Holy Holy Holy. Journey with us into a mystical twilight where a radiant trumpet casts an “ethereal resonance” across a “starry sky”. This sacred “cemetery” is bathed in light from “luminous horizons”, inviting a unique “graveyard tour” of peace and reflection. Find solace in this serene visual meditation.
Full content in graphic form at www.theholygospel.net
Holy Holy Holy. We welcome you to The Daily Redemption publication for December 5, 2025. Today’s headline: The Trumpet Will Sound — 1 Corinthians 15:52
📖 Scripture
1 Corinthians 15:52 — 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 Thessalonians 4:16 — For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.
Matthew 24:31 — And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other.
Revelation 11:15 — The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah, and he will reign for ever and ever.”
Devotional
The trumpet is not noise — it is the signal of transformation. In one instant, mortality collapses, and eternity begins. The sound is both warning and promise: judgment for the false, glory for the faithful. To live ready is to live changed already.
Lyrics by Zeb of Virginia Beach Church and theholygospel.net
from his song “Lord, Don’t Let Me Still Be In My Shoes”
Lord dont let me still be in my shoes
Lord dont let me still be in my shoes
When the Rapture has come I’ll be shouting the blues
if I am still here while the faithful have gone
let It Be Your Road I’m traveling on
Lord dont let me still be in my skin
when the Rapture has come I’ll be repenting the sin
that has made me unwelcome whilst others have been received
oh Lord please don’t forsake me
Lord if my petitions and my prayers be blocked by a blot
thou has not received and thou knoweth me not
I say unto thee please do not leave me alone
Lord let me in Lord let me come home
Lord don’t let me still be in this world
when the rapture has come and the banner unfurled
and those who held fast have been taken up high
let my heart be in yours as the day draws nigh
don’t you miss that train when it leaves the station boy
don’t you miss that train when it leaves the station boy
don’t you miss that train when it leaves the station boy
when it leaves the station it’ll be gone,gone gone gone
gone gone gone
Lord don’t let me still be in this realm
Please shine your light, my darkness overwhelm
let nothing of Earth separate thou from me
Lord your face is all I want to see
Prayer
Lord, prepare us for the trumpet’s call. Let our lives echo eternity before the sound arrives. Amen.
Imagine a vast, twilight sky streaked with deep purples, molten golds, and ethereal blues—where the last rays of sunset bleed into the first whispers of night. At the center, a single, radiant trumpet floats midair, unheld, its brass surface gleaming with divine light, emitting not sound but visible waves of luminous energy that ripple outward like concentric halos.
Below, a quiet graveyard rests on rolling hills—weathered headstones half-swallowed by moss and time. From the earth, silhouettes begin to rise: figures emerging not in terror, but in serene transformation. Their forms shimmer with an inner radiance, flesh becoming luminous, garments swirling from tattered cloth into flowing robes of iridescent white.
In the foreground, a living witness—a man with windswept hair and upturned face—stands barefoot on dewy grass. His eyes are wide, not with fear, but awe. His ordinary tunic glows faintly at the edges, as if infused with the same imperishable light overtaking the resurrected. The air itself seems charged; every leaf, blade of grass, and stone hums with silent anticipation.
The entire scene pulses with the tension of a single, suspended moment: the “twinkling of an eye” rendered in rich impasto brushstrokes—thick oils capturing both the weight of mortality and the sudden, startling lightness of transformation. No words are needed. The painting breathes resurrection.
Daily Redemption, Eschatology, The Trumpet Will Sound, Resurrection, End Times Devotional
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