And so, the cycle continues. This year’s missed Rapture joins the long history of disappointed doomsdays. In time, another date will be set.
By Matthew A. McIntosh
Public Historian
Brewminate
Another promised apocalypse has come and gone. In the early hours of September 23–24, the much-hyped date set by South African pastor Joshua Mhlakela for the rapture passed without incident. His viral prophecy, which gained traction across TikTok and other platforms, urged followers to prepare for Jesus’ imminent return. He claimed that in a vision, Christ himself had told him he would “take his church” on those dates. As the hours ticked by, believers waited for skies to split open and angels to appear. What they got instead was the usual sunrise, traffic jams, and another letdown.
The timing of the prediction was not accidental. Mhlakela pointed to the Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashanah, with its themes of renewal and judgment, as the symbolic moment when the chosen would ascend. That connection gave his claim added weight for followers who wanted to believe the cosmic calendar had at last aligned. Across social media, especially within the subculture now dubbed “RaptureTok,” the anticipation swelled. Some believers quit their jobs, sold possessions, or left final notes behind, expecting that the end of earthly existence was a matter of hours away. When the dates passed uneventfully, many posted videos of confusion, despair, and even quiet grief. As one meme circulating on X bluntly put it: “We’re all still here.” Forbes captured the mood in real time, noting how disappointment quickly gave way to gallows humor and ironic hashtags.
If this story feels familiar, it is because it is. Apocalyptic predictions have punctuated religious history for centuries, and modern evangelicals are no strangers to them. In a recent reflection, Baptist News described the cycle as almost seasonal, with “another year, another apocalyptic prediction” that collapses under the weight of its own certainty. The roll call of failed prophets is long: Harold Camping’s notorious forecast for May 21, 2011; Edgar C. Whisenant’s “88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988”; and countless smaller, forgotten predictions that still disrupted lives. Each failure leaves a legacy of broken trust and shaken faith.
What sets the 2025 episode apart is the sheer scale of its digital spread. On TikTok, hashtags related to the Rapture racked up hundreds of thousands of posts. Users debated whether they should prepare spiritually, physically, or financially. The Guardian observed that it was “prime time for rapture talk,” noting that social media algorithms elevated sensational claims, amplifying fear and fascination in equal measure. For many, the trend became less about genuine belief than about participation in a viral cultural moment.
Theologians and church leaders responded with familiar caution. Most mainstream voices reiterated that date-setting is at best misguided and at worst spiritually harmful. They pointed out the scriptural reminder from the Gospel of Matthew that “no one knows the day or the hour.” MSNBC’s analysis placed this latest non-event within a wider pattern of American evangelical fascination with end-times prophecy, arguing that it reflects both cultural anxiety and theological vulnerability. For those who took the message seriously, the fallout is not simply embarrassment but the tangible hardship of rash decisions.
Reactions in the aftermath have ranged from grief to mockery. Some believers interpreted the failed prophecy as a spiritual test or insisted the calculation was slightly off, while others admitted to feeling betrayed and disillusioned. Meanwhile, the internet moved quickly to turn dashed expectations into jokes, with “rapture memes” spreading faster than the prophecy itself. As the Washington Post dryly noted, the failure was predictable, but the fascination with the idea remains as potent as ever. And so, the cycle continues. This year’s missed Rapture joins the long history of disappointed doomsdays. In time, another date will be set, another viral prophecy will spread, and another dawn will arrive without trumpets from heaven. Until then, life goes on: ordinary, mundane, and unraptured.
Originally published by Brewminate, 09.26.2025, under the terms of a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license.
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