Reading the News with Jesus - Charlie Kirk
As I've followed the news about and reaction to the murder of Charlie Kirk, I've begun to wonder if we, as a nation and as a Church, have forgotten how to respond to tragedy. While there are those who are expressing genuine grief and heartfelt sympathy, these few are seemingly drowned out by the many who are using this tragedy as an opportunity to gain political advantage. And I am not just talking about the career politicians. Far too often, over the past 48 hours, I have seen ordinary Americans (and Christians) on social media (I know, I didn't take my own advice to stay off social media) weaponizing this horrific event to villainize "the other side" and, thereby, score points in the never-ending, ever-intensifying debate between the right and the left. And this is an indicator, a warning sign, that the rift in this nation has become so significant that our political affiliation has begun to overshadow our humanity. This, history has shown us time and again, is a recipe for disaster. If we, as a nation, don't take a hard look at ourselves and sincerely commit ourselves to the messy and difficult work of unity, we may soon find ourselves passing the point of no return. If we, as a Church, created to be unifiers and reconcilers, don't look intently at Jesus and devote ourselves to doing only what we see him doing, saying only what we hear him saying, we will leave the nation without our prophetic voice and leadership in this crucial moment.
So, let's do that now. Let's look to Jesus and learn from him how to respond to tragedy. He shows us the way in John 11 following the death of his dear friend Lazarus, and based on that text, here are four things I think Jesus might be saying to his followers in light of the death of Charlie Kirk.
“Weep with me”
Standing in front of the tomb of one of his closest friends, Jesus wept. Because this is the appropriate way, the human way to respond to tragedy and death. Though he knew that a stunning miracle was about to happen, he still felt deeply the grief and heartbreak of the moment. Someone he loved was gone. People he loved were hurting. Though he was a man of perfect faith, a man who knew resurrection was coming, Jesus still experienced fully the deep, gut-wrenching sorrow of grief, and so he wept. He wept because the loss of human life is always a tragedy. He wept because he didn't create us to die. He wept because his good world is broken.
I don’t think we've wept enough over the murder of Charlie Kirk nor over the scourge of division and violence that has come to define our nation's political landscape. Over the past two days, we have seen all sorts of reaction to this tragedy: outrage, apathy, politicking, posturing, blaming, name-calling, smugness, justifying, even, horrifyingly, celebrating. But there has not been enough weeping. That's not to say that people are not feeling deep sorrow right now. I know many are. But we all should be. This is a tragedy. Murder is always a tragedy and should never be treated as less. The trembling fault lines of disunity that have created this tidal wave of political violence (not just Charlie Kirk but the many other acts of political violence taking place across our country) is a national tragedy, and we all should be weeping (in sackcloth and ashes). Because this is the appropriate way to respond to tragedy. It is the human thing to do. And that is what we are. Not political animals but human beings.
This should be especially true of those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus and aspire to follow the example of our Lord and Savior. He wept because the world is broken. To me, this verse, John 11:35, the favorite of every Sunday School child struggling to memorize Scripture, is one of the most stunning and powerful verses in the Bible. "Jesus wept." This image of our King standing before the tomb of his friend with tears streaming down his face, the shocking notion that the Creator God has so identified himself with us, his creation, that he has personally and fully experienced the agony of grief is potent medicine for anyone who has experienced loss. He knows what it feels like. He weeps with us.
Perhaps, in moments like these, the greatest gift we, the Church, can offer the world is our tears. Not explanations, accusations, condemnations, or platitudes, but true grief. Maybe if we as a Church responded to this tragedy and the many others with genuine sorrow, following the example of our weeping Messiah by standing in solidarity with those who suffer, we could help our nation regain its humanity and heal its wounds rather than exacerbating the suffering by contributing further division and disunity.
“Get angry like me”
I know this might sound strange after what I've just said about sorrow, but in John 11 Jesus teaches us that anger is an appropriate response to tragedy. In John 11:38, as Jesus stood in front of the tomb of Lazarus and saw the heartbreak of Lazarus' friends and family, Scripture says he was “deeply moved." Now, the English translation somewhat obscures what's actually going on here because it makes it sound like Jesus was just really sad (which, as we discussed above, he was). However, in the original Greek, these words convey not just sadness but also anger, even rage. In fact, in other classical sources, this word is used of a war horse snorting angrily in anticipation of charging into battle.
In other words, facing the reality of the premature loss of his friend, Jesus wasn't just sad, he was furious. Now, it’s crucial that I am very clear on this: Jesus was not angry at people, not at Mary or Martha, not at the mourners, and certainly not at God. He was, instead, angry at the very notion of death. You must remember who Jesus is. In chapter 1, John has already let us in on the secret that this Jesus is God made flesh, that he is the Creator of life. Yet here he stood in front of a tomb that held a body that he created, but the life he had breathed into it had been tragically snuffed out. And Jesus was angry. He was offended by the very existence of death. And he was ready to charge. Again, it's important to notice the target of his anger, not people but the system itself. He was angry at sin and its fracturing of his good world. He was angry at the spiritual powers that have usurped our God-given authority over this world and now use it to steal, kill, and destroy. He who came to give life and give it abundantly was enraged by the existence of death.
