The trumpets sound

 The Trumpets Sound

Today has been overcast and raining. It was kind of like in the Crumpler Mountains of West Virginia, I knew as a boy, the coal dust from the Pocahontas mine giving the fall landscape a coating of fine black, dulling the brilliance. When my Crumpler born mother passed away on this day three years ago, a day short of her 89th birthday, we sang at her funeral in the Williston United Methodist Church, who celebrated 150 years today, “When the roll, is called up yonder”.

Being a teacher her entire career, it was appropriate. It was the only time I visibly cried when we sang it. We never know why and what triggers our crying. We mostly hide it. 

The first line goes, “when the trumpet of the Lord shall sound, and time shall be no more.”

Wes Smith, the pastor of the Williston Church of God we are now attending, gave the sermon today from first Peter titled, The end is near. I am biased, for Wes, a year younger than me, was my friend and fellow Methodist at my fathers church when we came to Williston in 1967. I think Wes is one of the finest Pastors I’ve ever heard. But I’m biased. His mother is definitely the best piano player. As we left, the crow atop the steeple seemed to be sounding the same theme. I’ve always been one to take great stock in the animal kingdom, kept mute yet seeing clearly, unlike us, the invisible One, I would like to think. Like Baalam’s donkey. 

At the Ivy House for lunch, we remarked as to the lovely pink flowers in the yard beside the City Hall. I took a photo and google said it was the pink trumpet vine. Walking out in the Williston rain, I could hear a distant song, 

I could hear the Wesley Smith family singing even more clearly than in 1975, The Sounds of His Coming.

Can you hear it? Please attune so you can.