The Coming Dark Times: When We Can’t Save Ourselves

TL;DR:
In the 90s, disaster movies like Independence Day and Armageddon reflected an America full of optimism—humanity always found a way to prevail. Today’s media tells a different story: resignation, doom, and nihilism. That shift mirrors our culture’s broader unraveling. Drawing on Roxburgh and Searle’s Forming Communities of Hope in the Great Unraveling, I argue that Christians shouldn’t look for quick fixes or cling to failing institutions. Instead, we are called to embrace the dark times, see God as the primary agent, love even our enemies, and seek the welfare of our communities. Through practices like testimony, lament, prayer, and praise, we can dwell in hope, trusting that because Christ has overcome, we too shall overcome.

Media, especially television and movies, are like a window into the soul of our culture—a point Andrew Root has often observed, which has made me pay closer attention to what is being produced. I don’t actually watch much TV or film, preferring books and sports, but I find movie trailers intriguing. In fact, they’ve often been my favorite part of going to the theater.

Doom on the Screen Today

Two movie trailers recently caught my attention. The first, a political thriller, A House of Dynamite, is a Netflix movie described as: “When a single, unattributed missile is launched at the United States, a race begins to determine who is responsible and how to respond.”

Another, When I’m Ready, is billed as an apocalyptic romantic thriller: “It’s the end of the world. Seeking meaning and thrills in their last days alive, Rose and Michael embark on a cross-country road trip as a devastating asteroid threatens to wipe out life on Earth.” I’ve embedded the trailers.

What strikes me about these two movies, even just from the trailers, is the sense of doom and nihilism emanating from the screen. In A House of Dynamite, there are quick shots of military and civilian leaders, heads in hands, with faces of exasperation, terror, and doom. Conversely, in When I’m Ready, there’s the opposite: a sort of acceptance of the impending disaster, with the two characters seeking to live their last days to the fullest. Neither of these movies strikes me as problematic or socially dangerous for what they say—rather, it’s what they do not say that has me concerned.

Growing Up in the Optimistic 90s

As an elder Millennial, the 90s were my formative years—a time of economic growth, seemingly unbridled optimism, and, broadly speaking, a time free of global conflict. Sure, there was Desert Storm, but the U.S. marched through that so quickly and easily. Then came the Bosnian conflict and ethnic strife in Africa, but nothing close to home. That innocence was first shattered at Columbine in 1999 and then forevermore on 9/11.

The movies that stand out from my teenage years are Independence Day (1996) and Armageddon (1998). The 1990s were the peak disaster-movie decade, with a slew of films sharing a common thread: apocalyptic spectacle plus human drama—ordinary people suddenly facing overwhelming forces. The key theme was that humans, especially Americans, overcame incredible odds to defeat alien, natural, or technological threats (Apollo 13 comes to mind). How many 90s movies ended with a tense control room erupting into jubilation after disaster was averted?

The Disaster-Movie Mindset

Films that celebrated this unconquerable spirit of humanity—and especially America—often fared better than those that didn’t. Consider Deep Impact and Armageddon, two asteroid films released months apart. Both did well at the box office, but Armageddon—with its mix of grit, willpower, and technology—was the bigger hit. Deep Impact, by contrast, offered a more subdued, mixed victory: the eastern seaboard was destroyed, and astronauts sacrificed themselves to prevent further catastrophe. As America entered the new millennium (or the end of it, depending on your Y2K debates!), the nation brimmed with optimism and confidence—reflected in the movies we produced and consumed.

Here we are, a quarter of a century later, and that mood has long since soured. Those cracks first revealed in the late 90s were shattered open with 9/11. Rather than a quick and convenient “Mission Accomplished,” America suffered through decades of war in Afghanistan and Iraq, costing us trillions of dollars and thousands of lives. Even the optimism of the Obama presidency was subdued by a long and inequitable economic recovery—a context that a reality-TV star turned aspiring politician exploited to win the presidency. Meanwhile, an increasingly out-of-touch American left (myself included) leaned further into niche issues, ignoring the bread-and-butter challenges of much of the electorate, all while social media empires profited by driving wedges between fellow citizens deeper by the day. Is it any wonder many Americans feel increasingly pessimistic about the future? Oh, and lest we forget—COVID, George Floyd, etc!?

Enter these two movies.

From Optimism to Unraveling

Now, I may be completely wrong about the storylines of these films. Maybe they do turn into celebratory victories of America and humanity. I doubt it. But nonetheless, these movies aside, it’s hard to argue that Americans as a whole feel optimistic. As much as the political left feels angst, the right has built its entire case on “making America great again,” arguing that Democrats have America on the wrong track.

Even as I write this, things feel especially tense. The war in Ukraine continues to drag on, seemingly into its fifth year this coming February. The Israel–Gaza conflict continues past the second anniversary of the terror attack. The current administration in America continues to threaten to wage war on cities, all the while convening the leadership of the American military for a meeting from which seemingly nothing good can come. Oh, and lest we forget, climate change is real, coming, and being almost completely ignored. It’s not good.

