We seek rapture
because we long for
escape from
the things we know
the things we have seen
the things we have been told
and believe must be true.

I seek it, too,
that escape,
but I fear it is only
a hall of mirrors
where every self I see
is a monster
so distorted
it cannot be me;
and everyone else inside
sees the same,
their self distorted,
monsters, too, for
if every one looks like a monster
the one I know myself to be
is safe;
the one I fear to unleash
contained.

Speak, me, speak,
I will myself to expel the words,
compel them from my soul;
I squeeze my diaphragm,
push air from my lungs,
force the warm wind
through my mouth, open,
shape the words with my tongue, my teeth,
press them, those words,
breathe;
but they do not heed, do not hear me,
breath with no force,
for the words
are not mine
ideas
are not mine
borrowed, yes,
adapted, yes,
not helpful, not necessary,
bigoted, maybe,
condescending, surely,
too soon, too late, too loud, too soft;
it is better to be silent than to speak
words in disconfidence,
isn’t it?

This cage I occupy
is constructed of childhood memories
of learning self-control,
self-denial, self-loathing;
where my tongue is a monster,
a rudder, guiding the ship of my soul
into destruction,
and the words I say
—the words I cannot say—
save me or enslave me,
impossible to know
—relief or ring—
until judgment is done,
sent down from above.

Sing, my soul,
if you cannot speak;
be free, my soul,
if you cannot see.

Rapture awaits,
over the mountain,
brave I must be
to speak
to break
free
from the cage so enslaved,
monstrous though I be
and over that horizon
breath is unleashed;
escaping becomes me;
escaping becomes we.

About This Poem

In American Christianity, "rapture theology" is little more than an escapist fantasy; it has no foundation in historical Christian theology, and no meaningful foundation in Scripture. For many Christians, the idea that all true believers will one day be "taken up" to heaven, removed from the "corruption" of the world we currently inhabit, has become an excuse to distance themselves from the world. After all, why fix a place that is temporary?

This poem began as a critique of rapture theology, but as I worked through the realities of this escapist mindset, I had to confront the parts of me that sought escape, too. Rapture theology is, in many ways, a response to Christians' fear of a world they cannot change, cannot understand, cannot exist within.

Like them, I have run away from worlds that I was raised to believe in, but can no longer exist within. I can no longer abide the monstrous view of self (and the monstrous view of God) I was taught; I can no longer bite my tongue to suppress my emotions, my questions, my contrary thoughts.

Yet my rapture theology—my running—is not truly escapism, for it is not running away from my fears, but confronting them, challenging them, and running toward the truth I find exposed. I am not escaping the problems of the world; I am running into the world, into the community of humanity, and embracing them.