“But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” —Matthew 5:44 (NLT) love your enemies 

The call to love your enemies after violence isn’t naive theology—it’s spiritual warfare. When Charlie Kirk was assassinated at his speaking engagement on September 10th, our community faced an impossible question: How do we love those who literally kill us?

This isn’t about minimizing evil or bypassing justice. Murder is evil, full stop. But in the aftermath of violence, we’re faced with a choice that defines our humanity: Will we let hate have the last word, or will we choose the harder path of grace? Jesus didn’t suggest we love our enemies from a safe distance—He commanded it while being crucified by them.

Today’s devotional isn’t easy reading. It’s for those of us struggling to reconcile our rage with our faith, our desire for justice with Christ’s call to forgiveness. Because loving your enemies after violence might be the most radical act of resistance we can offer a world drunk on revenge.

When Violence Shatters Our Safe Spaces

There’s a grief that doesn’t fit in headlines. It’s the kind that sits in the soul like ash—after the fire, after the fury, after the shock.

September 10th, 2025. Utah. A man stood to speak, and violence silenced him forever. Charlie Kirk—husband, father, voice—murdered at a podium. Whether you agreed with him or not doesn’t matter now. What matters is this: a wife sleeps alone tonight. Children ask why daddy isn’t coming home. And we’re left standing in the rubble, wondering if anywhere is safe anymore.

I’ve stood at too many crime scenes disguised as sanctuaries. Churches shot up during prayer. Speakers targeted for their faith. Believers martyred for the audacity of hope. Each time, the same question rises like bile:

How do we love when hate keeps winning?

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The Scandal of Enemy Love

Jesus spoke Matthew 5:44 knowing exactly what He was asking. This wasn’t philosophy from an ivory tower. This was a Rabbi who would soon feel the lash, taste His own blood, forgive His killers with punctured lungs.

“Love your enemies.”

Three words that feel impossible when you’re washing blood from sanctuary floors. Three words that sound naive when you’re explaining to children why someone wanted to hurt their daddy. Three words that Jesus lived all the way to the cross.

Let me be clear: loving our enemies doesn’t mean minimizing evil.

Murder is evil. Violence is evil. Hatred that pulls triggers and shatters families is evil. We name it. We grieve it. We rage against it.

But here’s what I’ve learned in hospital rooms and courtrooms, in the aftermath of betrayal and brutality: hate is a poison we drink hoping others will die. And Jesus offers us something different—not denial, not naivety, but defiant grace.

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When Hate Knocks at the Door

The early church knew this tension intimately. Stephen, stoned while praying for his murderers. Paul, imprisoned yet writing about joy. Peter, crucified upside down, still preaching grace. They didn’t love their enemies because it was easy. They loved because it was the only way to stay human in an inhuman world.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” —Romans 12:21

What does this look like after an assassination? After violence invades our gathering spaces? After fear makes us want to build higher walls instead of longer tables?

It looks like grief without bitterness.
It looks like justice without vengeance.
It looks like protection without paranoia.
It looks like remembering that the person who pulled the trigger was made in God’s image too—broken, twisted, fallen, but still bearing the fingerprints of the Divine.

This isn’t spiritual bypassing. This is spiritual warfare.

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The Weight of Forgiveness love your enemies

I need to tell you something before we go further: forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean trusting. It doesn’t mean absence of consequences.

Forgiveness means refusing to let someone else’s evil define your heart’s posture.

“Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called.” —1 Peter 3:9

Called. Not suggested. Called.

This calling feels unbearable when violence has names and faces. When it’s not theoretical but visceral. When you can still hear the screams, still see the footage, still feel the collective gasp of a community violated.

But here’s what the enemy doesn’t understand: grace is more powerful than gunpowder. Love outlasts hate. Every act of violence is met by a thousand acts of kindness. Every funeral becomes a resurrection ground for compassion.

