Peter Mead

I didn't really know anything about Charlie Kirk Until this week Kirk was a name and face I would occasionally see someone retweet on here and I would scroll past. I'd seen 2 or 3 short videos taken from Tiktok of him debating some low IQ college student but that was it. I'm generally not interested in MAGA. I broadly believe in many of their goals, but find much of the rhetoric and policy implementation to be self defeating. To me Kirk was another Ben Shapiro or Tim Pool. All MAGA, all the time. Immediately following his shooting my shock was political and societal. Another step down in what seems to be the never ending descent of American, and thus Western, society. Another sad day for free speech, no matter what you thought of the man's politics. Then in the following hours my timeline was filled with videos of Kirk as a father, and my heart broke. I saw a man that was clearly devoted to his family and who loved them, and was loved in return, a great deal. I felt that love forever torn apart. I saw a daughter that would never run to her father and wrap her arms around him again. The following day I saw more videos on here, and out of respect and curiosity I watched them all. Maybe they would make some sense of why someone felt the need to end this man's life and rob his children of a father. They did not. Contrary to the tweets spreading through X as some kind of justification, what I found was a man who was deeply religious. I man that had a true belief system, and not one that he bent or shaped to fit to modern society. For example. he absolutely believed that homosexuality was a sin because that was what the bible told him, but he did not hate or think less of those people. Many of his close friends such as Peter Thiel and David Rubin were gay. What I see when I watch the videos of Kirk is a fan of deep faith who put that faith above everything else. I see a man who treated everyone with compassion and civility. I see a man that was friendly and open and honest. Honestly, I see a man that is braver and better than I. Not because he put himself in danger by wanted to talk to people, but by handing himself completely over to a belief system that I've never been able to get my head around. Like many of us, the idea is alien to me. I can't say I don't watch his videos with a tinge of jealousy. What I see is a man who was completely happy. A man confident in his faith and who led his life accordingly. A man who not just believed, but acted on his belief. At a time when so many people seem empty and depressed, it's hard not to be a little jealous of a person that seemed so fulfilled. With this in mind, it's been incensing to see him slandered on here by people without any of the faith and none of the commitment. To see people take the man's faith and turn it into something twisted and hateful. I knew nothing of the man in life, but I will try to listen to him more in death.

The popularity of Charlie Kirk among young people is partly due to the silence of American pastors. Gen Z listened to Charlie because he told them the truth about the issues they were facing. He taught them how to answer the tough questions and he kindly gave the truth. Pastors stopped doing this. For the entire lifetime of Gen Z the attitude toward culture by most "church leaders" has been to huddle in the corner, say nothing about big issues and hope that silence will attract people to Jesus. Gen Z needed more and Charlie gave it to them every single day. Charlie was a treasure who resisted the lie that silence will win people to the truth. I hope in his death many will see the light and change.

