Yesterday’s assassination of Charlie Kirk left me with feelings I am still struggling to name. I won’t pretend to admire him, his rhetoric nearly always disgusted me, and I believe he twisted the Gospel into something it was never meant to be. I’ll admit, I feel some relief that his voice will no longer shape our national conversation.
But relief is not peace. What I feel most deeply today is grief. Not grief for him, but grief for my country.
Grief that in America, political violence is now commonplace.
Grief that once again young people must run for their lives on a college campus.
Grief that neighbor has turned against neighbor, and family against family.
Grief that guns so saturate this land that even imagining a different way forward feels almost impossible.
Grief that America, the nation I love, has become a byword for danger and dysfunction and violence and cruelty.
I am 41 years old, and I don’t know if I will ever see the America I love again in my lifetime. That thought hits me harder than the headlines. Because I do love this country. I love its people, its ideals, its promise. And what we are living through now feels like ashes compared to that promise.
And yet… history reminds me that nations can learn and change. Germany rose from the rubble of fascism. Spain emerged from dictatorship. Countless peoples have endured war, division, and authoritarianism, and yet they clawed their way toward a new chapter. If America is young, then maybe this is our season of painful growth. Maybe we, too, can face our failures, repent, and rebuild.
But healing won’t come by accident. It takes truth. It takes accountability. It takes reform. And above all, it takes people willing to live differently, people who refuse to give themselves to vengeance, who see their enemies still as neighbors, who practice peace even when it costs them.
The prophet Isaiah gives me hope when he says:
“They shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4)
In this moment, that dream feels far away. But I believe in it. Enough is enough. We may not heal this nation in a day, or even in a lifetime, but we can start with ourselves, with our communities, with the choices we make about how we will treat one another.
Charlie Kirk spent his life cultivating the very environment that brought about his demise. We can do better.
“Put your sword back in its place”, Jesus said to him, “for all who draw the sword will die by the sword”. (Matthew 26:52)
I want peace. I want family divisions healed. I want to see my fellow Americans as neighbors again. And I know that even if I don’t see the Promised Land with my own eyes, I am called to walk with my people toward it.
I will continue to work for a sunrise I may not see.
A Prayer for America in Mourning
Lord of mercy and truth,
we come before You with hearts heavy for our nation.
We grieve the violence that has stained our land,
the division that has split neighbor from neighbor,
the fear that drives us into corners of suspicion and despair.
We confess that we have not loved one another as You commanded.
We have traded compassion for contempt,
peace for power,
and truth for comfort.
Yet still, You are the God who turns swords into plowshares,
who makes peace where none seems possible,
who binds up the wounds of the brokenhearted.
Heal our land, O Lord.
Comfort those who mourn,
protect our children,
and give us courage to choose mercy over vengeance,
truth over lies,
and love over hate.
And when the future feels too far,
teach us to be faithful in the present:
to see one another as neighbors,
to speak with kindness,
to work for justice,
and to plant seeds of peace that others may harvest.
Through Christ, the Prince of Peace, we pray.
Amen.
If this reflection speaks to you, I invite you to share it, add your own prayer, and commit with me to small acts of peace in your own corner of the world. Healing America will take all of us. Let’s begin today.