I still remember September 12, 2001. The day after the towers fell, we were all glued to our televisions, hearts heavy, eyes swollen, minds trying to grasp the horror of what had just unfolded. It was trauma bonding on a national scale. For a fleeting moment, grief bound us together. Flags waved from porches. Strangers embraced in grocery store aisles. Prayers rose in unison across denominations, across political parties, across lines that usually divided us.

For that brief season, unity felt tangible. We didn’t look at each other as “us versus them.” We looked at each other as Americans. As humans. As neighbors.

Fast forward nearly a quarter-century, and the landscape feels almost unrecognizable. The trauma that once united us has given way to disunity so deep that some now believe violence is the only way to answer a differing political viewpoint. What once was grief that tethered us has become suspicion that severs us.

Today, that fracture came into sharp relief with the tragic death of Charlie Kirk. A husband, a father, a son, a friend—and yes, a political commentator whose bold style drew both passionate support and fierce opposition. His voice was silenced not by debate or disagreement, but by the bullet of a sniper. And while his family grieves the unthinkable, some voices online have responded not with compassion, but with celebration. That reaction, perhaps even more than the violence itself, reveals how far we have fallen as a people.

There’s something profoundly tragic about living in a country where we are not only weary of our government or global threats, but weary of one another. Where the death of a man is not universally met with mourning, but with mockery. Where disagreement no longer fuels dialogue, but destruction.

The Bible does not shy away from this reality. The prophet Habakkuk cried out in his own time:

“How long, LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not save?” (Habakkuk 1:2)

That lament feels eerily present today. Evil no longer comes just from “out there.” It festers among us, nurtured by division, emboldened by hate, and too often amplified in the cruel corners of the internet.

As Christians, it’s tempting to grow numb, to stop caring, to retreat behind our walls. But numbness is not our calling. We are invited to weep with those who weep, to mourn the brokenness of our nation, and to bear witness to a different way.

Unity may feel like a distant memory, but it isn’t beyond redemption. The same God who bound a nation together in grief is the God who still whispers peace over His people today. It will not come through more outrage or more bloodshed. It will only come as we learn again to see the image of God in every person—even those whose views we find offensive or intolerable.

We may never go back to the unity of 9/12. But perhaps we are being called toward something deeper: a unity not born out of trauma, but out of intentional love. A love that resists suspicion. A love that refuses to weaponize difference. A love that insists on light in the darkest of days.

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A Prayer for Our Time

Lord, our hearts are heavy with grief today. We lift up Charlie Kirk’s family, friends, and community as they face the unthinkable. Surround them with comfort that only You can give, and let them know they are not alone in their sorrow.

We also lift up our nation. Heal us, Lord, from the bitterness that divides us and the hatred that blinds us. Protect us from the temptation to dehumanize one another. Teach us again what it means to be neighbors, to love as You loved, to pray even for those we see as enemies.

In a world that glorifies outrage, make us people of peace. In a culture that thrives on fear, make us witnesses of hope. Bind us together not by trauma, but by Your love. And let light shine all the brighter in the darkness.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.