You're welcome to use this, which is based on my Rapture play "Almost
Persuaded," produced on stage at BJU and Maranatha Baptist Bible
College (with the president in the lead role).

COFFEE ANYONE?  by Jonathan Lowe

Go into any grocery store or coffee shop.  Hundreds of coffees in
every imaginable brand and variety will meet your gaze.  Kona
Hawaiian, French Roast, Jamaican, Kenyan, Turkish, Colombian.  Ah,
the aroma of these magical beans, which mean morning and new
beginnings just as much as the fingers of sunrise coloring the high
clouds!  Caffeine is alive in this dark brew that tastes devilishly
good when fresh from the dripping.  All is right with the world, in
fact, with a great cup of joe.  And there is even a sense of security
there.
But imagine someone named Joe.  Someone who has nightmares.  For
Joe, coffee is needed to stay awake, especially when he suspects his
dreams will be bad.  Like this one:

It starts off, I'm in the church lobby at night, and when I approach
the inner door, see, I hear pastor Stillman's voice, preaching.
Something odd about the door's window, though.  What is different?
What is wrong?
And then it hits me.  The lighting is wrong.  It's too bright, too
natural, like--
I push into the auditorium, and look up to the stained glass
windows, which depict a kneeling Christ in the garden of Gethsemane.
Like it is daylight outside.
Sunlight streams through the window--through Christ's clothes, His
face, His eyes.  The light is tinted blue and green and brown by the
colored glass, but there is no mistaking it.  This is not a Sunday
evening service, but a Sunday morning one.
I let out a scream, then cover my mouth.  No one turns around.  No
one notices.
Not real.  Not happening. . .
I start up the aisle, slowly, as Stillman speaks.  "The Bible is
very clear about it," he says.  "To be born into God's family, to
receive His atonement for the sin that has separated you from Him,
you must accept His redemption like a gift."
I pass Margaret Henniger, then Mrs. Lefler, and look back into their
blank faces.
"Otherwise you will die in sin, and that death will continue with
you beyond the grave, where the worm dieth not and the fire is never
quenched."
. . . Gladys Crown, Cloris Rice. . .
"Think about it.  Christ died in our place because He knew it was
the only way to bridge the chasm between His perfection and our
rebellion."
. . . Don Nisbet, Russell Cox. . .
"Friend, do you see Him today?"
No one looks at me.  Not even Stillman.  They don't see me at all.
"He died for you, and He asks only that you believe and receive Him
into your heart.  Tomorrow may be too late!"
"Pastor?" I ask, expectantly.
Stillman ignores me, says,  "Will you accept His gift . . . His free
gift of salvation, or face eternity alone?"
"Pastor, I accept," I say.  "Give me the gift . . . give it to me."
I step closer.  "Do you hear me?  Pastor, can you hear me?"
Stillman seems strangely frozen now.  The audience too.
No, of course you can't.  And God never heard me either, did He?
"He that hath an ear," Stillman interjects, "let him hear."  He
freezes again.
Steve said it was all a game.  Do you know that?  I heard you so
much, week after week, sitting back there . . . but after church in
the parking lot everybody talks about sports and politics and babies,
don't they. . .
"They have ears, but do not hear. . ."
I pick out Bradford Collins, sitting next to Julie.  Beside Julie is
her new boyfriend, Rick.  I wave at them--at everyone.  No one
notices.  No one sees or hears me.  "You people been singing the same
songs for years," I announce loudly.  "'Just as I am without one plea
but that thy blood was shed for me. . . earnestly, tenderly Jesus is
calling, calling for you and for me' . . . look, I know every hymn by
heart!"  I pick out Steve, sitting on the back row.  "Steve!  You can
tell'em.  You can tell'em what I mean!"
Steve is looking down, doing something.  I can't see what.
"Come on, Steve, tell'em!  Tell'em nobody we knew talks like it can
really happen--not on the outside.  Tell'em it's golf, Steve, and
football and fishing, and for the girls it's diets and shopping and
babies."
Steve seems preoccupied.  I climb onto the platform, and address
Stillman directly.  "Look, I sat here and listened, didn't I?  I sat
right back there when I coulda been out shooting pool like the other
guys at the high school . . . all those guys trying to be cool.  This
whole thing in here . . . you all come in here and sing some songs
and smile and--"
"And then shall that wicked be revealed," Stillman continues, still
ignoring me, "whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of His
mouth and shall destroy with the brightness of His coming.  And the
devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire, where the
beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night
for ever and ever!"
Suddenly he pauses, and turns as the light from the stained glass
windows slowly fades out.
What's happening?  The Rapture?
I descend to the aisle and move toward the back of the auditorium.
Steve is still motionless there, frozen in the process of fashioning
a paper football from the church bulletin.
I rush back outside, and see that it is night again.  I stare at the
lighted sign.  The rectangular span of illuminated plastic now reads
ROAD IS THE  AY TO DES RUC
Letters are missing.
Why?  Why?
But then the missing letters begin to return.  I watch them, numbly:
BROAD IS THE WAY
TO DESTRUCTION--
WHICH ROAD
ARE YOU ON?
Once again, I begin to scream, and then, finally, wake up. . .

More coffee, Joe?

(For the full story, rent the Christian audiobook "Awakening Storm"
from BlackstoneAudio.com)
 
 

Jonathan Lowe
PO Box 1531
Tucson AZ 85702

"Awakening Storm" now available
in the new audiobook chip technology
(USB flash drive for download to iPod)
from Audiofy.com, narrated by Barrett
Whitener for Blackstone Audio.