We have to ask ourselves, "Have I been deceived?" Have I hearkened to a different Gospel? Have I made the word of God of none effect by our current traditions? If my interpretation of the book of Revelation is wrong, if the world will go on for another millennium, how much time have I wasted eagerly seeking to interpret the times and seasons? How many funds has Christendom diverted from the Gospel and caring for the poor and destitute to promote seminars, buy books and pay for radio and television air time, to speculate and prophecy about things to come; things which are clearly revealed to no one? Endless hours of pulpit time forecasting an unknown future, precious discipleship hours wasted on prophecy? Irreplaceable hours of personal and corporate Bible study seeking things from above, which have or never will be revealed. Millions, nay, billions spent promoting novel speculations while poor Lazarus lies in need at our gates. Must God's haunting voice be repeated a third time? "I will write on the tablets the words that were in the first tables which thou breakest."

The clear direction for His church spelled out by His own finger, reiterated by Christ's words and actions. Oh Christian, evil has entered the camp, the wolf snuck into the sheepfold! Blind guides leading the blind away from the simplicity of Christ and His service. Has what I've considered to be an angel of light been the minister of death?  Have we traded the methods of love and compassion for prophets of doom and terror? Will Christ's church be built on the solid rock or will our infatuation with predictions and blind analyses of apocalyptic calamity be exchanged for banqueting with the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind? Have we left the sure gospel plow vacant in the field? Fields that are ripe for harvest, but the reapers are found staring into heaven, feverishly obsessed with the future, to leave the present mission abandoned. Now is the day of Salvation, this is the hour to serve, to love and to care for the lost and hurting of our world, let the future come finding us busy at the Master's work. Are we standing on our roofs, gazing into the clouds having predicted the trumpet's blast; leaving our upper rooms vacant and flameless? Consoling ourselves as we retreat from the age, bowstrings slack, retired and withdrawn.   

Leave the blood moons, dispensations, the deciphering of dragons, seals, beasts and symbolic horses behind, and tend to the living at our feet who we have abandoned by our obsessions.