We, who are his followers, should be too. Whenever we face tragedy and loss, it is right that we feel angry, that we, like our King are offended by the notion of death. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't what he intended for us. I want to be very clear about this: Jesus is furious about the murder of Charlie Kirk. He, the Creator of life, is incensed that this life which bore his image was destroyed by another. He is personally offended by the many broken facets of our society that contributed to this tragedy. He is angry, and we should be too. But it is important that we are angry like he is.
You see, Jesus knew how to be angry without sinning. His anger is not aimless and destructive like mine so often is. It is targeted and productive. He knows where to direct his anger, "not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms" (Ephesians 6:12). And he knows how to wield his anger not simply to destroy but to rebuild and renew. His is a righteous indignation, a refining fire.
So, it is right for us to feel angry in this moment, but our anger should be like his, rightly aimed and productive. If our anger is directed toward our political enemies, we are not following the way of Jesus. Instead, our anger should be directed at the powers and systems that have made enemies out of fellow citizens and have made us feel that justified in this, have encouraged us to believe that having enemies is right and normal and good. We should be angry at the spirit of divisiveness and disunity that has so enamored and enslaved this nation and its Church. Political violence is an inevitable byproduct of worshipping at the temple of Disunity, and it is getting worse in this country. Charlie Kirk was not the first victim of political violence in our recent history. In fact, the last year (and change) has seen:
The murder of Melissa Hortman (a Democratic lawmaker) and her husband and the shooting of John Hoffman (also a Democratic leader) and his wife in Minnesota.
The firebombing of the home of the governor of Pennsylvania, Josh Shapiro (Democrat) while he and his family slept inside.
The murder of two staff members from the Israeli Embassy, Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim, outside a museum in Washington D.C.
Acts of arson committed against Tesla charging stations in the wake of the 2024 U.S. election.
The shooting of Kamala Harris' campaign headquarters (three times) in Tempe, Arizona.
The two assassination attempts against President Trump during the 2024 presidential campaign.
As Americans, we should be angry that this is happening in our country. We, who pride ourselves on being a bastion of freedom of speech, should be outraged that the division in our country has become such that we now experience somewhat regular violence against individuals because of their political opinions. And we should use our anger to stifle division not to fuel it. Our anger should make us dogmatic about unity, should drive us toward each other not farther away.
As Christians, we should be angry that one person created in the image of God has destroyed another. This is a tragedy beyond comprehension, an act completely out of alignment with God's good intentions for the world he loves so much. We should be angry at the disunity that led to this heinous act and at the disunity that has come out of it. And our anger, like our King's, should be directed at the evil powers and the broken systems they have created. We should be personally offended by the spirits of division and violence that are seemingly having their way with us. We, who have been called by Jesus to embody the unity of the Trinity within our communities, should actively resist anything that would divide or alienate us from one another. If Jesus were standing here in our shoes right now, he would have that look in his eye, like a warhorse ready to charge, ready to trample division, hatred, and violence. We should ready ourselves to join him in that charge.
“Believe in me”
Though Jesus was grief-stricken at Lazarus' death and though he was angry at the brokenness of the world, he never wavered in his confidence in the presence and goodness of God. After he wept and raged, he lifted his eyes to the heavens and prayed with absolute certainty that God was hearing him and was working even in that moment for good.
Now, it is important to notice that, for Jesus, grief and belief, were not mutually exclusive. He was able to feel both without allowing one to override the other. His faith did not deny or shortchange his grief, and his grief did not neuter his faith. He held both the pain of loss and the hope of resurrection at the same time. This is hard for us. We tend to live in one or the other (or swing wildly between the two).
On one hand, many of us, when facing loss, find ourselves paralyzed by the why question? Why has God allowed this to happen? If he is so good and powerful, why did he allow this kind of suffering? Why didn't he do something about? And to be clear, this is a fair question and one I truly believe God invites us to ask him. But it is, in my experience, a question without an answer. The only answer God will give to this question the answer he gave Job. Himself. And until we can learn, like Job, to accept his presence as our answer, we will find ourselves paralyzed by the why, unable to move forward in our journey of grief.
On the other hand, many Christians believe that having faith in the goodness of God means refusing fully to feel the weight of the loss. We throw Romans 8:28 ("God works all things together for good...") at our grief and insist, sometimes glibly, that it's ok because this is "all part of God's plan." But it's not ok. There are plenty of things that happen in this broken world that are not God's intention for us. It's true that he is sovereign and powerful, and that, ultimately, he will bring all things around to good, but this doesn't mean that they are good or even ok. And it's right for us to feel the profound wrongness of these things. A thorough conversation about the sovereignty of God and the problem of suffering is clearly outside the scope of this post, but I bring it up to make the point that Jesus clearly didn't view sadness and anger as antithetical to faith.
