In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus foretells the end of the world. His words read like the headlines of our time: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, famines, and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven” (Luke 21:10–11).

Modern self-proclaimed prophets have long insisted that the end of the world is closer than we think. Yet most of us hardly flinch, and life goes on as usual. Perhaps this is because our prayer glorifying the Trinity seems to reassure us: “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, ‘world without end.’ Amen.” These familiar words calm our doomsday fear.

A reality check. The phrase “world without end” is a translation of the Latin “saecula saeculorum,” which appears several times in the New Testament. Biblical scholars note that only in Ephesians 3:21 of the King James Version is it rendered as “world without end.” In all other instances, “saecula saeculorum” is more accurately translated as “forever and ever” or “and will be forever.”

Thus, the modern form of the Trinitarian prayer correctly reads: “Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, ‘and will be forever.’ Amen.” This prayer affirms that God is eternal, but not the world.

Yet, even though reason tells us that the world will indeed end, we seldom worry about it. Consumerism has overshadowed our anxiety over the world’s end, final judgment, or eternal salvation. It has successfully shifted our attention from the eternal to the immediate, and from the transcendent to the tangible. Instead of seeking what endures forever, we chase after things that can be bought, used, and thrown away.

Consumerism offers a new kind of “salvation.” It does not promise us deliverance from sin or damnation, but from aging, sickness, depression, obesity, boredom, loneliness, and every burden of modern life. The malls, banks, stock markets, gyms, pharmacies, hospitals, fast food outlets, and beauty clinics have become our new temples. The media, advertisers merchants, manufacturers, doctors, self-help gurus are the new preachers.

Despite these distractions, we still dread the world’s end because we do not want to die. We long for immortality. This desire has driven doctors and scientists to extend human life, often with astonishing success. Before the rise of modern science, the average human lifespan scarcely reached 50 years. Today, it has nearly doubled, thanks to antibiotics, vaccines, gene therapy, stemcell research, artificial organs, and robotics. Some scientists even speak boldly of conquering aging and death altogether.

Yet in this pursuit, many forget the moral limits that govern human action. When we try to control life and death according to our own desires, we risk destroying ourselves. The story of Frankenstein, retold in films and shown in today’s live-streaming platforms, stands as a warning against the dangers of human pride. When we play god, we become monsters.

It is deeply ironic that while we strive to escape and deny death, we also perpetuate war and invent ever more efficient killing machines. In an age of nuclear weapons and artificial intelligence, the world’s end may not come through cosmic catastrophe or divine wrath, but through our own neglect and indifference, and through the pride and arrogance of leaders who fuel a relentless cycle of conflict and violence.

In today’s Second Reading, St. Paul offers a wiser and more grounded perspective. Rather than obsessing over when the world or our lives will end, he urges us to make good use of the precious time we have (2 Thessalonians 3:7–12). The essential question is not “When will I die?” but “What am I doing with the rest of my life?”

Our attempts to escape the inevitable are futile. Through science and technology, we may believe we are living longer, but in truth, we are only dying slower. And worse, more miserably.