Restoring Apostolic Faith

For the last few decades—let’s be honest, since the Reagan years—whole industries have been built on vanishing pilots, abandoned pets, and conveniently folded clothes. “The Rapture” has become the modern Church’s favorite escape hatch. The only problem: Scripture doesn’t actually teach it. And if it did, you might not want a ticket.

The Word That Never Was

The English word rapture never appears in Scripture. It comes from the Latin rapturo, translating the Greek ἁρπάζω (harpazō)—“to seize, snatch, or carry off”—from 1 Thessalonians 4:17:

“We who are alive… shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.”

Sounds airborne, sure. But Paul isn’t describing a secret departure. He’s using imagery from ancient victory parades. When a king returned, citizens would go out to meet him (apantēsis, the same word Paul uses) and then escort him back in triumph. The King comes here. We meet Him mid-procession, not mid-orbit.

Jesus Already Covered This

Jesus’ own warning in Matthew 24 and Luke 17 gives away the plot:

“As in the days of Noah… they did not understand until the flood came and took them all away.”

Who was taken? The ones drowned. Who was left? The righteous, standing in the sunlight after judgment. The same pattern repeats with Lot—those taken are destroyed, those left live to rebuild.

If you read “taken” as “raptured to safety,” you’ve just swapped the roles. In context, being left is the blessing.

The Misused Promise of John 14:3

One verse often hitched to rapture theology is John 14:3:

“I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.”

Comforting—yes. But not about relocation.

The Greek verb for “receive” is παραλαμβάνω (paralambanō)—a neutral word that context tilts either way. Joseph took Mary as his wife (Matt 1:24). Soldiers took Jesus to Pilate (John 19:16). Same word, opposite tone.

In John 14, Jesus isn’t plotting a sky-lift. He’s promising union: after His resurrection, He’ll reclaim His own through the Spirit—“I in you, and you in Me” (v. 20). The phrase “receive you to Myself” means into fellowship, not into orbit.

Try forcing that meaning into Revelation, and it breaks. The verbs there—airō (lift away), ballō(cast out), apagein (lead off)—carry judicial weight. Being “taken” in Revelation means seized for wrath, not welcomed for rest.

John 14:3 is personal; Revelation is judicial.

Jesus receives His people as His own; He doesn’t airlift them out.

The Theology of Escape

Modern rapture teaching thrives because it promises comfort without cost—an early boarding pass before tribulation begins. But history laughs at that.

• The apostles weren’t spared persecution; they sealed their witness in blood.

• The early Fathers—Irenaeus, Chrysostom, Athanasius—all expected the Church to endure trial before glory. None spoke of a two-stage coming.

As Chrysostom wrote, “He does not come secretly; the trumpet is loud that all may hear.” (Homily on 1 Thess 4)

The point was endurance, not evacuation.

Paul’s Real Comfort

When Paul said, “Comfort one another with these words” (1 Thess 4:18), he wasn’t offering an escape plan. The Thessalonians were grieving their dead, not panicking about future wrath. Paul comforts them with resurrection—the dead rise first, then the living join them.

The comfort is that death doesn’t win, not that we dodge difficulty.

The Pattern of Judgment

Throughout Scripture, the ones “taken” are those swept away in judgment:

• The flood took them all (Matt 24:39).

• The Assyrians took Israel into captivity.

• The Romans took Jerusalem in 70 A.D.

If that’s the pattern, then being “taken” at the end of the age isn’t the prize—it’s the purge. Those left are the remnant who inherit the renewed earth. The meek don’t evacuate; they inherit.

If It Were True…

Even if a rapture existed, it would look more like a cosmic sorting than a charter flight. The Son of Man gathers out the lawless first (Matt 13:41-43). Judgment begins with removal of the wicked. The faithful remain for restoration.

So maybe the real question isn’t when the Rapture happens—but why we’re so eager for it.

Maybe escapism is just unbelief in disguise—the quiet fear that Christ can’t carry us through the storm He promised.

The Bottom Line

The Bible’s hope is not evacuation but resurrection.

Not flight, but faithfulness.

When the trumpet sounds, the King isn’t taking us away from earth—He’s coming to reclaim it.

If you’re following Him, don’t pack for departure.

Dig in. Endure. Build.

The faithful aren’t air-lifted; they’re anchored.