came alive, Took root in visible and spreading grace, Yet in their hearts did always keep alive The memory of Jerusalem's birthplace.
Thus it was then. But you and I today— In time's last hours, awaiting trials ahead— With grief and anguish tearing hearts away, From suffering there's no escape, we're led.
The politicians' dirty games transgress All boundaries that once seemed held secure; What yesterday seemed unthinkable, no less, Tomorrow will seem commonplace and sure.
Without, the dangers; fears that rage within, There's no escape, no refuge we can find. What shall we do? Speak out! Let truth begin, Bear witness to God's mercy, unconfined!
The brutal conflict soon shall have its end, The haughty stumble in their pride's collapse, And Heaven's trumpet call shall firmly send Its summons to the Feast—no looking back.
Do you hear?!
"Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed." 1 Corinthians 15:51-52
"The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come!' And let the one who hears say, 'Come!'" Revelation 22:17
Do you hear now what I am hearing still?! The tuning of celestial instruments begins, Musical chords are sounding at the will Of those preparing for that moment's hymns.
Do you hear whispers soft, the rustle of wings? A melody will cascade down like rain— Triumphant, genuine, rejoicing sings In praise to Him who freed our souls from pain.
When silver trumpet sounds its calling cry, We'll rise to meet our Savior in the air, In twinkling of an eye, beyond the sky, To see the world invisible laid bare.
Reality is labor, pain, and loss, We know it well—the sorrow and the strain— Yet easier to bear and lighter cross When soul is fixed on Heaven's bright domain.
The Spirit and the Bride cry out: "Come, Lord!" And all the musicians take their place. Do you hear Heaven's theme begin to soar— The sound of orchestras in perfect grace?!
