Social media can be a strange place. Normally, I only post pictures of fish I’ve caught, a beautiful sunset, or my family. Those kinds of posts usually bring smiles and likes, nothing too controversial. But last week, I felt compelled to post something different.

I was moved by the ministry of Charlie Kirk, a young man who boldly entered college campuses to share his Christian faith. Whatever you think of his politics, I admired that he was willing to step into the arena—like Teddy Roosevelt’s famous description of “the man in the arena”—to engage those who disagreed with him. He was willing to be vulnerable and courageous in contending for the hope he had in Christ and his conservative beliefs and values. He invited people who disagreed with him, gave them a microphone and platform, and then respectfully engaged.

But when I shared a word of appreciation for that prophetic and evangelical witness, I quickly learned why I normally stick to fish pictures. Even in the wake of his tragic assassination, the politics surrounding his name created division. Friends unfriended and blocked me. People I thought knew me well assumed the worst because I raised a tribute to someone they apparently despised. It was a stark reminder of how polarized our culture has become, and how easy it is to cancel one another instead of listening and loving.

Splitting and the Culture of Cancellation

In recent Wall Street Journal commentary, “Splitting and the Celebration of Charlie Kirk’s Assassination,” the writer notes a psychological term used by psychotherapists for what they hear in their offices daily when “anger hardens into fantasy”: splitting.

Splitting is when we divide people into categories of “all good” or “all bad.” When someone offends us or disagrees with us, we label them evil and cut them out of our lives.

Social media supercharges this tendency. One post, one opinion, one moment — and suddenly someone is “dead” to us. We unfriend, block, or cancel. And while we may not see it this way, canceling someone is a kind of social murder. It removes them from our circle of care and erases them from our world.

Jesus warned about this very thing. In the Sermon on the Mount, He said:

“You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.”
(Matthew 5:21–22)

To call someone a “fool” is to reduce them to a label, to strip them of dignity, to erase their humanity in your heart. That is the same destructive energy as splitting: we stop seeing the image of God in the other and see only a caricature.

We may not use the word “fool” much anymore, but we have a long list of replacements: fascist, Christian nationalist, Nazi, communist, racist, bigot, hater—on and on it goes. Once someone has been given one of these slur labels, they are no longer a complex human being made in God’s image. They are simply “the enemy.” And once they are “the enemy,” we feel justified in canceling them, cutting them off, or treating them with contempt.

Jesus Welcomes the Unwelcome

In Luke 15, Jesus gathers a crowd. Some were labeled “sinners,” others were tax collectors—the most despised people in society at the time. These tax collectors weren’t just IRS agents; they were Jewish men working for the occupying Roman Empire, extorting their neighbors to fill both Roman coffers and their own pockets. If there was ever a group that people felt justified in hating, it was them.

The Pharisees and scribes looked at this scene and grumbled: “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” They couldn’t comprehend why a holy man would welcome such company.

But here’s the irony: the only person in that gathering who wasn’t a sinner was Jesus. And He was the very one opening His arms, extending fellowship, and sharing meals with them.

Jesus refused to play by the rules of exclusion. He refused to label people as irredeemable. Instead, He told stories about a lost sheep and a lost coin to show that God’s heart beats for the one who is missing, the one who has wandered, the one everyone else has written off.

What We Can Learn

Those parables teach us three lessons—three “D’s” to guide our hearts and our mission.

Desire for the Lost

Do we share God’s desire to seek the lost? Every sheep matters. Every coin matters. Every person matters to God. That includes the people we’d rather avoid, the people we disagree with, even the people who hurt us.

Diligence in the Search

The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to find the one. The woman lights a lamp and sweeps her whole house for the coin. There is intentionality and persistence in God’s search. What would it look like for us to be just as intentional—crossing barriers, stepping into uncomfortable conversations, or simply being present where people are?

Delight in the Found

When the lost are found, heaven rejoices. There’s a party for one sinner who repents. Think of that: the angels throw a celebration for every single return. How different would our communities look if we delighted in reconciliation rather than cancellation, if we threw parties for prodigals rather than writing them off?

A Better Way to See

The apostle Paul called himself the “foremost of sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15). He admitted his past as a blasphemer, persecutor, and violent man. Yet he said, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.”

Paul wasn’t speaking from a place of elitist superiority but of humility. He saw himself as one beggar telling another where to find bread. That’s the posture the church is called to take—not arrogance, not condemnation, but grace-filled humility.

Too often, like the Pharisees, we divide the world into categories: good people and bad people, insiders and outsiders, “us” and “them.” We label whole groups as “the problem” and pat ourselves on the back for being better. But Jesus breaks down those categories. He shows us that every single person—even the ones we most want to avoid—has infinite worth in God’s eyes.

An Invitation

So what does this mean for us?

It means cultivating a heart that aches for the lost, like God’s does. It means practicing diligence in our own neighborhoods, schools, workplaces, and even online communities to reach out with love. And it means learning to rejoice when anyone takes a step toward Jesus—because heaven is already celebrating.

Instead of blocking, unfriending, or writing people off, what if we prayed for them? What if we looked for ways to connect rather than cancel? What if we remembered that no one is a lost cause in God’s eyes?

