Scrolling through social media recently, I’ve seen reel after reel comparing our current moment to other times in history—eras when the world seemed to turn upside down under the weight of division, fear, and hatred.

And if there’s one thing we know to be true, it’s this: there is nothing new under the sun. History has a way of repeating itself.

In the era we’re living through, despair can feel like it is spreading everywhere. Doom-scrolling becomes a kind of daily liturgy, shaping what we fear and what we think is possible. It can feel like we are swimming toward the shore of joy while unseen undercurrents keep pulling us farther out to sea.

That’s when I came across Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber’s reflection, “We admitted we were powerless over our algorithms.” In it, she writes:

“Maybe every age of despair needs people who quietly build something sane, gentle, and healing while the world burns.”

That line lodged itself in my spirit.

And it left me with a question I can’t shake:

What might God be birthing in the era we are living in?

Pastor Nadia pointed to the beginnings of Alcoholics Anonymous.

In 1935, Bill W., a New York stockbroker, and Dr. Bob, an Akron surgeon, found sobriety not through self-sufficiency, but by helping one another stay sober. Their simple act of mutual support became the foundation of the Twelve Steps that would later be shared through the Big Book.

The honesty of Step One is palatable:

“We admitted we were powerless… that our lives had become unmanageable.”

Healing began not through denial, isolation or striving, but through humility. community and surrender.

In many ways, it was an early picture of what it means to care well: to show up, tell the truth, and hold one another up.

Do You Know What Else Was Happening in 1935?

The world was at a time that felt like it was unraveling.

The impact of the Great Depression still lingered.
Hitler introduced the Nuremberg Laws, stripping Jewish citizens of their rights.
A refugee crisis was forming.
Italy invaded Ethiopia.
U.S. presidential candidate Senator Huey Long was assassinated.

Violence and uncertainty filled the air.

The world was groaning, and the darkness felt close.

And yet—1935 was also a year of invention and unexpected forward movement. Even in chaos, things were being built. The Hoover Dam opened. The Moscow Metro welcomed its first passengers. Radar technology emerged. Records were broken across land, sea, and sky.

Even in the global turmoil of that year, something new was being birthed.

It’s almost shocking that something as supportive and life-changing as Alcoholics Anonymous could take root when the world felt like it was burning.

What they constructed became a lifeline for millions…including my father.

That is often how God works:

Not always through the loud or global, but through the quiet courage of people who choose to show up for one another.

So What About Us?

Are you feeling the weight of the world’s despair?

You are not alone.

Scripture reminds us:

• “The whole creation has been groaning…The Spirit helps us in our weakness…” (Romans 8:22, 26)
• “The light shines in the darkness…” (John 1:5)
• “Let us not grow weary of doing good…” (Galatians 6:9)
• “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21)
• “See, I am doing a new thing… do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)

God has always been the One who brings life out of barren places, hope out of suffering, and redemption out of ruin.

Have you sensed an invitation in your spirit while doom-scrolling—an urge to build, to pray, to reach out and join your light to another’s?

Zechariah reminds us:

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord loves to see the work begin” (Zechariah 4:10)

God loves to bring light through ordinary people taking faithful steps in the same direction.

So maybe the question isn’t only what is breaking in our world…but what is being birthed through us—together.

That is the heartbeat of caring well. Most acts of caregiving are not dramatic. They are small beginnings:

A text.
A meal.
A prayer.
A willingness to sit with someone in silence, like Job’s friends once did.

Caring well doesn’t always require a lot of time or money. Often, it’s simply noticing suffering and taking one small step toward it.

So perhaps the invitation today is twofold:

To grieve what is broken…

and also to ask:

What might God be birthing through me, or around me, that could bring light to someone in a dark place?

Because even now, even here, in this very age,

God is still healing.

God is still creating.

God is still birthing new things—through people who choose to show up for one another.

Through those who care well.