The Cross Still Offends The bullet tore the air in half. A folding chair rattled. A Bible dropped. A young man slumped sideways beneath a white event tent, eyes wide with the weight of eternity. It was supposed to be a conversation. A “prove me wrong” segment. But this time, rebuttal came not with words, but with a rifle. Charlie Kirk didn’t get to finish his sentence. I got the news just before prayer meeting. I contemplated this death as I prepared to lead the saints in prayer. But I didn’t feel like praying. Not tonight. My hands were still. My mouth was ready. But my soul was pacing. Angry. Grieving. Tempted. Tempted to grow quiet. Tempted to sit this one out. Tempted to wonder if any of this, faith, boldness, public gospel witness, is still worth it. Because hatred in this country isn’t simmering anymore. It is boiling. Europe is trembling. Israel is burning. Rockets lit the sky over Gaza again. And now, here on American soil, the blood of a Christian apologist paints the pavement of a university quad. What do you do with that? What do you say when courage gets gunned down in daylight? Charlie Kirk was no perfect man. None of us are. But he had backbone where most of us don’t anymore. He was a believer. Unashamed. Unafraid. He understood that real conversations only happen when truth is welcome at the table. And the truth he carried most was Christ. He brought the gospel into public space on purpose. Because the gospel isn’t supposed to stay in church basements and private Bible studies. It is meant to confront. It is supposed to offend. It was not made for safety. The Word became flesh and they nailed Him to a tree. So of course they came for Charlie. Of course they reached for a gun. This is what evil does when it runs out of arguments. It doesn’t reason. It kills. That’s the part that catches in my throat. Not just the sadness, but the strategy of hell behind it. The Enemy wants us afraid. He wants us to see what happened to Charlie and backpedal. He wants the rest of us to whisper, to soften the message, to believe the lie that faith should stay private. But Christ never whispered. He preached in temples, on hillsides, in courtrooms, at dinner tables. And when they told Him to be quiet, He picked up His cross. Not a symbolic one. A real one. Heavy. Bloody. Splintered. When Jesus said, “Follow Me,” He didn’t hand out maps. He handed out crosses. That’s what I remembered tonight. I sat in our prayer space, surrounded by saints who had brought prayer lists and worn Bibles. And I realized I didn’t want to lead them in mourning. I didn’t want to lead them in mourning. I wanted to lead them into battle. Not with banners or fists, but with open Bibles and tear-stained prayers. The kind of war that kneels in gravel beside the wounded, hands them living water, and refuses to leave. The kind that speaks both mercy and judgment without flinching. The kind Charlie died for. This world is not a friend to grace. But grace isn’t fragile. “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” Paul didn’t leave that question unanswered. “Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?” —Romans 8:35 He piles up every fear you and I carry and then sets them on fire. “No. In all these things we are more than conquerors.” That means bullets don’t win. Slander doesn’t win. Prison bars don’t win. Death doesn’t win. You can lose everything in this world and still walk into glory with your head lifted high. Because the love of God in Christ Jesus isn’t suspended by headlines or gunfire. There are two worlds unfolding right now. The one you see. And the one you don’t. One is filled with chaos. The other is filled with crowns. I believe that when Charlie Kirk’s body slumped to the concrete, his soul stood upright in heaven. Not limping. Not silenced. Not stunned. But crowned. He didn’t fall. He crossed. The great cloud of witnesses gained another voice. And I wonder if Stephen met him there. The first martyr. The man who got stoned for preaching what the crowd didn’t want to hear. The man who, in his final breath, saw the heavens open. The only time in all of Scripture we see Jesus standing at the right hand of God, rising to receive one of His own. I like to believe He stood again. Are you afraid? Do you feel the tremble in your spirit? Do you wonder if it’s still worth it to speak boldly, to carry your Bible, to preach the gospel in a world that doesn’t just disagree but wants you gone? You’re not alone. You’re not weak for feeling that. But you are called to something stronger than silence. Don’t let fear become your theology. The cost is high. But the reward? The reward is Christ. And He’s not a concept. He’s a King. Heaven is not empty. It is filled with scarred saints who refused to bow to fear. Men who were stoned. Women who were burned. Children who sang while the flames climbed. And every last one of them arrived. There is no difficulty that can cancel the promise of God. There is no persecution that can derail your destination. There is no sniper’s bullet that can separate a soul from Christ. Your life is not measured by how long you live on earth, but by how much of it was spent pointing to heaven. Paul said, “I have fought the good fight… I have kept the faith.” Then he looked toward the reward. Not a monument. Not a mention in history books. But a crown. Handed to him by the One with nail marks still in His hands. So let me say this clearly. We do not mourn like the world mourns. We do not write eulogies dripping with sentiment. We sing songs of resurrection. We carry the banner of a Kingdom that does not tremble. Charlie Kirk did not die for nothing. He died carrying the same message you and I must now carry forward. The cross stands tall. The tomb is still empty. And the gospel has not lost one ounce of power. So pick up your cross. Wipe your eyes. And keep going. The crown is worth it. The King is coming. And there’s still time to speak. Even if they shoot. Lord, give us courage. And if not safety, give us joy. For we carry not just the message, but the marks. And You are worth every bruise.

This one man did more damage to Western Europe than all of the millions of third-world illegal immigrants combined.