I realize the irony of my writing this, but I think we all need to take a day off from the internet. Nausea has creeped into my body at the thought of scrolling on my phone. My friends from across the political and religious spectrum are lapping up vengeance like it is their mother’s milk.
And I cannot take it.
I also understand. Anger is a very natural response to injustice and violence. And we should be angry. People are dying every day from gun violence. A man was murdered in front of his wife and children. Life feels untenable and unpredictable, which is a lethal combination.
But anger is also a way to avoid sadness. It is a kind of coping mechanism, a false antidepressant to keep the bad and true feelings away. Isolation, hopelessness, and despair are how many of us wake up in the morning. And sometimes the only thing that can get us out of bed is the thought of how angry we are. Anger and depression are the kissing cousins we do not want to take time to consider. But this is to our own detriment.
Because anger leads to vengeance, and vengeance feels like an endless natural resource.
Vengeance is a beautiful feeling. We can make plans for retribution. We can hate people (we know and do not know) in specific ways that just feel right. And that is the best part about vengeance. In a world of random violence, vengeance can make us feel right, even righteous, in the face of so much wrong.
But the beauty is fleeting. And vengeance is anything but endless. It does come to an end because it ultimately ends us. Anger and rage will be our undoing. It will kill us. If deathbed ministry has taught me anything, it is that people who live in anger come to the end of themselves and find a seething, hollow version of who we thought they were.
You never win. Because when people are violent, there is never a winner.
I checked on a friend of mine yesterday because I was worried about how she was handling the news cycle. We do not vote the same way. But we love the same way. Her husband has suffered a traumatic brain injury and she is his caretaker. She is old enough to be my mother. She tells me these are her “love and devotion years,” and I listen to every drop of wisdom she shares with me.
As I write this, I have one of her family quilts on my lap. She has taught me how to make Italian food and that I should be using dryer sheets. That’s how well we love each other.
As she picked up the phone, I said, “Hey girl, I’m checking on you!”
And she exclaimed, “Have you heard how sick we were? I couldn’t get off of the couch.” And she went on to talk about the fear of being the one who cares for her husband and her plans for how to handle the future. I just listened and realized that her world of pain and heartache is so much more specific than I had assumed. And thank God I called her to remind myself of that.
I am pretty hopeless when it comes to humanity these days. I do not have a general call for unity that I think will be at all effective. I think I have seen too many school shootings for that. There is simply too much vitriol out there for me to think that anything I can do or say would be helpful.
Something or Someone has to come from outside of me, from outside of us. The only template in my life that has ever worked involves humility, a cross, and enough grace to sweep me off my feet.
If vengeance is the end of us, then grace is the beginning.
Where vengeance runs out, grace is a deep ocean of relief.
Grace is the only endless natural resource we have. There is always more mercy to be found. In our most furious moments, grace is sweetly whispering from the corner that there is a way out. When God’s forgiveness feels limited, grace nudges the lines a little further. And even if we take the vengeance train all the way to our limits, grace still stands there telling us to put the guns down, to get off the internet, and to reach beyond ourselves to someone we love.
This is so good. I hope everyone reads it!
While I appreciate the broad sentiment of this piece, a few things did not sit well with me.
1. I don’t know the point of differentiating “gun violence” from plain old violence violence. It feels especially out of place here when we’re all still talking about the Ukrainian refugee being stabbed to death.
2. I don’t think anger and sadness are mutually exclusive. It’s very possible to experience both simultaneously.
3. I also do not think anger necessarily leads to vengeance. It is possible to be angry and forgive at the same time, as we’re called to do.
4. Similarly, it is not sinful to desire justice. I take solace in the fact that God will ultimately and perfectly punish the wicked, and as a Christian I am of course grateful to be clothed in the righteousness of Christ.
5. Not to go too far adrift here, but I do distinguish between God’s perfect justice in the final judgment and our imperfect justice here and now on this Earth. That means I can hope Charlie Kirk’s killer repents and believes the gospel while simultaneously hoping he gets a swift execution.
I value this organization’s emphasis on grace. I heartily co-sign everything in the last couple of paragraphs or so.
But I think we lose something when we hesitate to call something “evil” or “wicked,” and opt for words like “senseless” instead.
I hope this does not come across as one giant nitpick. I just fear that in the mess of online comments and reactions, a healthy and righteous thirst for justice will be conflated with a sinful and egotistical desire for retribution.
