Jesus taught that faith, the size of a mustard seed, could move mountains (Matthew 17:20). Yet, a pervasive apathy often seems to define modern Christian culture, where faith is sometimes misinterpreted as passive resignation—simply leaving everything in God’s hands without lifting our own. This perspective overlooks the very Jesus who urged us to use even our smallest faith to confront life’s challenges. To trust in His name without acting on His words is to build a faith without substance.
Consider the storm on the Sea of Galilee. The disciples, terrified, woke Jesus with a cry for help. But before calming the wind and waves, He first addressed their fear, asking, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” (Matthew 8:24-26). He pointed out that their panic stemmed from a failure to understand who they were and whose they were. A child of God, secure in their connection to the divine, need not be shaken by the physical world. This is the beginning of faith: a quiet, unshakeable steadiness that remains when all others are overwhelmed.
This steadiness is vital because the world is full of storms, often created by human action—or inaction. From the beginning, humanity was given dominion over creation (Genesis 1:26-27), an implicit call to engage with the world, not retreat from it. The phrase, “There’s nothing I can do about it,” is more than just a sigh of resignation; it is a declaration of apathy that traps the soul. In this state, life loses its meaning, and the very distinction between living and dying begins to fade. This spiritual numbness is the root of many evils, including the most extreme act of giving up: suicide.
Nowhere is this apathy more painfully visible than in a nation as broken as Zimbabwe. Here, many citizens remain loyal to a ruling party, ZANU-PF, whose leadership has actively devastated the country. They are trapped in a paradox, finding a twisted sense of comfort in the familiar hand that oppresses them. They cannot imagine life without the party that inflicts their pain, convinced by those in power that their own lives are inconsequential. It is like standing too close to a fire, slowly burning away, yet unable to move. The saddest part is that they become the fiercest defenders of their own tormentors.
One might assume this mindset is confined to the uneducated. I once thought so. But the reality in Zimbabwe has shaken that belief. It is often the educated propagandists who weave the narratives that sustain this system. While education holds the potential for great good, it can just as easily be weaponized to steer a nation toward disaster. This reveals a disturbing truth: apathy is not a disease of the uneducated; it is a human condition that can paralyze anyone, dragging entire populations into a stagnant state.
How does one help people see that the power to escape lies within themselves? Force is futile; it only deepens the numbness. Those who offer solutions are branded as “sellouts”—and in a sense, they are. They are selling out the comfort and safety of apathy for the risky path of engagement. This can be disheartening, enough to make anyone want to give up.
But giving up is just another form of the same disease. It takes real courage to face a bad situation and persist until it changes. As the saying goes, “Don’t stop when you’re tired. Stop when you’re done.” Even if you are the only one who sees clearly, keep going. Never underestimate the power of persistence, for things will only worsen if we stop confronting what is wrong.
Where, then, are the educated? Many who could help choose the sidelines, hiding behind personal comfort. They haven’t become outright indifferent; they have slipped into despair, convincing themselves the problems are too big to solve. Living in protected enclaves, they are numbed to the nation’s decay. They know the truth, yet claim they can do nothing, avoiding politics as if it were a plague.
Even well-meaning Christians fall into this trap, misusing scripture to justify inaction. They forget that the God of the Bible is just and merciful, unwilling for the innocent to suffer, and that His will is carried out through the committed action of believers. When people stay silent in the face of evil, they become its enablers. This is why cowardice has no place in God’s kingdom (Revelation 21:8). As Jesus taught, we are not to fear those who harm the body, but to cultivate a higher, holy fear of God (Matthew 10:28).
Doing what is right has never been promised to be easy; it might cost everything. Christ was killed for His stand. Nelson Mandela spent twenty-seven years in prison for his. There is no real difference between Mandela and anyone else willing to stand against evil. Fear may cause hesitation, but it is ultimately powerless. It can only threaten the body, which returns to dust, but it cannot touch the spirit made in God’s image.
Corrupt leaders may hide behind military might, but they are still part of the nation, connected through family and community. They, too, face struggles. With courage and good communication, they can be reached. Reasonable ideas tend to connect with reasonable people, who far outnumber the unreasonable in any society. When two people commit to doing what is right, their combined efforts create momentum, inspiring others to join. The power of the state is finite; it cannot reach what is spiritual.
The real key is to independently pursue what is right and help free others from oppression. In a world that often feels hopeless, this might be our very purpose. Jesus shattered the old religious systems that kept people bound (John 4:23-24), and through the parable of the Good Samaritan, He gave us the clearest picture of true worship (Luke 10:25-37).
In the story, a priest and a Levite—the religious elite—passed by a dying man, paralyzed by fear of what might happen. But a Samaritan, a social outcast, saw the need and acted. He took a risk. He spent his time, effort, and money. He made a difference. When Jesus asked the expert in the law which man was a true neighbor, the answer was clear: “The one who had mercy on him.” And Jesus commanded, “Go and do likewise.”
This is the essence of true Christianity. It is not found in long nights of prayer that expect God to do everything, while we do nothing. It is found in the action of being salt and light (Matthew 5:13-16)—preserving what is good and illuminating what is true, even in a hopeless environment. Too often, religious leaders take the spotlight for themselves, discouraging ordinary people from stepping up, much like David’s brother Eliab, who tried to stop him from facing Goliath while doing nothing himself (1 Samuel 17:28).
Making a difference can seem impossible, but only if we believe this life is all there is. True Christians hold onto a hope that extends beyond death, a hope that can bring light into the deepest darkness. Prayer matters, but its real purpose is to let God work the seemingly impossible through us. No matter how overwhelming the problem may appear to be, there is always something we can do about it. With a mustard seed of faith, we are called not to despair, but to move mountains.
Andrew Masuku is the author of Dimensions of a New Civilisation, laying down standards for uplifting Zimbabwe from the current state of economic depression into a model for other nations worldwide. A decaying tree provides an opportunity for a blossoming sprout. Written from a Christian perspective, the book is a product of inspiration, relieving those who have witnessed the strings of unworkable solutions, leading to the current economic and social decay. Most Zimbabweans should find the book to be a long-awaited providential oasis of hope, in a simple conversational tone.
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