I recently watched a two-part video series from Parkrose Permaculture on TikTok about the so-called September 22–24 Rapture predictions, and I was floored. This wasn’t satire, and it wasn’t fringe in the way you might think. Conservative Christian accounts—many tied to MAGA politics—have been openly declaring that the end of the world was coming this week. Watching Part 1 and Part 2 back-to-back felt like peering into a fever dream made viral, and I want to walk you through it exactly as I experienced it.

Part 1 lays out how this wave of “rapture talk” started in late August, spreading across evangelical TikTok like wildfire. The rapture, as Parkrose explains, isn’t even biblical—it was invented in the 19th century, systematized by John Nelson Darby, and then popularized for Gen X and millennials through the Left Behind books and films. Yet millions cling to it as if it’s gospel truth. Parkrose shows clips of people eagerly counting down the days, sharing “signs” from doves in Jerusalem to numbers in gematria.

She calls this mass spiritual psychosis. To be clear, she’s not using the term in a clinical sense—it’s a metaphor for collective delusion, for what happens when fear spreads unchecked across social media. And she’s right: this isn’t individual confusion, it’s a networked hysteria.

Her point resonated with me because I’ve lived inside that fear. I was raised in an apostolic church, steeped in evangelical end-times language. I remember asking my Little Grandma Rose to explain the rapture. Did people float into the sky? Did bodies collapse as souls escaped? Or would people just vanish, leaving their loved ones behind? She told me people would simply disappear. As a child, that terrified me. Imagine the trauma of believing your family might vanish in an instant because you weren’t “chosen.”

For me, the first big brush with this fear came during Y2K. People around me were whispering that it was the end of days. I asked my mom—an engineer who was working that night—and she calmed me: “It’s a computer thing. People have been predicting the end for years. Nothing will happen.” She was right. Nothing did. The next wave was 2012 with the Mayan calendar panic. By then, I was already exploring other beliefs, dabbling in ancient aliens theories, but I still felt a shiver: What if it’s true? Spoiler: nothing happened. Except I still have some ironic souvenirs from that year—because of course, if the world is ending, we need t-shirts. Those two experiences snapped me out of the cycle for good. I realized the end never comes the way people predict it.

In Part 2, Parkrose digs into how MAGA Christians are now blending this rapture obsession with political identity. Many of the accounts predicting the rapture also glorify Trump, mourn Charlie Kirk, and openly call for theocracy. She notes how this end-times fixation breeds apathy: if Jesus is returning any day now, why bother protecting the planet, investing in justice, or building a better society? It’s easier to hold one foot out the door.

That’s exactly why this isn’t benign. Religious accelerationism—the idea that the faster things fall apart, the sooner prophecy is fulfilled—is not just spiritual belief. It’s political fuel. It’s why MAGA Christians tie their support for Israel to rebuilding the temple, not to solidarity with Jewish people. It’s why figures like Mike Huckabee proudly identify as Zionists. And it’s why Trump and his allies exploit this fervor—because fear, grievance, and prophecy are powerful motivators.

Watching these videos, I couldn’t help but think back to what I wrote in No One’s Coming to Save Us: How Accelerationism Threatens Society. That piece explored how billionaires and extremists openly toy with collapse to reshape the world in their image. What Parkrose highlights here is just another side of the same coin: when religion is weaponized as a countdown clock, it creates permission for apathy, chaos, and authoritarianism.

It also connects directly to Shattering Illusions: Exposing the Myths of Christian Nationalism and Political Extremism. Christian nationalism distorts faith into a political project, justifying cruelty and control under the banner of Jesus. End-times obsession feeds right into that, making it easy for leaders to claim divine purpose while stripping away freedoms.

And then there’s the algorithmic piece. TikTok didn’t just “host” this psychosis—it amplified it, turning fringe panic into mainstream visibility. That’s exactly why Trump’s recent TikTok takeover announcement (see Trump Names Murdochs, Ellison, Dell in TikTok Takeover) is so chilling. If his allies control the algorithm, they don’t just profit—they engineer reality. They decide whether you see climate science or Rapture countdowns, truth or delusion. It’s what Noam Chomsky called “manufacturing consent,” and we are watching it happen in real time.

Here’s the bigger picture: religion is not benign. When people are taught that the world is ending, that outsiders are doomed, and that leaders are God’s anointed, it justifies apathy at best and cruelty at worst. I’ve been inside that ideology. I understand the fear is real. That’s why I won’t mock the believers. But I will say this plainly: the rapture has been “predicted” for generations, and it never comes. What does come are the political consequences of millions living as if it will.

This is why I stand firmly against Christian nationalism. This is why I resist accelerationism. This is why I keep writing. Because when media, money, and religion all push toward collapse, the only antidote is awareness, connection, and the stubborn choice to build something better while we’re still here.

And here’s the call: don’t look away. Share this, question what you see in your feed, talk to your friends and family, and vote with clear eyes. The rapture may never arrive—but the erosion of democracy will, if we keep leaving the future to those who thrive on fear.