My response to Charlie Kirk’s death has only been sorrow. I’m grateful for the responses that have called us to pray, love, and be courageous and firm in our faith. The eloquent, wise governor of Utah said,”Go touch the grass, get off your screens, and hug your family.” He called on all people to respond as the people in Utah did- no riots, looting, or car burning but rather prayers and peaceful vigils that remembered and honored Charlie Kirk. He’s being held in his Savior’s loving arms. May God continue to comfort his family.
I wholeheartedly agree with Simon’s thoughts. Thanks for taking the time to compose them.
Simon, I appreciate you taking the time to compose your thoughts and reflect honestly. I value Mockingbird in part because it is such a good place for this kind of compassionate and faithful conversation to take place.
I confess I see a lot that resonates with me in your comments, but one that I don’t understand, as a fellow Christian, is the hope that the alleged killer gets a “swift execution”. I think we sometimes presume that our own “thirst for justice” is “healthy and righteous” when we think we have a good handle on all the facts, but there is so much tragedy that has to occur *before* someone takes a gun and kills someone else that I just can’t see my way to wishing that. I don’t see that person the way God sees them.
I also think Sarah’s differentiation of gun violence is meaningful simply because we have so, so much gun violence in this country. There’s lots of non-gun-violence too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s so wildly out of proportion in the U.S. that it is absolutely a meaningful category. Guns allow our violent impulses to take on an immediacy and effect that other kinds of violence, while heinous, simply can’t match. I may be particularly sensitive to this because yet another school shooting took place near my home on the same day as the Utah shooting. Your point is well-taken that it’s one part of a much broader culture of violence that, regrettably, defines our fallen humanity.
Wishing you well, and peace to all in a time that doesn’t feel very peaceful ~
To the reader whose stomach turns at the headlines and whose heart is heavy with anger: you are seen, and you are not asked to be a hero today.
Anger is often the bright edge of sorrow. The Scriptures don’t shame you for it; they give you a place to put it. Pray your anger instead of aiming it. “How long, O Lord?” is a holy sentence. The Lord receives it without rolling His eyes. He binds it to the cross where wrath was spent and mercy began.
Vengeance, though, will seduce you. It promises to make chaos feel tidy and pain feel powerful. But vengeance is a consuming fire that ends in ash. God keeps it for Himself, not because evil shouldn’t be answered, but because only a Holy Judge can answer it without destroying the penitent along with the guilty.
Justice is different. Justice is love with a backbone. It protects the weak, names evil truthfully, and entrusts the sword to lawful authority for our neighbor’s good. You can seek that without baptizing your rage and without despising those who see policies differently. Keep the diagnosis biblical: tools can magnify harm, but sin rises from the human heart. That keeps our lament personal, our speech careful, and our hope grounded where it belongs.
And hear this, tender soul: you are not required to fix the world by fury, nor to punish yourself for feeling what you feel. Christ has carried the heavier load. He does not lay a new law upon your grief. He gives you gifts: His Word to steady, His forgiveness to cleanse, His Supper to strengthen, His Church to hold you while the storm rages.
So, log off if you must. Put a quilt across your lap. Call someone who needs a voice and let them hear yours. Pray the psalms. Breathe. Come to the Lord’s Service and be served. Receive the absolution that does not scold but saves. The cross has already told the truth about evil and the greater truth about mercy. Grace will not run dry; it was purchased with blood, and it is yours.
Thanks for posting Sarah. I was hoping someone from Mbird would say something.
And like the Mockingcast you address the hard issues with grace and humility.
I have wondered how Matthew (the Roman tax collector) and Simon (the Zealot) came together after Jesus called them. Something happened and they both died for the sake of the Gospel
Right from your heart Sarah, as always and beautifully and gracefully said. I happen to agree with you on this. I also echo Cheryl and Pierre’s comments. Turn off the phone, go outside and exhale that breath that everyone seems to be holding.
“. . . grace still stands there telling us to put the guns down, to get off the internet, and to reach beyond ourselves to someone we love.”
Or, as might also be said, to reach beyond ourselves to someone who loves us, and who loves all of us.
Thank you, Sarah.
Thank you, I will return to this article. Last night I was thinking about the lure of vengeance and how it galvanizes and leads people to believe they have power. Our powerlessness comes in accepting that Charlie Kirk is dead and his death is as tragic and senseless as all assassination. From accepting that place of powerlessness, we will find a way forward, but not until then.