Where Do We Go From Here?

I don’t make it a habit to comment on every tragedy or circumstance that sends shockwaves through our country. One reason I often restrain from commenting is that there are plenty of strong, reliable voices who can say what I want to say and do it with grace and precision. A second reason is the conviction that I need to listen before speaking. Howard Thurman once urged people to search for the voice of the “genuine” rather than simply falling in love with one’s own voice. I appreciate the voice I have been given, but I want my voice to reflect something deeper than my raw emotions and immediate reactions. That’s why I’ve waited to comment on the killing of Charlie Kirk. 

If you don’t know Charlie Kirk, he was a young (31 years old) political activist. Conservative in his politics and Christian in his faith, Kirk embraced the power and opportunity of freedom of speech and often took his back-and-forth dialogue/debate events to college campuses. There he would engage with young students finding their way and voice. Sometimes the conversations grew heated and even inflammatory, yet Kirk never shied away from any topic or issue. Young people were especially attracted to Kirk’s events because they were invited into significant and meaningful debates around topics that mattered to them and then given space to “hash it out.” It was at one of those events where Kirk was shot and killed.  

When I first heard of Kirk’s death, I was stunned. My mind raced in a thousand different directions, but the question that settled in me throughout the night was this: Where do we go from here? Please hear me: I don’t mean to view this tragedy in a vacuum. I fully understand that other tragedies have occurred that have received no public or pastoral response from me. Maybe that’s been malpractice on my part. And for those who might be frustrated that I’ve chosen to reflect on this and not that (whatever that may be), I hope you’ll still wade into the waters with me. So, where do we go from here? 

I’m writing this on my 43^rd birthday, which just so happens to be the 24^th anniversary of 9/11. My birthday has become synonymous, at least in my mind, with tragedy. I was a college freshman when the Twin Towers fell, which left many of us feeling like Job, holding the broken pieces of our nation and sitting among the ashes. But a certain resurgence came out of those ashes: a deepening love of our country, a renewed commitment to our military, and for a brief season, a return of many to the local church. There were prayer vigils, special worship services and a growing desire to make peace. At the same time, there were responses of a different kind. For some, suspicion and fear of the other became the norm, and at times that fear devolved into division, and then finally to hate. I recognize that I’ve probably oversimplified and generalized a very complex situation, but I wonder if we are seeing similar resurgences happening in our day? Kirk’s death feels to me like a nationwide boiling point moment, and the tension is thick. What we do next- what I do next- matters. So, where do we go from here? 

I suggest one of our first responses is that of grieving, weeping and confessing what we’ve lost. We’ve lost, or maybe we’ve simply abandoned, the idea that people have been created in the image of God. We’ve allowed differences to become dividers and people to become enemies. We’ve turned people into disposable objects. We need to give space to grieve.

I suggest a second response is one of reengaging the gift and power of presence. We need to learn how to be present with others again. When we make space for presence, we give ourselves the opportunity to see and hear people outside of our assumptions and outside of their convictions and opinions. We give ourselves the chance to see people as people again. We also need to sit and be present with the Lord attending to Him in prayer and through the reading of the Scriptures, crying out to Him and listening to His voice of ageless truth. In an age where people are desperate to be heard, we should not neglect the importance of being seen. 

Lastly- and this is primarily for the church- we need to do life in the way and manner of Jesus. When Jesus calls us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, I think He actually means it. When He describes us as “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world,” I think He is telling us that our lives are to be tangibly different. When He says it is the peacemakers, the meek, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness who are blessed, I think He’s inviting us to a Spirit-filled pursuit of a different type of life. The way and manner of Jesus is to view our lives from the lens of His Kingdom, wherein our primary citizenship lies. We are no longer our own, but His, and that should make all the difference. 

Earlier I mentioned how my birthday feels attached to tragedy. That may be the case, but I’m determined to attach every other day to the One who is the hope of the world. Before I am anything else, I am His. And at the very least, I believe that means, as Dallas Willard often taught and preached, living as if Christ were me (Read "Renovation of the Heart). If I can find daily opportunities to sow seeds of peace instead of chaos, light instead of darkness, hope instead of despair, healing instead of pain, joy instead of fear, presence instead of neglect, listening instead of reacting, blessing instead of cursing, the world around me would come to know a little bit more about Jesus and His transforming grace. That’s where I want to go from here.