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The Story That Changed Everything love your enemies

A while ago, I was invited to speak at a small church, one of those places where the pews creak and the coffee is always a little too strong. I’d taught there before, but this time felt different. Tensions were high. A man had been stirring division in the community, accusing leaders of corruption, sowing distrust. He’d threatened me personally, said I was a “false shepherd.” I knew his face. I knew his pain. And I knew he’d be sitting in the third row.

I prayed hard that morning. Not for eloquence—but for mercy. For the kind of love that doesn’t come naturally. The kind that costs something.

I walked into the sanctuary and saw him—arms crossed, eyes cold. And I felt it: the temptation to preach around him, to protect myself with Scripture like a shield. But Jesus didn’t preach around Judas. He washed his feet.

So I changed the message. I spoke on forgiveness. On the cross. On the scandal of grace. I told stories of my own failures, my own betrayals. I let vulnerability lead.

After the service, he approached me. I braced myself.

But he didn’t accuse me. He wept.

He said, “I didn’t come to listen. I came to judge. But you spoke like someone who’s been broken too.”

We talked for an hour. Not about politics. Not about theology. About wounds. About fathers. About the long road back to trust.

That day, I learned something:

Loving your enemy doesn’t mean you agree with them. It means you refuse to let hate be your teacher.

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What Love Looks Like in the Aftermath love your enemies

So what does it mean to love our enemies when violence has shattered our sense of safety? When a speaker can’t finish his sentence without fearing for his life? When churches feel more like targets than sanctuaries?

It Means We Grieve Honestly

We don’t minimize the loss. We weep with those who weep. We name Charlie Kirk—not as a political figure, but as a child of God whose life was stolen. We sit in the ache. We let tears be our prayers when words fail.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” —Matthew 5:4

It Means We Resist Differently

We don’t fight hate with hate. We fight it with radical hospitality. With stubborn compassion. With communities that refuse to let fear have the final word.

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.” —Romans 12:20

This isn’t passivity. It’s the most active resistance there is—choosing love when everything in us screams for revenge.

It Means We Protect Without Becoming Prisoners

Yes, we take precautions. Yes, we grieve the necessity of security. But we don’t let fear build our theology. We don’t let violence edit our gospel. We continue gathering. We continue speaking. We continue loving.

Because the moment we stop, they win.

It Means We Pray Like Warriors

Not nice prayers. Not safe prayers. But prayers that storm heaven. Prayers for the Kirk family—for comfort that defies logic, for provision that meets every need, for children who will somehow still believe in goodness.

And yes—prayers for the one who pulled the trigger. Not prayers of blessing for evil, but prayers that somewhere in that twisted soul, grace might find a crack to enter. Because if grace can’t reach the worst of us, it can’t reach any of us.

“But I say to you who hear: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” —Luke 6:27-28

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The Community Response love your enemies

How should churches respond when violence touches our community? When speakers are silenced? When hatred manifests in bullets?

We Gather, We Don’t Scatter

The enemy wants us isolated, afraid, suspicious. We respond by drawing closer. By checking on each other. By refusing to let violence divorce us from community.

We Lament Together

We create spaces for honest grief. We don’t rush to resurrection without sitting in Saturday’s grave. We let pain have its voice without letting it have the microphone forever.

We Tell Better Stories

For every act of violence, we tell ten stories of redemption. We amplify grace. We celebrate the churches that stay open, the speakers who keep speaking, the believers who keep believing. We make love louder than hate.

We Build Bridges, Not Bunkers

We reach across divides. We have hard conversations. We humanize those we disagree with. We refuse to let political or theological differences become battle lines.

We Remember Our Real Enemy

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness.” —Ephesians 6:12

The person who committed this act was a weapon, not the warrior. Our battle is spiritual. Our weapons are spiritual. Our victory is assured.

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The Internal Work of Grace love your enemies

But before we can love enemies “out there,” we need to deal with the enemies within—the voices that whisper for vengeance, the fear that wants to build walls, the part of us that wants to meet violence with violence.