But he also didn't let sadness and anger overwhelm his faith. Despite what he was seeing, he believed. When it would have been easy to think God had abandoned them, he believed that God was with him and heard him. When it would have been simpler to give into despair, he believed in the power of God. When it would have been appropriate to question why God had allowed this bad thing to happen, he believed in the goodness of God. He knew, at a place ever deeper than his grief, that this God is in the restoration business. He brings beauty from ashes, he wipes every tear from our eyes, he makes all things new. He is the God of resurrection.
The hardest thing about resurrection, of course, is that it means, for now, death, tragedy, and grief are a part of our experience. But only for now. They are not our final destination but are only a shadow through which we pass into new, abundant life. Like an artist creating a mosaic, God will one day take the broken pieces and, in a way that doesn't deny or demean the pain of the breaking, will put them together into something new and beautiful.
I know in moments like these, that promise may sound like small comfort and distant hope. It did to Martha as she stood before the tomb of her brother. But Jesus stood in front of her not just promising resurrection eventually but embodying it immanently. And he is with us too. Even in this moment, he is with us, and he is working. Though there is absolutely nothing good about this, he will make goodness and beauty out of these ashes because that's what he does. That's who he is. He is the resurrection and the life. Do you believe this?
“Repent and follow me”
After Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, he instructed the people around him to remove his grave clothes because it's simply not appropriate for a resurrected person to go walking around in grave clothes. Over the past 48 hours, we've seen reactions of hatred and vitriol, of blaming and name-calling, not just from the world but from the Church, from followers of Jesus, from resurrection people, and seeing this is something like seeing a resurrected person walking around in fetid grave clothes. It just isn't right. And I think, as Jesus sees it too, he is calling out to us, "Take off the grave clothes." In other words, I think he is inviting us—indeed, commanding us—to deep repentance.
We have to change our ways of thinking. About politics and our role in it. About those on the other side of the political divide. About ourselves and our citizenships. About the reason Jesus has saved us and sent us into his world. If we, the Church, continue to think about our political identity and engagement in a way that is indistinguishable from the rest of the world, then that's exactly what we'll become. Indistinguishable from the world. We will contribute nothing valuable to the conversation but will only add to the noise. The appalling reactions to this tragedy from within our communities of faith should be a wakeup call to all of us. We have been conformed to the pattern of this world, and we need to repent. We need to be transformed by the renewing of our minds as we invite the Holy Spirit to search us and refine us. If we don't begin to think differently about our world, to think Christianly, to think like Jesus would if he were us, then the light of the world will be hidden. The salt of the earth will be trampled. We will render ourselves useless in God's plan to restore all things.
We have to change our ways of behaving. There are things that we simply must not say or do if we are followers of Jesus. We must not demonize or dehumanize others simply because we disagree with their political opinions. We must not resort to petty or mean-spirited name calling in order to win an argument or humiliate our opponents. We must not use tragedy to try to gain influence or further our own agendas. We must not participate in or celebrate incivility, division, or violence. We must not hate anyone. Ever. Our King has forbidden us these behaviors. They are not appropriate for citizens of his Kingdom, like grave clothes on resurrected people. We must repent.
And lest all this talk of repentance sound overly heavy or daunting, we should remember that genuine repentance, in the Bible, is always the gateway to true life. Jesus invites anyone with ears to hear to “repent because the Kingdom of God is at hand.” In other words, if we will just turn from the path we’re walking, the road that leads to nowhere good, and follow Jesus with our whole hearts, we will have the experience the abundant Kingdom life for which he created us. There is certainly a weight to repentance, because we are repenting from serious things, but there is also a joy to it, because it leads us into new life. I truly believe that to be the case here as well. If we continue living in our grave clothes, we will not experience the life he longs to give us and we will not be able to give it to anyone else either. But if we heed his call to come out of the tomb and take off the grave clothes, if we truly repent, we will experience the hope and power of new life for ourselves and will be able to offer it to everyone around us.
So, we begin where we started. Our reaction to this tragedy has revealed the deep rifts not only between the sides of the political spectrum but between our theology and our behavior. And we must do better. We must be better. As a nation, it seems that we have forgotten how to respond humanly to tragedy and loss. As a Church, we have clearly forgotten respond Christianly. And the stakes could not be higher. If we, as a nation, don’t address the division and disunity that allows and encourages us to demonize and alienate people who think differently than we do, I’m afraid this will not be the last such tragedy we will have to face. If we, as a Church, do not step forward as unifiers and reconcilers, following the example of our King, we will leave the world without our prophetic voice and leadership as it attempts navigates the challenges of this fraught political landscape.
But there is hope. Jesus has shown us how to respond to tragedy and loss both as real humans and as citizens of his Kingdom. He has given us his Spirit to lead us into truth and to empower us to follow him. If we follow his leading and rely on His Spirit at work in us, we will become the light of the world he created us to be. We will provide potent, effectual leadership to our nation in these turbulent times. We will see his resurrection power flow through us for the healing and restoration of the world.
