A “word of knowledge” recently (last week) passed our way: “Your culture will soon be dismantled. It was designed by the devil to enslave all.”

Radical words, for your discernment.

Yet when we peer around, we have little difficulty seeing both the severe degradation of our societal constructs and a number of aspects that already look like an incipient dismantling.

Did that “dismantling” start (in slow-motion) with 9/11? Or—more likely—with Covid-19? Has there not been a strange mood out there and degradation since the pandemic? (See the poem below.)

Many report an unusual, lingering malaise, the subtle mix of anxiety, altered priorities, and social fatigue. Mull over the word: dis-ease. Far from being a purely scientific term, disease originates from a fusion of language and perception—an expression not of pathology, but of discomfort and disruption. Disease originally meant a state of “not being at ease” or “lack of comfort.” Thus, disease was not initially a term to describe a specific medical condition, but rather a general state of discomfort—an absence of well-being.

Only with Jesus are we grounded, are we resettled, have we sailed through the straits of crisis with optimism unchanged. Joy even in challenge. This is Spirit.

But for some, there’s the persistent sense of uncertainty or disconnection, even years after the height of covid. Social behaviors, work dynamics, and mental health all have shifted a nuance, effects that haven’t fully reset and may never. Perhaps you feel this way: that things are moving once more, but not quite the same?

There is “social rust” and emotional distance: After the prolonged isolation, many felt out of sync socially.

There was a hesitation or awkwardness in everyday interactions. People reported smaller social circles, more anxiety about gatherings, and a tendency to cancel plans or avoid crowded spaces.

Everything went “virtual, ” “digital,” and “remote.”

A key word there: remote.

That can factor into a dismantling.

So can fatigue.

Is society tired—even of itself?

There’s low-grade anxiety and “burnout,” especially among those of weak faith.

Even if life seems “back to normal,” call it a lingering stress in the background noise. The unpredictability of the pandemic rewired how people assess risk and security.

That stress, mixed with economic uncertainty, and now the wars in Gaza and Ukraine, have left many in a state of quiet burnout, functioning but tired, distracted, and flat emotionally. For many, covid caused a reckoning, a questioning of old routines—jobs, commutes, living situations, even relationships. Some people made big changes; others are still feeling adrift.

The years 2020–2022 are often remembered as a blur, and the usual markers of life—holidays, birthdays, work achievements—feel disconnected.

This altered sense of time and place adds to the surreal feeling many describe today.

There was a collective grief, not just for the lives lost, but for a world that seemed to disappear and morph into what we have now: something uncertain, filled with anger and hostility, with foul language, with texts replacing phone calls and shortening interaction between humans.

This “strange mood” isn’t uniform—it hits people differently depending on their life, culture, and experience—but it’s widespread enough to feel like a low-frequency cultural shift. Even if they can’t articulate it, there’s a sense of “something’s missing.”

If it was a poem, AI might call it (and yes, ChatGPT does write poetry), “The Mood That Lingers”:

There’s a quiet in the crowd these days,
a hush beneath the laughter’s haze.
We walk through streets like haunted halls,
where time once marched—now softly stalls.

We nod, we smile, we play our parts,
but carry ghosts in silent hearts.

A cough, a glance, a skipped embrace—
small absences we can’t replace.

The calendar moved on, it’s true,
but something in the air feels new.
Not fresh, not clean, but subtly changed,
like furniture a stranger’s rearranged.

Yet in this mood, this muted tone,
a deeper pulse begins to groan.
We learned to pause, to sit, to stay,
and ask what truly fills the day.

A world still turning, yes—but slow,
as if it knows what we now know.
The future waits with one raised brow—
Who are we, truly, now?

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