In the aftermath of Charlie Kirk’s horrific assassination, public discourse has again revealed its ugliest edges. Social media certainly has a way of exposing the “evil treasure” in our hearts (Luke 6:45).
Neither murder-justifying callousness nor fault-blind hagiography leaves room for our rightful response: lament over a heinous act of violence that claimed the life of a husband, father, and imperfect follower of Jesus. Our rush to accuse or acclaim, without needful pause or nuance, fails our civic life. Our identarian us-vs-them politics has led us down a dark path of dehumanizing rhetoric, betraying basic Christian discipleship.
Notwithstanding Kirk’s more incendiary or uncharitable statements, he was a human being made in God’s image. Further, for those of us in the baptized fold, he was a brother in Christ. His digital legacy includes both combustible clickbait and considerate conversation, each in its own way meant to rouse response. Love him or hate him, he was adept at his craft.
Without further adjudicating Kirk’s legacy, I fear that we––collectively––have lost the art of “speaking the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15). Leaving aside the matter of whether our politics even aspires to truth (or beauty and goodness, for that matter), not merely nihilistic will to power, it is particularly that latter part––love––that our social media and soundbite age have sacrificed at the altar of clicks, likes, views, and shares.
That twofold charge, truth and love, is the balance Christian witness must recover. Truth without love becomes cruelty, weaponizing words for self-righteous gain. Love without truth becomes sentimentality, a vacuous refusal to confront destructive ideologies. Only truth and love together resist the easy, flat caricatures that have become the currency of our polarized politics.
Perhaps overwrought but no less relevant, the final question of the Baptismal Covenant grounds us in a solemn vow: “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” (p. 305) “I will,” we respond, “with God’s help.” That promise binds us to our neighbor, whether they are close friends or sworn adversaries. It reminds us that dignity is not conditional—it is not gained or lost by provocative speech, nor enhanced or diminished by platform or influence. It is inviolably given by God.
A bedrock commitment to inherit dignity must inform our political discourse. St. Thomas Aquinas accordingly situates veritas, truth, as a matter of justice: a “moral debt” required by “equity,” whereby “one man owes another a manifestation of the truth” (Summa Theologica II-II, Q.109, a.3, sc). If speech is a form of justice, then the way we speak about Kirk—or Donald Trump, or Gavin Newsom, or anyone else in public life—must be countenanced by that moral debt rooted in our interlocuter’s essential and undeniable worth. Zero-sum discourse, ad hominem insult, and secret or not-so-secret schadenfreude fall short of that justice. So too, idolization obscuring shortcomings: there is a reason the saints are vetted by a devil’s advocate en route to canonization.
Pope Francis, in Fratelli tutti, presciently warned: “Social aggression has found unparalleled room for expansion through computers and mobile devices.” (§44) He further bemoaned the “comfortable consumerist isolation” of online exchanges, so lacking “authentic interpersonal relationships,” noting how discursive hostility is fostered by algorithms designed to maximize outrage and monetize division (§45). Christians must awaken to the spiritual danger here: when anger becomes currency, the imago dei is all-too-conveniently obscured.
Christian discourse is not mere politeness or conflict-avoidance. It is a discipline, a spiritual practice of refusing to let rhetoric eclipse our neighbor’s humanity. As the psalmist says,
“Keep your tongue from evil-speaking *
and your lips from lying words,
Turn from evil and do good; *
seek peace and pursue it.” (Psalm 34:13–14, Sixth Day: Evening Prayer, p. 628)
To pursue peace is not to avoid wading into difficult debates, but to speak in a way that refuses demeaning contempt.
Aquinas likewise reminds us prudence is the virtue by which we discern the right means to good ends. That prudence is needed now more than ever in our media engagement: watching, listening, posting. Before we like, comment, or share, we must ask: does this honor human dignity? Does it advance truth in love? Or does it simply add fuel to outrage that profits techno-feudalist companies while corroding our souls and body politic?
Christians, in this time, must model an alternative economy of attention. Pope Benedict XVI, in Caritas in veritate, wrote that “charity is at the heart of the Church’s social doctrine” (§2). That charity is not sentimental feeling but the ordering of relationships according to God’s justice and mercy. If charity guides our speech, then we can engage in true dialogue––even with those whose politics we find dangerous or offensive.
Provocateur politics thrives on estrangement. The politics of Christ call us to something else: to pursue probity without malice, to foster reconciling grace, and to “seek peace” across bitter divides. Scripture and Tradition converge on this point: our public witness is judged not merely by the content of our convictions, but by how we bear those convictions.
In an age when outrage is monetized and contempt is algorithmically rewarded, Christians have the chance to stand apart—not by withdrawing, but by embodying a different way. To speak the truth in love. To respect the dignity of every human being. To pursue peace and justice, not as abstractions, but as the lived form of (offline, local) discipleship.
That witness may not go viral. But it just might heal what incitement corrodes.
The Rev. Joseph Wolyniak serves as a remote member of the pastoral staff at Christ Church, Denver and as vicar of St. David Emmanuel in Shoreline, WA. He also teaches theology at Seattle University. Previous appointments include Chapel Lector at St John’s College, Oxford, Chaplain at Princeton University, and Missioner for Discipleship & Theological Education in the Episcopal Diocese of Colorado.