Thank God He never gave up on us. Let’s not give up on one another.

A Closing Prayer

Lord, give us Your heart for the lost. Help us to see through Your eyes, to desire those who wander, to diligently seek them out, and to delight in every soul that turns back to You. Keep us humble, remind us that we too are sinners saved by grace, and use us as instruments of reconciliation in a divided world. Amen.

Post is based on Sermon preached at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Jacksonville: The God Who Seeks The Lost (September 14, 2025).

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Before anything else can be said, our hearts must turn to Charlie Kirk’s beloved wife and their young children. No words can carry the weight of their loss, nor can they ease the deep grief of a family suddenly bereft of a husband and father. As a community, we are called to weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15), to uphold them in prayer, and to surround them with tangible love and care. Their sorrow is heavy, but they do not walk alone. May the Lord, who is “a father to the fatherless and a defender of widows” (Psalm 68:5), be their refuge and strength in these dark days. I pray that his children, though deprived of his presence, may one day see clearly that their father’s courage and faith were godly and true. Yet we acknowledge with broken hearts that it would have been far better for them to have their father by their side.

Deacon Stephen, the first to be killed for his belief in Jesus, asked, “Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute?” (Acts 7:52).

In every respect, Charlie Kirk was a godly prophet—courageous in ways that many seasoned leaders in the church often fail to be. One reason why so many young adults were drawn to him and his open forums was that he was willing to discuss any subject, debate any topic, and wrestle with what God’s Word and his Christian faith had to say about it. Nothing was ever off the table. Most of us would never submit our deeply held convictions about faith and politics to the public, content to speak only in safe spaces and behind cloistered walls. But not Charlie Kirk—he was brave enough to take the truth of God into the arena.

I have noticed that some are cynically commenting on the irony of his defense of the Second Amendment. Of course, gun control is a hot topic in our public debate. But so too should be the heart, mind, and ideologies behind those who would assassinate defenders of rights and freedom. The defense of our freedoms carries inherent risk. Charlie Kirk was brave, truth-speaking, public. He submitted himself and his ideas to debate and scrutiny. He was open and vulnerable—vulnerable to being proven wrong, vulnerable to having his ideas tested, vulnerable to public ridicule and scorn, vulnerable to being canceled, vulnerable even to being killed.

By contrast, the assassin is a coward. He hides in the shadows, under cover of darkness. He is faithless, a hater of truth and light—evil. God sees and knows, and the assassin has done evil in the sight of the Lord (Proverbs 15:3).

“Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute?” (Acts 7:52). The words of Jesus also ring true: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!” (Matthew 23:37). Unfortunately, these words have been fulfilled again.

Charlie Kirk stood up for family, for moral clarity, for the freedom of inalienable rights, and for divine truth. And for that, he was murdered in the public square. I cannot help but think about the call of Jesus before he ascended: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

Charlie Kirk was courageously faithful to this mission. He was a witness for Jesus Christ, relying on the empowerment of the Holy Spirit to give him the words. In the early church, the Greek word behind our English “witness” became synonymous with giving up one’s life for the faith. That word is martyr. Charlie Kirk is a witness—and a martyr—for Jesus Christ.

There are seasons when culture becomes corrupt through godless thinking. Ours is such a season, and we need more Charlie Kirks to stand up and speak. Of course, he has shown us the cost of such a stand. Each of us must summon our own courage and be responsible for our own witness. At times, Jesus spoke boldly, and at times, he remained silent (cf. John 18:33–37; Mark 14:61). We are called to be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16ff.). Persecution will come. The days are evil (Ephesians 5:16). We are also called to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world (Matthew 5:13–16). Charlie Kirk rightly critiqued the church for too often hiding its light under a bushel and losing its saltiness.

It has often been said in moments like this: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” Church history is replete with those who bravely faced the sword, imprisonment, stoning, wild beasts, fire, and the cross—all to bear witness in Jesus’ name. These are those “of whom the world is not worthy” (cf. Hebrews 11:35–38). Their martyrdoms never go unnoticed. They become beacons of greater faith and courage by those who share their beliefs. Not only does the Lord see their testimony, but so does a watching world. This is the paradoxical power of the cross and the crucified life. To the world it is foolishness, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).

Charlie Kirk’s ministry was called Turning Point. The name itself is inspirational, envisioning young adults recognizing their calling to be the change in this world. We are indeed in a time where we need a turning point—for our culture, our country, and our world—to turn back to God and to faithfulness to His Word. This too is a prophetic call. Just as 9/11/2001 became a turning point when many turned to the Lord in the face of horrific evil, may September 10, 2025, be the prescient moment of a turning point for renewed witness for Jesus Christ in the public arena.

Here Roosevelt’s words seem prophetic: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood… who errs, who comes short again and again… but who does actually strive to do the deeds… who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.” Charlie Kirk dared greatly, because he was the man who was actually in the arena.

Evil may think it has won a victory in silencing a compelling voice and extinguishing a bright light for God. But this is Satan’s downfall. The cross of Jesus Christ is the true victory. Those who pick up their cross and follow Him will overcome, tearing down the gates of hell “by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death” (Revelation 12:11).

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