The Rapture

the sheer force of belief. The unshakeability of true faith. Leonard Krall has it.

‘We have been chosen to live through these times and to interpret these times,’ he is saying. ‘So we will stand up to that Devil who is destroying this Earth that God made, and spreading atheism across the globe, and we shall await the return of the Messiah, the great Redeemer. For just as we saw him fall, so shall he rise!’ Still pacing the floor energetically, he has slipped seamlessly into song mode: a chord of music erupts from the keyboard in accompaniment.

‘So shall he rise, so shall he rise, so shall he rise, rise, rise!’

He lifts his hands and people get to their feet and sing about the risen one, the chosen one, the holy one. I clap along in rhythm. Again, that physiological response: my heart lifts and a smile blooms and I am enjoying myself. At the end of the song the congregation remains standing, which means my view is blocked. I shift further into the aisle. Krall’s head is now bowed and his fist is in the air, revealing a dark-haired wrist, a silver watch, a white cuff. His energy is intimate, almost sexual. His eyes are closed and his body shivers, indicating a mood shift. When he speaks again, tipping his head back in an almost languid gesture, it is with quiet force.

‘We shall be among the saved, and we do our best to turn the hearts of all those we know and love who have not yet found His grace towards God so that they too shall be saved. Psalms chapter twenty-five, verse four: Show me thy ways, 0 Lord, teach me thy paths. We don’t want anyone to suffer on this Earth during the End Times. Some of them are our friends, our loved ones. We take no joy in their circumstances. We want them to repent their sins and rise and be raptured alongside the righteous, and rejoice in the return of the Messiah. And he shall come for us, oh yes, make no mistake he shall come.’

Assent ripples across the hall.

After the service, I roll my way past the clusters of men and women and teenagers clad in the uniform of high-street fashion chatting energetically, flush-faced, while the younger kids run out to the mall.

‘Welcome,’ says Krall, pulling up a chair, getting down to my level and shaking my hand with the confident grip of a people person, a gifted speaker who can also listen. ‘It’s great to see new faces. Are you local? Leonard Krall.’ He’s still holding my hand and I begin to wonder when he will release it. ‘People call me Len. Pleased to meet you.’

‘I’m Penny,’ I lie.

‘Penny,’ he repeats. Another squeeze, and I get my hand back. I came up with Penny — an insecure, religious version of my pre-accident self — on the journey here. ‘I’m just passing through. I was driving past and I heard the music, so…’

‘You couldn’t resist. Those old favourites, yeah?’

‘Comfort singing.’

He chuckles. ‘Better than comfort eating, right?’

‘What you said about the Tribulation and the Rapture struck a chord.’ This earns me some intensive eye contact and a nod, but no more. It’s unnerving to see Bethany’s brown eyes shining out intelligently and softly from another face.

‘You know something, Penny? I can feel Jesus in you.’

I don’t quite know how to respond to this, except with paranoia. Has he spotted I’m a fake?

‘Can I have a word with you, when you’ve said your goodbyes? The fact is, it wasn’t just the music that brought me here,’ I confess. I have tweaked his interest.

‘Sure thing, Penny.’ He straightens up, ready for the task. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ he says, winking at a man walking past. ‘Clear this righteous mob out of here and we can chat in private.’

I wait as he presses more flesh, jokes with more men, listens to more women, mock-punches little kids. There’s a barbecue atmosphere.

Fifteen minutes later we are alone. ‘So, Penny. Talk to me.’

‘The Tribulation. Does it have phases?’

He shakes his head. ‘Well, you’re right in there with the big questions, aren’t you? Phases, yes. In fact some Christians believe it’s started already. Look around you. Plagues, extreme weather, disasters, globalisation, stock markets collapsing, terrorism, atheism. You could call them symptoms.’

‘So do you believe it’s started?’

‘On bad days I do. But a close reading of the scriptures indicates that true believers will be saved before it begins.’

