The first time I ever felt true anxiety, I was just a child. It was a weekend, and I had curled up for one of those deep, disorienting naps — the kind that makes you forget where you are for a second when you wake up.

When I got up and walked through the house, it was empty. My parents were nowhere to be found. And instead of thinking they had simply stepped outside or gone to run an errand, I immediately believed that I had been left behind.

Not forgotten.
Left behind.

Because I had been “sassy” the day before, I thought God had decided I wasn’t worthy. I was utterly gripped with panic, certain that the rapture had come and gone — and I didn’t make the cut. That was the first time.

It wouldn’t be the last.

A few years later, I got separated from my mom while we were out shopping. I was a neurodivergent kid — curious, distracted, full of energy — and easily wandered away from her. We were only apart for maybe 15 or 20 minutes. But during that time? I knew she had been taken. I cried to a stranger, “My mommy is gone. They took her.”

That woman was probably horrified, confused, and unsure what to do with a child sobbing about something so apocalyptic. But to me, it made perfect sense. I’d been taught that the rapture could happen at any moment. That God could take the faithful in an instant — and if you weren’t ready, you were doomed.

This is the toxic legacy of rapture theology.

It’s a theology rooted in fear, not love.
Control, not compassion.
Escape, not engagement.

Christians who buy into this “end times” rhetoric are often the same ones cheering for global chaos — war, famine, environmental destruction — because they believe it’s a sign that Jesus is about to make his big comeback.

They’re not focused on addressing hunger or poverty, advocating for peace, or protecting the planet — because they think it’s all going to burn anyway.
Why build a better world if you’re waiting to be evacuated from it?

Let’s be clear: rapture theology is a relatively new invention. It was popularized in the 19th century by John Nelson Darby and later spread through the Scofield Reference Bible in the early 20th century. This doctrine is not ancient, and it’s not grounded in historical Christian teaching. It cherry-picks apocalyptic scripture and fuses it with fear-based messaging to keep people compliant and emotionally dependent.

Biblical scholars like Dan McClellan have pointed out that many of these so-called “prophecies” were referring to events that already happened — like the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE — and were never meant to be interpreted as a road map to some dystopian future.

But evangelicals keep peddling this message. Why?
Because fear sells.
Fear controls.
Fear fills pews and offering plates.

And while they’re busy fantasizing about being rescued from this world, the rest of us are still here — doing the work. Feeding the hungry. Housing the poor. Protecting the vulnerable. Fighting for justice. Loving our neighbors. You know… all the things Jesus actually told us to do.

It’s time we left “left behind” behind.
Because the kingdom of God is not found in the clouds.
It’s found in compassion.

And for those still struggling with fear — I want you to hear this:
You were never meant to live afraid.

Scripture tells us “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” (2 Timothy 1:7)
You are not on the verge of being abandoned.
You are not walking some tightrope of worthiness.
You are already loved. Already held. Already enough.

So may you stop looking to the sky in fear,
And start looking around in love.
Because heaven isn’t waiting to swoop you up —
It’s waiting to be built right here, in you.