Some of my earliest childhood memories are that of my Dad preaching of the end times. Wide-eyed, I eagerly listened through the winter nights of the 1980s. I remember stories of Lot’s wife: the woman who looked back, and of fire and brimstone beating down on the city of Sodom and Gomorrah.  With a raised index finger – a habit that still distinguishes him – he preached with such gusto. “The days are coming when the church doors will be closed, and the nights will be darkened by death and sorrow. You will be separated from your family. What will…