I don't plan to respond to every current event or tragedy that breaks through our news cycle. But I was up late last night, couldn't sleep, and felt compelled to write.
The notification came through like they always do…sudden, jarring, impossible to ignore. Charlie Kirk, shot and killed at a college event in Utah. Gone at 31. A husband. A father. A voice that had shaped countless conversations, now forever silent.
I first encountered Charlie Kirk on TikTok, scrolling mindlessly through my feed when his face popped up mid-debate with some college student. He was confident, quick, unafraid. I disagreed with almost everything he said…and honestly, some of it hurt. His words about immigrants, about LGBTQ+ people, about women, about what it means to follow Jesus…they cut deep. I kept scrolling, frustrated and angry, but I couldn't deny the passion behind his convictions, even when those convictions felt so far from the Gospel I knew.
Now that voice is gone. Silenced not by time, not by illness, but by a bullet fired in hatred. Someone decided Charlie Kirk deserved to die for his beliefs, that his life was worth less than their ideology.
And that's where they got it wrong.
When Jesus Loved His Enemies
Charlie Kirk and I saw the world very differently. He used language that I believe was hurtful, even hateful at times. He caused real harm to real people in the name of Christ…harm that I spent years trying to undo in my own ministry and conversations. His version of Christianity often felt unrecognizable to me, focused more on cultural warfare than the radical love Jesus called us to.
But here's what I know about Jesus: He didn't love people because they got it right. He loved them because they were His. He loved the tax collectors and the zealots, the prostitutes and the Pharisees, the disciples who betrayed Him and the crowds who crucified Him. Love wasn't conditional on correct theology or perfect politics. It was radical, scandalous, unearned.
"Love your enemies," Jesus said. Not "love them when they change," or "love them if they apologize," or "love them after they see the error of their ways." Love them. Period. Even when they hurt you. Even when they're wrong. Even when their version of faith looks nothing like yours.
The Man Behind the Message
Charlie Kirk was more than his worst takes, more than his most inflammatory tweets, more than the harm his words sometimes caused. He was a 31-year-old man who genuinely believed he was fighting for something important. He was a husband who loved his wife, a father who played with his children, a son who called his mom. He had dreams, fears, late-night doubts that his followers never saw.
Did his public persona often contradict the Jesus I follow? Absolutely. Did his words wound people I care about? Without question. But does that mean he deserved to die? Does that mean his children deserved to lose their father? Does that mean his wife deserved to become a widow?
The answer that echoes from Calvary is a resounding no.
What Love Looks Like in Real Time
Loving Charlie Kirk doesn't mean agreeing with Charlie Kirk. It doesn't mean pretending his words didn't hurt people or that his influence wasn't sometimes destructive. It doesn't mean we stop advocating for justice or speaking truth to power. Love isn't the same as approval, and grace isn't the same as agreement.
But love does mean recognizing his humanity when others tried to erase it. It means grieving a life cut short, even when that life complicated our own faith journey. It means praying for his family, his friends, his organization, even when we spent years praying against his influence.
Love means refusing to celebrate violence, even when it silences voices we found harmful. Because once we decide that some people deserve to die for their beliefs, we've crossed a line that leads nowhere good. We've forgotten that every person…even the ones who hurt us…bears the image of God.
The Complexity Factory
Charlie Kirk lived and died in what I like to call the complexity factory…that messy space where faith meets politics, where good intentions mix with harmful outcomes, where sincere belief can still cause real damage. He wasn't a cartoon villain or a perfect hero. He was a complicated human being trying to navigate an impossible cultural moment, just like the rest of us.
The difference is he did it in public, with millions watching, amplifying both his influence and his mistakes. Every word was scrutinized, every position debated, every misstep magnified. That kind of pressure would break most of us. It certainly would have broken me.
This doesn't excuse the harm his words caused. But it does help explain how someone who genuinely loved Jesus could end up using His name in ways that felt so unloving to so many of us. The complexity factory is a dangerous place, and Charlie Kirk got caught in its gears long before a bullet ended his life.
The Love That Wins
In a world where political disagreement has become personal warfare, where we've forgotten how to separate ideas from the people who hold them, Charlie Kirk's death is a stark reminder of what we lose when love loses.
His killer thought violence was the answer to harmful ideology. But violence only creates more violence, more division, more reasons for people to retreat into their corners and load their weapons…literal or metaphorical. The cycle continues until someone chooses love instead.
That's our calling as followers of Jesus. Not to love people when they agree with us, but especially when they don't. Not to love them when they're easy to love, but when loving them costs us something. Not to love them when they're perfect, but when they're broken, wrong, and in desperate need of grace.
Charlie Kirk didn't deserve this. His family doesn't deserve this. His children don't deserve to grow up without their father because someone decided that political disagreement justified murder.
And maybe…just maybe…if more of us had chosen love over warfare while he was alive, if we'd found ways to disagree without demonizing, if we'd remembered his humanity even when we opposed his ideas, things might have been different. Not just for him, but for all of us trying to follow Jesus in this broken, beautiful, complicated world.
Love doesn't always win in the moment. But it's the only thing that wins in the end. Charlie Kirk's voice is silent now, but the call to love…even our enemies, especially our enemies…echoes on.
That's the Gospel. That's the hope. That's what we owe each other, no matter how much we disagree.
Even Charlie Kirk. Especially Charlie Kirk.
I know this is complicated territory. Many of you have been wounded by words like Charlie's, and others found hope in his message. Some of you are grieving today, others are conflicted about feeling anything at all. I'd love to hear your thoughts…how do we navigate loving people whose faith expressions have hurt us? How do we hold space for both grief and honesty? What does it look like to follow Jesus in moments like these?
This situation has indeed been complicated. Initially when I heard the news my thoughts were “he asked for it”. I’m still not sure his hateful rhetoric didn’t bring about his demise. I began to feel like that stance was harsh so I thought some more. I came to a place where I could acknowledge “ok, this is sad and shouldn’t have happened the way it did”. However, I just couldn’t bring myself to feel real grief. That is still more or less where I find myself. However, this has been a convicting read. I can recognize that my current mood/thoughts on the situation are not quite Christlike. That being said, it remains a conundrum. I still have no idea where my stance and heart will eventually land. I’m processing
Brother, you have wrestled well here. Really.
I couldn't sleep, either. Waves of grief for all, including the walking wounded, injured (or broken) by flawed theology and cruel politics. And (not but)... in the wake of this violence that is never The Way, my heart is cracked wide open for a human with the Thumbprint, and his family. Whatever we do or say, we belong to God and to one another.
Also... your humility and graciousness in response to comments (fellow wrestlers) is light in the darkness. Thank you.