‘In the Rapture. They’ll be caught up in the air.’

‘So the Bible tells us.’

‘You mentioned the Antichrist. So I take it you believe in evil?’

He laughs. ‘Too right I do. If you take God seriously, you have to take the bad guy the same way. But above all, I believe in good. I believe in the power of God’s will and God’s plan first and foremost. Even though terrible things happen. And God seems to let them happen. That confuses people, but it shouldn’t. We’re always asking ourselves what I call the why question. Lord, why hast thou forsaken me? But God knows what he’s doing. He has a plan. It’s just, we’re like ants, Penny. We’re too small to see his plan. Our vision doesn’t reach that far. Our problem is arrogance. We need to do away with arrogance. It takes humility to accept that God has it all mapped out, but that we can’t always know it. Things that don’t make sense to us make sense to Him. Like I said earlier, we see through a glass darkly.’ A shadow crosses his face, but disappears immediately. He grins. ‘Sorry, Penny. Me, banging on.’ ‘But can evil be innate? I mean, this idea of innocence, and corruption… Can a child be naturally evil?’

‘She can be visited by the Devil.’

‘She,’ I say. There is a tiny silence. Leonard Krall stiffens imperceptibly and his gaze withdraws inward.

‘The Devil is powerful,’ he murmurs finally, almost to himself, and for the first time there is a hint of sorrow in his features, the sorrow of a man who has lost his wife and child. ‘The Devil is cunning. The Devil is malevolent and he finds ways of bringing the righteous off the path of good.’ He looks at me intensely, as though searching for the Jesus that he sensed earlier. ‘What do you think of that, Penny?’

‘The church I belong to doesn’t — well. They’re all in favour of good. But evil doesn’t seem to exist. And I keep thinking, can you really have the one without the other?’

‘Political correctness?’ His smile is encouraging, complicit. ‘I’m not going to start knocking other churches or beliefs,’ he says. ‘But I’m a Bible man. And if you’re a Bible man, you believe what’s in the scriptures, and you don’t edit out the Devil just because you don’t like the idea of evil. Trust the text. Evil’s among us. But our faith will deliver us from it. Faith is evidence of things not seen. Hebrews eleven. I like that one. Evidence of things not seen.’ Then he reaches in his pocket and hands me his card. It bears his name, with an e-mail address, and a mobile phone number. ‘Take this, Penny,’ he says. ‘In case you’d like a longer chat. I move about a lot, spreading the word, but you’re very welcome wherever I’m preaching.’ The combination of his sincerity and my fraudulence brings on a deep blush. I take his card and thank him. With no pocket to put it in, and not wanting to stuff it down the side of my chair, I fumble in my handbag for my wallet, which I promptly drop. Gallantly, he picks it up. And then, less gallantly, and to my shock, he flips it open. My driver’s licence stares at us both.

And in a split second, everything has changed. ‘Gabrielle Fox,’ he reads aloud. The blood drains from my face. ‘It’s a pity it doesn’t give your profession on here, Ms Fox.’ I want to be sick. ‘But I would guess journalist.’

‘I’m not a journalist,’ I mumble. ‘Please give me my wallet back.’

With a quick head-move, his smile has vanished. ‘They still come sniffing around every once in a while. But none of them’s sunk this low before,’ he says, indicating my wheelchair. ‘Penny.’

‘I’m paralysed.’

‘And I’m Mickey Mouse. Look, Ms Fox. Most people here know that I suffered a personal tragedy a couple of years back, and that the church and God’s love have helped me get to a place where I can count my blessings. I don’t bother with the why question any more. I accept that we see things only as through a glass darkly. Now I don’t want to offend you. But I don’t like subterfuge. So if a young woman who has clearly suffered in life comes to me seeking counsel over a genuine spiritual concern about the nature of evil, I am happy to help her. But if someone cold-bloodedly gets hold of a wheelchair and cheats her way into God’s house to ask me personal