Dave Brisbin 9.21.25
When an event has the immense impact Charlie Kirk’s assassination is having on us collectively if not personally, we need to stop and take a look around and inside. I was shocked at the news of his assassination, but even more at the worldwide response—hadn’t realized the depth of his following. The political response was predictable, though, supporters and detractors alike making him a symbol for their respective positions. It was sad to see the real man, the complicated, imperfect human we all are becoming lost.
Within Christian circles, one group is becoming militant, vowing to fight to bring the country back into alignment with Christian values. A second appears to be growing despondent, expressing a sense of despair over both the situation and the Christian response, feeling disenfranchised by their church, questioning traditional faith and beliefs.
I can understand both camps. If you’re seeing cherished values slipping away, you instinctively want to consolidate, organize, fight. In the 4th century, the Roman Empire finally recognized Christianity, protected it, and ultimately declared it the state religion. Many Christians celebrated, but at the same time, others—the Desert Fathers and Mothers—fled to the deserts of Egypt and Judea to find a faith and church they felt they’d lost in a sea of Roman power. We seem poised at such a moment again.
Jesus taught in story and metaphor. Did he give us a primary metaphor for our spiritual lives? We seem to have decided as a church that it’s the image of the warrior that suits us best. But Jesus never uses it. He gives us image after image of the gardener—quietly bent over the soil, flowing with wind and weather—rather than armored opposition.
Are we warriors or gardeners?
Never either/or, we’ll need to be both over the course of our lives. But when it’s time to fight, are we characterized by anger and anxiety, or are we happy warriors, still capable of compassion and patience, aware that outcomes are not under our direct control? Are we humble warriors with a gardener’s heart, always looking longingly through the conflict to the silent fields of home?
