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Baptist News Global | April 5, 2026
One of the key differences I’ve noticed between the United Methodist Church and the religion in which I was raised is the focus on now versus later — “later” being heaven, the afterlife, eternity.
The theology of the UMC (or at least Hayes Barton UMC) centers on the “kingdom of God” now, here on earth. We are called to be God’s people here, now, serving each other, taking care of the earth, fighting for equality, working — and voting — for justice.
This was not the theology of my upbringing. That was all about the future: God will fix it all. God will redeem the world. God will solve poverty. God will bring justice. In fact, it went so far as to say that only God could do these things, to such a degree that we really might as well not even try.
The only goal of that theology was conversion. Convert all people to Christianity, and fight (not exaggerating) against anyone and anything that stood in the way.
Why am I sharing this? Because the kind of people who raised me are now formally running the United States, and the Christians who aren’t familiar with that theology do not understand the danger we’re in. They don’t understand the trouble we’re in. They do not understand the concepts of spiritual warfare and rapture preppers. So, here we go.
What I didn’t fully understand growing up, but see very clearly now, is how much that theology depends on a very specific view of the end of the world. It only works if you believe everything we see around us is temporary, disposable and ultimately headed for destruction. Not transformation. Not renewal. Destruction.
And once you accept that, everything else starts to shift. Caring for the earth becomes optional. Building long-term systems of justice starts to feel almost naive. Even compassion can get reframed, because the real goal is no longer the well-being of people here and now, but their status in the life to come.
“It only works if you believe everything we see around us is temporary, disposable and ultimately headed for destruction.”
That’s where “love the sinner, hate the sin” and Christian “tough love” come from. That’s how parents, like mine, can “love” their children but refuse to be a part of their relationships or attend their weddings.
If eternal life is all that matters, then why does it matter how “this life” plays out, as long as you’re “saving” lives for the next one? It creates a version of faith that looks active on the surface but is actually detached from the world it claims to serve. It has no actual responsibility to the world — or the people — around them.
That framework has a name: Rapture theology.
Despite how common it is in evangelical circles, it’s not that old. It’s not something the early church believed or taught. It’s not part of the King James translation. It shows up in the 1800s, gains traction through a very specific theological movement, and then spreads through study Bibles, conferences and eventually pop culture. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being presented as one interpretation and starts being treated as the story.
What matters most isn’t when it started, but what it does. If you believe the world is going to end soon, and that it’s supposed to get worse before it does, then there’s a quiet shift in how you relate to everything around you. The future stops being something you’re responsible for building and starts being something you’re waiting to escape. The brokenness of the world stops being something to repair and starts being something to endure. It results in a total moral abdication: Not my earth, not my future, not my problem.
And in some cases, if we’re being honest, this end becomes not just something to wait for, but something to long for.
This is where the language of spiritual warfare comes in, and again, I need people to understand this is not metaphorical in the circles I grew up in. The world is divided very clearly into good and evil, into those who are with God and those who are against God, and that division isn’t just spiritual. It shows up in politics, global conflict, in entire regions of the world.
So when conversations turn to places like Iran, Israel or the broader Middle East, they’re not grounded in policy or diplomacy. They’re tied directly to prophecy, to timelines and to a belief that certain conflicts aren’t just inevitable, they’re necessary.
This is where it becomes dangerous in a way I don’t think most people fully grasp.
“This is where it becomes dangerous in a way I don’t think most people fully grasp.”
If you believe war in a particular region is part of how the story is supposed to unfold, and if you believe God ultimately will intervene and make things right, and if you believe you and your people will not bear the full weight of what happens next, then the normal caution, the restraint, the sense of consequence, all of that starts to erode.
That’s what I mean when I say “rapture preppers.” Not people stockpiling supplies, but people whose theology has prepared them, and in some cases conditioned them, to accept or even welcome a world that’s unraveling. It’s “all part of God’s plan,” and it’s incredibly dangerous. This theology is slaughtering people. Today. Tomorrow. Ongoing.
This used to be a fringe idea — even a crazy one. It’s not anymore. It’s leading this war and our entire country.
Make no mistake: There is no arguing, reasoning, convincing people when it comes to this. This has to be protested, and it has to be voted out.
A lot of Christians think we need to live as if Jesus is coming back tomorrow. I strongly disagree. I think we need to live as though he’s never coming back. Maybe then we would take seriously all the commands he gave us.
Maybe if we weren’t so busy focusing on Jesus’ return, we might actually do God‘s will on earth as it is in heaven — now — because that’s a Christian’s true calling and purpose.
Stephen Aber (Courtesy Photo)
Stephen Aber serves as organist at Hays Barton United Methodist Church in Raleigh, N.C. In addition to two music degrees, he has done graduate work in business, communication and public policy