This is one of the most vulnerable blogs I’ve written—not because of tears or heartbreak. I’ve cried in front of hundreds before while preaching. Vulnerability for me here is different. It’s in knowing that some will read these words as a proclamation of politics, or worse, as indifference to the people who were hurt by Charlie Kirk’s platform. That is not what this is. This is simply me—mourning, wrestling, and being honest about where I am.
When the news first broke that Charlie had been shot, my heart sank. But I’ll be honest—I thought, this is terrible, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. And then he wasn’t. He wasn’t fine, and suddenly neither was I.
For the first time in a long time, the death of someone I didn’t know personally deeply affected me. Maybe it’s because I’d watched his YouTube videos and tried to understand what others believe. Maybe it’s because I caught glimpses of his humanity—moments when he laughed, admitted missteps, questioned his own beliefs. Or maybe it’s simply because, underneath the arrogance some heard in his voice, I always heard something else: wonder.
I heard a man who wondered if there was more truth to grasp. Who wondered if he could be wrong. Who wondered how to get it right.I know many were hurt by his words. I’ve read their stories, I’ve listened to their pain. That matters. I’m not dismissing it—you were hurt, and that breaks my heart. But my journey caused me to hear him differently. I heard the seeker. I heard the wrestling. I heard someone a lot like me.
Not because I agreed with all his views. Not because I thought truth was subjective. But because I, too, live with the tension of wanting to get it right, sharing what I’ve discovered so far, while knowing there is always more to learn.
Just this week I sat with a leader I deeply respect here in Detroit. He told me how serving this city has changed him—how it taught him to pause before passing judgment. He shared about a young father arrested for selling weed. Was it wrong? Yes. Was it against the law? Absolutely. But in that father’s eyes, it was the only way to feed his kids and keep the lights on.
And I’ll be real—if that was all I saw, I don’t know that I’d make a different choice. Do I believe God provides? Yes. Do I believe He can do the impossible? Yes. But I’ve also seen enough in this world to know that sometimes, kids still go hungry. Sometimes the world doesn’t step up. And when it’s the ones you love depending on you, you do whatever it takes.
That’s how I saw Charlie. A man who wanted better for his kids, for those he loved, and yes I believe that was truly everyone, even if imperfectly. And I cried because I saw myself in him.
Not in every opinion. Not in every belief. But in that restless hope—that longing for better.
So yes, I’m mourning Charlie Kirk. Not because of his politics, but because he was a 31-year-old husband and dad whose time was cut short. Because I see my own reflection in his flaws and his search. Because it scares me how quickly life can end before we’ve made the difference we long to make for the ones we love.If you weren’t hurt by his death, I don’t judge you. If it even brought you a sense of relief or joy, I don’t understand it—but I also haven’t lived your story. I haven’t walked through your wounds.
All I ask is the same grace for me. I’m grieving. I’m sad. I’m wrestling. I’m scared. And today, I just needed to say that out loud.