Journal Through the Journey

Take time this week to write through these prompts:

• Where am I harboring hatred? Not just toward this shooter, but toward anyone. Where have I let someone else’s evil poison my own heart?
• What would it cost me to pray for this person? Not to approve, not to excuse, but to genuinely ask God to reach them. What would I have to release?
• How has fear changed me? Am I avoiding certain places? Certain conversations? How has violence edited my freedom?
• Where have I seen grace in impossible places? When has forgiveness surprised me? When has love shown up uninvited?
• What would radical love look like in my context? Not theoretical love, but practical, costly, Monday-morning love?

Pray Dangerous Prayers

Lord, I don’t want to love my enemies.
Everything in me wants justice that looks like revenge.
Everything in me wants safety that looks like isolation.
Everything in me wants righteousness that looks like superiority.

But You loved me when I was Your enemy.
You forgave me when I drove the nails.
You welcomed me when I deserved exile.

So teach me to love like You love—
Not because they deserve it,
But because hate is too heavy to carry.

Give me grace for the shooter I’ll never meet.
Give me compassion for the broken soul behind the trigger.
Give me wisdom to seek justice without becoming unjust.
Give me courage to stay open when fear wants me closed.

And Lord, hold the Kirk family tonight.
Be husband to the widow.
Be father to the fatherless.
Be near to the brokenhearted.
Be strength to the speechless.

We trust You with our rage.
We trust You with our fear.
We trust You with our enemies.
We trust You with our hearts.

In Jesus’ name—the One who loved through nails—
Amen.

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The Miracle We Don’t Feel love your enemies

Here’s what I know: you might not feel love for the person who did this. You might feel rage, disgust, a desire for justice that looks more like vengeance. That’s human. That’s honest. That’s okay.

The miracle isn’t that we feel love for our enemies.
The miracle is that we choose it anyway.

We choose it in how we speak about them.
We choose it in how we pray for them.
We choose it in how we refuse to let their hatred multiply in our hearts.

This is the rebellion of grace—that in a world drunk on vengeance, we stay sober with mercy. That in a culture that celebrates retaliation, we practice resurrection. That in the aftermath of violence, we become living proof that love is stronger than death.

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For the Speakers Still Standing love your enemies

To those who will step behind podiums this Sunday, who will stand where Charlie Kirk fell, who will speak truth knowing it might cost everything:

You are not alone.
Heaven holds its breath when you speak.
Angels guard your words.
The cloud of witnesses cheers you on.

Speak anyway. Love anyway. Hope anyway.

Because every word of grace is a victory over violence. Every sermon preached is a resurrection. Every gathering is a declaration that hate doesn’t have the final word.

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The Long Road Home

Forgiveness isn’t a moment—it’s a journey. Some days you’ll feel it. Some days you’ll have to choose it through gritted teeth. Some days you’ll fail completely and have to start over.

That’s okay. Grace is patient. Love is long. The road to enemy love is paved with a thousand small decisions to not let hate win.

Charlie Kirk’s voice was silenced, but his story isn’t over. Because every act of grace in response to his death is a chapter he’s still writing. Every prayer for his family is a verse in his ongoing song. Every choice to love instead of hate is a sermon he’s still preaching.

Violence took his life.
It doesn’t get to take our love.

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Questions for Reflection love your enemies

As you sit with this devastating reality, consider:

1. What fear needs to be named and released? Where has violence made you want to withdraw from community, from speaking truth, from living openly? Can you identify the specific fear and offer it to God?
2. Who is your “enemy” today? Maybe not someone who wishes you physical harm, but someone whose actions or beliefs feel threatening to what you hold dear. What would it look like to pray for them—really pray for them—this week?
3. How can your community become a beacon of defiant grace? What practical steps can your church, small group, or family take to respond to violence with radical love? How can you make grace louder than gunshots?

