Faith in the Wreckage: How to Hold Onto Hope When the World is on Fire

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the world is on fire.

Not in a ha-ha, things are a little messy right now way. More in a “the world is cracking open at the seams, and we’re all just standing here with a roll of scotch tape and a prayer” kind of way.

The news is relentless. A billionaire who nobody elected is shaping national (global?) policy while launching cars into space. A president is promising more of the same authoritarian chaos that left us exhausted the first time. The climate is imploding. The wealth gap has become a canyon, and the powerful continue to hoard what should belong to everyone. The most vulnerable suffer while those in charge have decided they’d rather collect yachts than create policy and programs that actually help people.

The result? People are breaking down.

We have hit an era of collective exhaustion so deep that even the self-help industry is overwhelmed. Every person I know is barely holding it together, and that includes the ones who have read Atomic Habits twice and make sure to drink their water while doing their morning pages.

There are plenty of ways to try to cope. Therapy. Meditation. Doomscrolling until your eyeballs melt. Watching The Great British Bake Off and pretending that the greatest crisis in the world is an underbaked sponge cake.

But here’s the thing: as helpful as all those coping mechanisms can be, they are not enough.

Because this isn’t just about self-care. This is about soul-care.

And this is where faith communities — at their best, when they remember who they are supposed to be — offer something that nothing else does.

Why Church is Uniquely Positioned to Respond to This Moment

When people hear the word “church,” they often think of rules and guilt and potlucks with suspicious casseroles involving tuna. They probably also think of a particular kind of building.

But at its core, the church — communities of faith in general — offer something the world desperately needs right now:

A Place to Be Human Together

The modern world has convinced us that we are supposed to handle everything alone. That strength means independence. That resilience means pushing through quietly. That if you feel anxious or sad or like your soul is being slowly crushed by existential angst you should download a meditation app and figure it out yourself.

But church (at its best) says: No. You are not meant to do this alone.

It says: Come in. Sit down. Let’s light a candle and take a deep breath.

We are pack animals. We are built for connection. And research backs this up: studies show that participation in a spiritual community significantly increases resilience in the face of crisis and that people who attend religious services regularly are less likely to experience depression, suicide, and substance abuse — partly because they are surrounded by a network of people who actually see them and care about them.

Church (at its best) is one of the few places left where we (ideally) can be held in our full humanity. Where we can cry without apology, laugh without irony, and admit that we are scared without someone trying to sell us an essential oil or a productivity hack to fix it.

Sacred Stories That Remind Us We Are Not Alone

Faith communities are built on stories, and stories matter.

When the world is breaking apart, we need something bigger than inspirational Pinterest quotes to hold onto. We need the old, old stories — the ones about liberation in the wilderness, about prophets speaking truth, and most importantly, about how death does not get the last word.

These stories anchor us. They remind us that the world has felt like it was ending before. That people have sat in exile, have been crushed by empire, have stared down impossible injustice — and somehow, against all odds, love has survived.

Psychologists call this narrative identity — the idea that the stories we tell about ourselves shape how we respond to the world. People who see their lives as part of a larger story — who view struggles as chapters rather than the whole book — are more resilient in the face of crisis.

Faith says: This is not the end of the story.

And when we are standing in the rubble, trying to find the next step forward, sometimes that reminder is the only thing keeping us upright.

Rituals That Reorient Us Toward Hope

Every time I lead communion, I think about how absurdly hopeful it is.

Here we are, in a broken world, standing around a table, passing around tiny pieces of stale bread saying, This is love, and love refuses not to roll on.

It is illogical. It is ridiculous. It is necessary.

Faith communities offer something that the modern world does not: rituals that shape and ground us. Prayer. Candle-lighting. Bread-breaking. Singing. Silence. It is why people show up to church even when they aren’t sure they believe in God (or, absolutely are sure that they don’t) — because something deep knows that this kind of gathering matters.

How Churches Should Be Responding Right Now

Faith communities are uniquely equipped to help people navigate this moment of history. But they cannot do this if they cling to business-as-usual.

Here’s what we need to be doing:

Be a place of radical welcome

People are spiritually homeless right now. They are exhausted, disillusioned, skeptical, and longing for a place to rest. Churches need to make it clear: You belong here. Your doubts belong here. Your grief belongs here. Your rage belongs here.

Offer deep, unapologetic hope

Not the false, saccharine kind. The we are going to walk through the fire, and we will not let go of each other kind.

Tell the hard truths.

The world feels like it is unraveling, and people don’t need churches that pretend otherwise. We need faith leaders who will name what is happening, who will stand in the rubble and declare: this is not how it should be, and we will not accept it as normal.

Make space for rest

Activists, caregivers, justice-seekers , Christ-followers — we are all tired. Church should be the place where people come to breathe. To be reminded of what is sacred and holy and that they are not alone.

Practice resurrection

Not just as a theological concept, but as a way of life. Find the places where life is blooming. Find the places where love is breaking through. Name them. Celebrate them. Pass the bread.

What We Do Next

We do not fix it all today. But we keep going.

There is an old Jewish saying: You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

So, we show up. We light our candles.

We drink our water. We take our rest.

Then we rise again.

Because the world is on fire.

But we have been given buckets.

And love still gets the final word.

Every time.

Hi! 👋🏼 I’m Rev. Bri-anne. You can also find me on BlueSky🦋, serving the fine folks of East End United Regional Ministry in Toronto, or leading the Resistance Church digital community.

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Caffeine is medicinal. Keep me going with a ☕️. Merci.