I have faith in a group of evangelical Christian influencers on social media. On Tuesday, September 23rd, or perhaps Wednesday, September 24th—consider the state of society. For the first time, joy blossoms on TikTok.

Followers are flocking to the app, revealing that they are ready for their impending destiny. I sold their car or asked for an “Eternal vacation” from their jobs and expressed their concerns. The family dog is also expected to join them in heaven. One woman advised her followers to remove password protection on their devices, making personal information accessible to anyone left behind. Another purchased Bibles from a myriad of Dollar Trees, intending to leave personalized notes in hopes of saving last-minute converts.

Evangelical Christians who believe in the rapture view it as a pivotal doctrine. The concept suggests that one day, true believers will ascend to heaven, marking an end to life as we know it, while the rest must endure seven years of suffering under the Antichrist.

The theory gained traction in the early 1800s through an English cleric named John Nelson Darby, who sparked numerous false alarms. In 1844, a farmer from New York named William Miller attracted a massive following with predictions that ultimately led to widespread disappointment. When Halley’s Comet appeared in 1910, con artists sold “anti-comet drugs” intended to save souls, and in 1997, the Hale-Bopp comet was linked to the tragic suicides of 39 members of the Heaven’s Gate cult.

This time, the message comes from South African preacher Joshua Murakera. He said on a podcast in June, “Spread the word—Rejoy is upon us, ready or not.” This theory quickly made its way to TikTok, where over 320,000 posts have been tagged with #Rapture.

Tyler Huckabee, the managing editor at Sojo.net, a progressive Christian publication, remarked that the “Joker of the Day” in the newsroom is that deadlines have become obsolete. “This isn’t my first rodeo dealing with a particular sect of Christian theology that ignites rumors about the world’s end,” Huckabee noted. “Facebook and Twitter had their moments, but this is TikTok’s inaugural end of the world.”

The Rapture narrative thrives during tumultuous times, according to Matthew Gabriele, a professor at Virginia Tech studying apocalyptic movements. “Christians don’t know when it will happen, but they look for signs,” Gabriele elaborated. “Typically, when conditions worsen, that’s when the electors are saved, which isn’t surprising given the current backdrop of political violence, economic worries, and illness.”

The phrase “end time” frequently circulates on social media to describe our fractured reality—one marked by a pandemic akin to a plague, natural disasters of biblical proportions, and widespread violence. Recently, followers linked the assassination of Charlie Kirk to Rapture Theory. Some TikToks have become platforms for Christian nationalist narratives, suggesting Kirk is embarking on a religious revival. Revival is in the air.

Jess Lauren, a 27-year-old content creator who also runs a clothing startup, was raised in a “deeply involved” Christian household where both her parents were pastors. While studying at the University of California, Davis, Lauren began to question her conservative beliefs and gravitated towards the “deconstruction” movement.

As a child, she was a firm believer. In particular, after reading “Left Behind,” the blockbuster apocalyptic book series co-written by the controversial minister Tim LaHaye, she bought into concepts like the Illuminati and supported views from Christian author Jerry B. Jenkins. (The series has been adapted into several films, including the 2014 version starring Nicolas Cage.) Growing up as the youngest of four, Lauren once roamed the streets checking if fewer cars were on the road, questioning if she had indeed been left behind.

Ibid. April Ajoy, a podcaster and author of the memoir “Star Spangled Jesus: Leave Christian Nationalism and Find True Faith,” recounted a traumatic moment from her childhood. “At 13, chatting on AOL Instant Messenger, I thought I had been left behind. I began to search for my family, who had simply gone for a walk.”

“It was incredibly traumatic,” Ajoy shared. She now prays that “God will turn off his phone” until she grows older, allowing her to graduate high school, marry, and experience intimacy for the first time. While simultaneously feeling excitement about the rapture, Ajoy acknowledged, “We were taught that it’s like a get-out-of-death-free card. You go straight to heaven, avoid dying, and bypass horrors on Earth.”

Rumors about the Rapture tend to spike in September, Ajoy mentioned, coinciding with Rosh Hashanah, a Jewish holiday referenced in the Bible. “People often turn to talk about the rapture when they feel particularly out of control and frightened,” she noted.

On TikTok, fear isn’t always overt. Many #RaptureTok clips adopt a lighthearted tone, aligning well with the platform’s algorithms. Sarah Raines, a doctoral student at the University of Pennsylvania who studies religion and social media, has observed moms giving practical advice for the final hour while preparing for those left behind.

“They adopt a self-help language, common on social media, and attach it to the discourse around the rapture,” she explained. “Some might not genuinely believe it’s the moment of the rapture, yet they feel an essential awakening call to pay attention. They’re hedging their bets.”

It’s not just devoted followers lighting up #RaptureTok. Outside religious contexts, social media users are pushing for a systematic approach to hoarding supplies. One amusing video suggests left-behind individuals stockpile VHS copies of Shrek, implying it’s the new currency. Moreover, one X user remarked that September 23rd is also the day dedicated to bisexual visibility, highlighting that Jesus’ “second coming” would coincide with the public’s opportunity to come out.

So, on Thursday morning, what had changed? Sojo.net’s Huckabee remarked that if previous false alarms are any indication, there’s not much to worry about. Those who predicted the rapture and were proven wrong rarely take it as a cue to reevaluate their beliefs.

“There’s a very human fear of admitting, ‘I was wrong,'” Huckabee said. “I’ve seen people resign from jobs, believing Jesus was returning.”