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Your Action Step love your enemies

This week, commit to one concrete act of enemy love:

• Write a letter (even if you never send it) to someone who has hurt you, expressing forgiveness
• Pray daily for someone you struggle to love—be specific, be honest, be persistent
• Reach out to someone you’ve been avoiding due to political, theological, or personal differences
• Support the Kirk family through prayer, financial gift, or messages of hope
• Share a story of forgiveness that has marked your life—let grace be louder than grief

Remember: this isn’t about feeling ready. It’s about choosing love when everything in you wants to choose hate.

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A Prayer for the Aftermath love your enemies

Father of the brokenhearted,
God of the violated,
Spirit who groans when we have no words—

We bring You our rage, our fear, our disbelief.
We bring You a widow’s tears and children’s questions.
We bring You a community reeling and a nation divided.

We confess: we don’t want to love our enemies.
We want justice that looks like revenge.
We want safety that builds walls.
We want easy answers to impossible questions.

But You offer us something different:
Grace in the aftermath.
Love in the ruins.
Hope with dirt under its fingernails.

So teach us to love like You—
Not perfectly, but persistently.
Not feeling it, but choosing it.
Not because it’s safe, but because it’s sacred.

Hold the Kirk family in Your unbreakable embrace.
Comfort with Your presence what words cannot touch.
Be the father Charlie can no longer be.
Be the husband his wife needs.
Be the future his children can’t yet see.

And somehow, Lord—
In Your mysterious mercy—
Reach the one who pulled the trigger.
Not to excuse, but to redeem.
Not to minimize evil, but to maximize grace.

Because if grace can’t reach the worst of us,
It can’t reach any of us.

We trust You with our enemies.
We trust You with our fear.
We trust You with tomorrow’s uncertainty.
We trust You to make all things new—
Even this.

Especially this.

In the name of Jesus,
Who loved through nails,
Who forgave through blood,
Who conquered through a cross—

Amen.

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The Last Word love your enemies

Violence doesn’t get the last word. Fear doesn’t get the last word. Death doesn’t get the last word.

Love gets the last word.

Love that shows up at crime scenes with casseroles. Love that sits in silence when words fail. Love that refuses to let hate multiply. Love that builds longer tables when fear wants higher walls. Love that speaks truth knowing the cost. Love that forgives the unforgivable.

This is the scandal of the gospel: while we were still enemies, Christ died for us.

And this is our calling: to love our enemies, not because they deserve it, but because Love Himself lives in us.

Charlie Kirk’s assassination is a tragedy that echoes through eternity. But grace echoes louder. Love reaches further. Hope digs deeper.

In the aftermath of violence, we become the aftermath of grace.

We choose love. We choose it badly, imperfectly, through tears and rage and doubt. But we choose it. Again and again and again.

Because in the end, love is the only thing that rises from graves.

Love is the only thing that outlasts bullets.

Love is the only thing that makes us human in inhuman times.

Grace. Always grace.

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For Further Reflection

Scripture to Meditate On:

• Matthew 5:43-48 — The full teaching on enemy love
• Luke 23:34 — Jesus forgiving from the cross
• Acts 7:59-60 — Stephen’s prayer for his murderers
• Romans 12:17-21 — Overcoming evil with good
• 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 — What love looks like in action

Questions for Your Journal:

• How has violence (personal or communal) shaped my view of God?
• What would it look like for my church to be known for radical grace?
• Who in my life needs to hear that they are forgiven?
• How can I be an agent of healing in a wounded world?

A Challenge: Share this devotional with someone who is struggling with forgiveness. Not to preach, but to join them in the journey. Let them know they’re not alone in the aftermath.

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If you’ve read this far, thank you. My heart in every word is to reflect the love and grace of Christ—not just in theology, but in relationship. I write not to impress, but to embrace.

I pray that something here has reminded you: you are not alone, and you are deeply loved.

Grace. Always grace.

With love, prayer, and expectancy,

Bruce Mitchell
A voice of love & grace—always grace
Bruce@allelon.us
allelon.us

“Most important of all, continue to show deep love for each other, for love conceals a multitude of sins.” —1 Peter 4:8

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