Flash

“In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.” – 1 Cor. 15:52, NIV

Naturally, rational human beings resent surprises.

That’s why most people cry in the middle of a surprise birthday party.

We love to ‘prepare our minds’ for everything well in advance, don’t we?

Some ‘rational’ Christians in Corinth were using their pragmatism to question the process of how the dead would rise again after their bodies had become mere bones and soil.

Somehow, they couldn’t make sense of how long a man who died after 50 years of growing up, would take to become a new human being once again.

Then Paul, rather than answering with a tidy argument, answers that it would all happen “in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye!”

The Greek word behind ‘flash’ is atomos, the same root that gives us ‘atom’ – something that cannot be cut, cannot be divided, cannot be slowed down and studied in stages.

Paul is not describing a long and drown-out process.

He is describing an event with no seams in it.

This is the pattern of divine action throughout Scripture.

God rarely announces His interventions on a schedule that leaves room for negotiation.

He speaks light into darkness without a rehearsal.

He splits a sea with one strike of a mere stick, not across a season.

He makes 20-year-old wine in an instant.

He makes 1,000 loaves of bread in a split second.

Jesus tells His disciples that His own return will come the way lightning crosses the sky – visible, sudden, and utterly outside human control.

The resurrection Paul defends belongs to this same family of divine action.

It does not creep; it arrives in the time taken to blink.

And a blink, biologically, takes as little as a tenth of a second!

That is the speed Paul assigns to the moment mortality becomes immortality. Hallelujah!

There is something quietly defiant in this.

The modern mind only trusts what can be measured, staged, and explained – process over mystery, preparation over surprise.

The gospel does not apologize for refusing that grammar.

It insists that the decisive things God does are not achievements arrived at gradually but gifts delivered instantly, the way grace itself is never earned in installments.

Flesh and blood, Paul says plainly, cannot inherit the kingdom of God. Something must happen to us, not merely in us – and that something is not a self-improvement project.

It is an interruption, and the ‘trumpet’ is what announces the interruption.

Long before Paul, the shofar (Hebrew for ‘trumpet’) had already done this work in Israel’s life – sounding at Sinai when God descended the mountain, gathering the assembly, calling the nation to repentance, marking the line between the ordinary and the holy.

Paul, steeped in that memory and surrounded by a Roman world run on trumpet signals, reaches for the one instrument every listener would recognize as a summons from beyond.

John does the same thing in Revelation, where seven trumpets sound in sequence, each one tearing further into history until the seventh trumpet declares that the kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our Lord.

Whether Paul’s last trumpet and John’s seventh trumpet name the same instant or not, they name the same kind of instant – the moment the natural order gives way to the supernatural one.

So, what do you do with a trumpet you cannot yet hear?

You live like someone who expects to be interrupted – at any moment.

You keep short accounts, so that if the sound came this evening you would not be scrambling to make something right.

You repent before you are desperate.

You forgive grudges, because grudges do not survive well in the sound of a sudden trumpet.

You tell someone the truth about what you believe, plainly, before the moment for telling them is gone.

Being ready is not a mood. It is a set of ordinary decisions, made today, by people who take a sudden and instant God seriously.

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