By Daniela Varano, Communications Manager, ACT Alliance
Lately, the media has been populated by stories of billionaires building private bunkers to escape societal collapse, while self-proclaimed prophets and preachers have mastered the art of social media to announce that the end times are upon us.
Curiously, some of these same prophets, while warning of an impending apocalypse, are also busy endorsing political candidates supposedly chosen by God to guide humanity through the darkness.
Meanwhile, the accelerating consequences of climate change, increasingly visible in devastating floods, wildfires, droughts and extreme temperatures, add another layer to this collective sense of impending doom.
Every time we look at our screens, scroll through the news or receive another alert on our phones, we are reminded that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong. It is becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between legitimate concern about the future and the growing fascination with its collapse.
And perhaps that is precisely where we need to begin: by asking ourselves whether our obsession with the end of the world is distracting us from the much harder task of confronting the world as it is.
The past decade has been particularly hard on our sector. Values we once believed were universally shared are now being re-examined through the increasingly unforgiving lens of political opportunism. Hard-won achievements in gender justice, climate justice and human rights are being challenged, questioned and, in some cases, deliberately dismantled.
The principles underpinning humanitarian action are increasingly contested, while the space for civil society, once considered an essential pillar of democratic societies, is steadily shrinking, undermined by political hostility, restrictive policies, and chronic underfunding. For those of us who have dedicated our professional lives to defending these values, the sense of disillusionment can be profound.
We find ourselves navigating exceptional times, often questioning assumptions we once took for granted, while holding on to the one conviction that must remain non-negotiable: our commitment to humanity.
Perhaps the greatest test of our values is not defending them when they are widely supported, but continuing to uphold them when they become inconvenient, unpopular or politically costly.
Lingering in disillusionment can leave us feeling terribly alone, as though we were fighting against an ocean of crises, with wave after wave threatening to shatter both our shores and our souls. Doom scrolling the world on our mobile phones, surrounded by chat bots and AI companions does not help either.
In moments like these, words matter. They can help us reconnect with our purpose, remind us of our moral commitments and rediscover the courage to act.
The word resist comes from the Latin resistere: to stand firm, to take a stand.
And taking a stand is something we, as faith-based organisations, have done throughout our history. We have stood against social and political injustice and violations of human dignity. We have worked alongside communities in the struggle to end apartheid. We have marched hand in hand with Black leaders during the Civil Rights Movement and Black Lives Matter. We have built global coalitions to challenge poverty, hunger and unjust debt.
Of course, our history is not without contradictions. Faith institutions have not always stood on the side of justice. Some have defended the very systems of oppression that others, inspired by the same faith, fought to dismantle. This, too, is a reminder that moral courage is never guaranteed. It requires us to make a choice, again and again, about where we stand.
At our best, we have been prophetic. Not because we claimed to know what the future would bring, but because we dared to speak uncomfortable truths in the present.
We have challenged power, confronted injustice, defended human dignity and advocated for peace, even when doing so came at a cost.
That is what it means for us to be prophetic: not to predict the end of the world, but to refuse to accept injustice as its inevitable condition.
And indeed, there is a profound difference between this prophetic calling and the fatalistic interpretations of apocalypse that increasingly dominate public discourse. The prophetic tradition calls us to moral accountability and transformation in the present. Apocalyptic traditions themselves have not always been about resignation; throughout history, they have also inspired resistance, liberation and hope among oppressed communities. But when catastrophe is presented as inevitable, as part of a future already written and beyond our capacity to influence, or- worse- as the end goal itself, apocalyptic thinking can become an invitation to surrender our responsibility to act.
We find strength in a different conviction: that hope is not passive, but actionable. That extending a hand to those who need it is not simply an act of generosity, but an essential part of what it means to be human.
That justice is not an abstract ideal, but a moral compass guiding our choices, our commitments and our actions.
This is at the heart of diakonia: the expression of faith through service, solidarity and the pursuit of justice. It reminds us that our responsibility is not to stand on the sidelines waiting for the world to change, but to participate actively in shaping that change, alongside the communities we work with. It is not only about responding to suffering, but also about challenging the structures and systems that perpetuate it.
But this deep conviction cannot remain confined to our inner dialogue, buried in our policies or articulated in our strategies. It must be spoken about, shared and popularised. And it must be enacted. Today, maybe more than ever, we have a responsibility to speak out, to challenge the prevailing narratives of fear and resignation.
The world is not asking us to predict its ending. It is asking us to take responsibility for what happens next.
We must challenge those who, in the name of religion, choose to frighten rather than comfort, to divide rather than unite. We must confront complacency in the face of climate change and hold accountable the fossil fuel companies whose activities continue to push this beautiful creation towards an increasingly uncertain future.
We must defend women and girls in all their diversity against bigotry, control and violence. We must raise our voices for communities whose suffering is too often forgotten whether they are caught in conflicts, trapped in poverty or silenced by oppression.
And we must do all this not because we are certain of victory, but because we believe that our actions matter, that solidarity can change lives, and that the future is not yet written.
But perhaps most importantly, we must recognise that we cannot do this alone. The challenges we face are too complex, too interconnected and too deeply rooted in structures of power and inequality to be confronted in isolation. We need one another. We need to come together as members of an Alliance, while reaching out to others who share our vision and inviting them to join us in our commitment to justice, human dignity and care for creation. Not simply to defend what we believe in, but to turn those beliefs into collective action, amplify our voices and strengthen our ability to bring about change.
Prophecy gives us the courage to speak, resistance gives us the courage to stand and Diakonia gives us the courage to act.
