A Reflection on October 2025

When the World Feels Heavy

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:18, NIV)

The ache of another month

October has been a heavy month for our world. Another month where headlines seemed soaked with sorrow: war still raging in Ukraine, fragile ceasefires flickering in Gaza, and nations trembling under the weight of division, inflation, and mistrust. It is hard not to feel the weariness of it all. Sometimes I sit down to read the news and find myself whispering, “Lord, how long?” How long will bombs fall on cities where children sleep? How long will leaders promise peace while sharpening their swords? How long will we scroll past suffering with a mixture of numbness and guilt? Yet even in that lament, Scripture does not turn away. The Psalms are full of such cries. The prophets wept not only because the world was evil, but because they loved it deeply. And in that love, they found courage to speak truth and faith to keep hoping.

The war that will not end

This month, Russia unleashed another round of missile strikes against Ukraine’s energy grid, targeting gas sites and leaving hundreds of thousands without power. Winter is approaching there. Families are preparing to sleep in the cold again. Hospitals, schools, and churches will depend on small generators and borrowed light. As I read those reports, I imagined Jesus standing in Kyiv or Kharkiv, not above the ruins but among them, his breath visible in the freezing air, his eyes filled with compassion. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. (Matthew 5:9) But what does peacemaking look like when there seems to be no peace to make? Perhaps it begins where all true discipleship begins, in prayer and presence. We may not hold positions of power, but we hold access to the throne of grace. The prayers of the righteous, says James, are powerful and effective. So we pray, not because it is all we can do, but because it is the most important thing we can do.

The fragile quiet of Gaza

And then there is Gaza, where a tentative ceasefire flickered in and out of existence. For a moment it looked as if guns might fall silent, but soon the noise of war returned. The stories that emerge from there are too painful to summarise neatly. Parents digging through rubble. Children walking through streets that no longer have names. It is tempting to look away and say, “That is too far from me.” But disciples of Jesus do not have that luxury. He taught us that our neighbour is anyone whose pain intersects our compassion. The church cannot be a people who only feel deeply when the crisis is local. We are part of a global body, and when one member suffers, all suffer with it. What would it look like if every local church in Britain, in Europe, in America, held one evening of prayer this winter for the nations at war? Not a political rally, not a debate, but a gathering of hearts before God, saying, Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

The shaking of nations

Beyond the conflicts, the world’s economies groan under pressure. The IMF’s October outlook forecasts slower growth and growing inequality. Many of us feel that in the small details: the higher food bill, the postponed holiday, the worry about the mortgage. These are not separate from our faith; they are part of our discipleship. How we handle uncertainty reveals what we truly trust. Jesus said, Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth... but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. (Matthew 6:19–20) The world measures stability by GDP; Jesus measures it by generosity. When the world tightens its fists, the church is called to open its hands wider.

The Crisis of Truth and Trust

Both the United Kingdom and the United States stand at a moral crossroads. In the name of progress, truth has become negotiable, and conviction has been replaced with opinion. Politics has turned into performance, and news often sounds more like theatre than truth. The real crisis is not simply in government, but in the human heart that no longer fears God.

In Britain, public discourse grows more hostile by the week. Institutions that once held moral authority—the Church, schools, the press—are distrusted or ignored. We pride ourselves on tolerance, yet silence the very voices that dare to speak moral clarity. In America, the divide runs even deeper. Every election feels like a battlefield, every disagreement a threat. Truth is filtered through ideology rather than integrity.

This is not a partisan problem; it is a spiritual one. Scripture reminds us, “Truth has stumbled in the streets, honesty cannot enter.” (Isaiah 59:14, NIV) When nations drift from God, confusion follows. The answer will not come from stronger parties or louder pundits, but from hearts anchored in the Word of God.

The Church must once again become the pillar of truth. Our task is not to echo culture’s outrage, but to model a better way—to speak truth with grace, to stand firm without cruelty, to love without compromise. The world will not rediscover truth through politics. It will see it again when God’s people live it.

The call for us

This is not the time for the church to retreat. The temptation is to become spectators of suffering, to scroll, to sigh, to move on. But Christ did not call us to observe the world; He called us to serve it. October has reminded me again that discipleship is not a hobby for peaceful times, it is a calling for troubled ones. The early church grew not in comfort but in crisis. We need that same courage now: to pray for peace even when war feels endless, to love our neighbours across political lines, to give generously when the world says save yourself, to tell the truth in an age that prefers noise. The world does not need a church that is merely informed about global events. It needs a church that is transformed by the gospel enough to live differently because of them.

An invitation to hope

As this month ends, maybe we can pause before rushing into the next. Light a candle. Read Psalm 46 aloud: Be still, and know that I am God. Then ask, what is mine to do? Maybe it is starting a small prayer group for global peace. Maybe it is writing to a charity, opening your home, mentoring a young person, or simply refusing to let cynicism harden your heart. Whatever it is, let it begin here, in hope. Because even when nations shake and economies tremble, the gospel stands firm. The cross is not an old symbol of defeat; it is the living sign that love has already overcome death.

Takeaway:

October 2025 has been a month of shaking, but not of despair. For those who follow Jesus, it is a call to deeper faith and wider compassion. The world may feel heavy, but the weight of glory is heavier still. Let us bear witness to that glory, in prayer, in action, and in hope.