A Dark Night, Not a New Dawn

A recent book I finished, Forming Communities of Hope in the Great Unraveling, puts it aptly: “What lies before us is a dark night, not a new dawn.”

While the authors, Roxburgh and Searle, were primarily talking about the future of Christianity in North American “Euro-tribal” churches, it’s not hard to apply their conclusions more broadly.

Talking about the church, they make some rather stark observations that certainly hold true:

1. There is no renewal, revival, or reformation just around the corner.

2. The unraveling will go on for a long time.

3. We are entering a new, dark time in which there will be no solutions, answers, or fixes for a long time.

If we expand this into broader American culture, these same lessons ring true. There is no renewal coming around the corner. Biden’s election in 2020 was perhaps the last gasp of the status-quo establishment. The unraveling will go on for a long time—more and more, I fear this will be true. And perhaps, most haunting of all, we are entering a new, dark time in which there will be no solutions, answers, or fixes for a long time.

Yet, as stark as their writing is, Roxburgh and Searle are not nihilistic doomsayers. Rather, they “write with the conviction that God’s purposes for the world are undiminished.”

Learning from Exile

Speaking primarily to the Euro-tribal church in North America, they draw wisdom from the story of Israel and the economic, cultural, and religious disaster brought about by deportation to Babylon. Looking at the insights of the prophet Jeremiah, they offer the following:

1. Embrace the reality of a dark time.

2. Choose to see God as the primary agent.

3. Discern God’s actions, which call for a changed posture toward the enemy.

4. Seek the welfare of the city.

One thing they are crystal clear on: “The institutions and practices we have lived in as Christians in the modern West cannot carry us forward in this new dark time.”

Most helpful and hopeful is their assertion that “The coming dark times will require new institutions and practices.” Any pastor who has served in mainline churches is painfully aware that the institution is utterly unequipped to respond to the coming (and present) challenges and offer any sort of faithful or practical practices—denominational resolutions being the most laughable and egregious examples.

Dwelling in Hope

Instead, Roxburgh and Searle commend a practice they call “Dwelling,” which is a “longitudinal choice to not move on. It is not a step in some other plan nor a strategy for doing something for people. Dwelling is the heart of the dance that forms communities of hope in a dark time.”

One point the authors make, almost to excess in my opinion, is that humans cannot fix our current reality. That assumption—that we can fix things—was the underlying posture of the modern age and the 90s disaster movies referenced above. For years, we assumed that with the right political policy or scientific breakthrough, we could solve our deepest challenges. Roxburgh and Searle insist there is no fix coming. And while they don’t make this connection (at least to my recollection), one could argue that our obsession with quick fixes has actually made our societal and cultural problems worse—think of how many products sold as “eco-friendly solutions” end up in landfills. We must embrace their first point: we are entering a dark time, and we cannot easily fix it ourselves.

This leads to a second, equally important step—choosing to see God as the primary agent, a theme expressed well in the song Yet Not I, but Through Christ in Me:

The night is dark but I am not forsaken
For by my side, the Saviour He will stay
I labour on in weakness and rejoicing
For in my need, His power is displayed

Third, and most especially important for those like me on the political left in America, is to “discern God’s actions [that call for] a changed posture toward the enemy.” We MUST—I mean absolutely MUST—change our perception of those who voted for Trump.

Fourth, and just as important, we must seek the welfare of our communities and our nation. Trust me, I get the desire to see it all burn down and revel in the glory of “I told you so.” But I just don’t think that’s a faithful or godly response, especially in light of Roxburgh and Searle.

Practices for the Dark Times

To do this—to love our enemy and seek the good of people who may or may not wish us harm—is going to take skills and a spirit that I do not think humans have on their own. We will have to depend on God to bring that from within us, and we will have to foster practices to support and sustain it.

Practices like testimony, to hear and be reminded of God’s faithfulness and presence when we don’t feel it ourselves. Practices of lament, to express the very real struggles of injustice, trauma, and sometimes pure evil happening in our midst. Practices of prayer, to remind ourselves again and again to turn to God, even when we feel overwhelmed—especially scripted prayers from saints who have gone before us. And of course, praise. As much as we may not feel like it in the moment, praise points our awareness and compass toward God, the ultimate power, and reminds us:

To this I hold, my Shepherd will defend me
Through the deepest valley He will lead
Oh, the night has been won, and I shall overcome
Yet not I, but through Christ in me

No fate I dread, I know I am forgiven
The future’s sure, the price it has been paid
For Jesus bled and suffered for my pardon
And He was raised to overthrow the grave

Even through it all, it is not I, but through Christ in me.

Christ Our Hope

The coming future, I fear, is one of darkness and dread. Yet, as Christians, we must not lose hope, for our faith is in the Creator of heaven and earth, the Almighty God. Still, we must shift our mindset and focus, grounding ourselves in faithful practices, trusting in the promise that because Christ has overcome, we too shall one day overcome.