When We Let Hate Win

Today began like any other. I went to work, came home for lunch, and scrolled on social media during my break. That’s when I saw the headline: Charlie Kirk had been shot while speaking at a university in Utah. I was stunned. I shared the news with my family and then forced myself back to the rhythm of the day. By the time I packed up from work, my phone buzzed with the confirmation I didn’t want. Charlie Kirk had died from his wounds.
Charlie married Erika Frantzve in 2021. Together, they welcomed a daughter in 2022 and a son in 2024. Wherever you stand politically or theologically, whether you agreed with him or not, at the end of every day, he was a husband and a father. If you doubt that, scroll through Instagram or TikTok and search “Charlie Kirk as a father.” Beyond the debates and the headlines, his children are innocent. And they were just robbed of their dad. They will grow up with photos, videos, and secondhand stories instead of having their father read them bedtime stories and tuck them in at night. They will hear their mother speak of his faith, his convictions, his laughter… but they will never feel the weight of his arms around them as they drift to sleep. A man’s political voice may echo in history, but for a child, it is the absence of his presence that leaves the deepest wound.
In our hyper-connected world, it is too easy to forget that public figures are more than their sound bites. We see a fraction of a life and imagine we know the whole person. We reduce them to icons, hashtags, or punchlines, stripping away their humanity. Yes, Charlie Kirk often said things that sparked controversy, things that made their way into duets and reaction videos. But that does not erase the truth that he was a living, breathing human being who loved and was loved.
As I write this, fact-checking and sourcing, I want to be clear. Too many articles describe his death with headlines like “Charlie Kirk shot,” or “Charlie Kirk dead after campus shooting.” That phrasing flattens the reality. He was not simply shot. He was assassinated. Murdered. This was not an accident. A gun did not go off by mistake. A person loaded, aimed, pulled the trigger, and took his life by choice because of disagreement with his words. When we soften that truth, we underplay the horror of political violence. And when voices online frame such violence as justified, we invite it to happen again.
On TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook, reactions flood in. Many, friends and strangers alike, are offering condolences. Yet far too many respond with cruelty: laughter emojis, comments that he “deserved it,” even praise for the shooter. A friend posted about Charlie’s death, and someone replied with mocking words and celebratory scorn. This should chill us. We have reached a point where cheering for murder feels acceptable to some. It does not matter whether you are Democrat or Republican, Christian or Atheist, Muslim or Jew. We are all human beings. We all bleed. As a Christian, I believe every life is sacred, and watching others treat life as disposable breaks my heart.
At approximately the same time, Evergreen High School in Colorado faced its own shooting. No lives were lost, but students were wounded, classmates traumatized, and families shaken to their core. Hallways that should have been filled with ordinary noise and laughter were instead marked by fear. And again, the debates swell over gun control, blame, and politics. But before all that, before the shouting, we must say what this is: attempted murder. Violence carried out by individuals, not inanimate objects. Violence born from hearts steeped in anger and hate.
Our culture is breaking. And yet, it is not beyond repair. But if we continue celebrating violence, excusing cruelty, and mocking the dead, we risk losing more than lives. We risk losing our humanity. I pray I never live to see that day. But prayer must be met with action. If we want to slow this descent, if we hope to nurture compassion and empathy again, then we must be willing to embody those things. I must be willing to embody them.
Because at the end of the day, whether we agree or not, every one of us is flesh and blood. Every one of us is loved by God.
Tonight, I pray for Charlie Kirk’s family. I pray for the Evergreen community. I pray for those mourning not only loss of life but the loss of dignity and humanity in how that life is treated. And, hardest of all, I pray for the ones who pulled the trigger and for those who cheer them on.
We need a return to humanity. Without it, we will not only lose lives. We will lose ourselves.