The news of Charlie Kirk’s murder stopped me in my tracks. I can’t wrap my head around how a person could make the decision to take another human life. To plan it. To carry it out. To look at someone else — a son, a husband, a friend — and decide they no longer deserve to live.
And how does someone make a decision that will leave children growing up fatherless? That choice doesn’t just take one life — it shatters every life connected to it. A wife without her husband. Children without their father. Parents without their son.
It makes my heart ache and my mind wrestles with the question: why?
Mere Christianity and the Law of Nature
I’m currently reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. It’s kind of a harder read since it was written in the WWII era but still applicable today. Same with The Screwtape Letters.
The first chapter of Mere Christianity talks about the “Law of Nature.” It’s different from laws like gravity. Even if you don’t believe in gravity, it’s still there. Jump out of a second-story building and then let’s talk!
The “Law of Nature” is what people used to call the “Law of Right and Wrong” or the “Moral Code.”
Right and Wrong
It was the common understanding that some things are just “right” or “wrong.” Murder is wrong. Stealing is wrong. Most of us assume people have this basic understanding.
Even those who say there’s no absolute truth are usually flawed in their own logic. Someone may say it’s fine for them to break a promise or steal from you, but they wouldn’t be okay if you did it back to them. So yes—there’s this basic understanding most humans share or we think they share.
Pride at the Center
When I look at our world and see things that make my heart ache — like innocents losing their lives — I struggle. How? Why? What causes someone to take another life on purpose, in a calculated way?
To me, it comes back to pride. Pride thinking we are right and someone else is wrong. Pride that says my way is right and yours is wrong. Pride that someone else “owes” me something, or that my lot in life is somebody else’s fault.
PRIDE — a self-centeredness that is poison. I know because I’ve lived with it. Call it pride, call it self-preservation, self-sufficiency, self-centeredness — it all comes down to self.
Pride is a deceiver. You don’t see the harm it causes until it’s too late — until you’re left dealing with the aftermath or someone else is. Pride whispers that you are right, they are wrong, and sometimes they need to pay because they’re wrong.
And it lies so sweetly. Pride tells you exactly what you want to hear, not what you need to hear. It whispers, “That person said that just to hurt you.” Or, “They don’t agree with you, so they must be bad.”
But it never tells the truth and it always wants MORE. It keeps you in the lie, in the cycle — and you don’t even realize you’re in one. It becomes your normal. It starts to isolate you. You avoid the people who bump up against your pride, even family. Slowly you drift deeper and deeper into yourself, where you are the most important person in the world and nothing else matters. Pride creates a desire to eradicate everything that bother you.
Pride is a trap. And the truth is, the one who ends up trapped is you.
Compassion and Tears
When tragedy hits, my first thought is always, someone’s family just got the worst call of their life. A spouse, a child, a parent — someone’s world just shattered.
My second thought is always a prayer: Father, don’t let bitterness take root in their heart. I believe bitterness kills the living.
Every person — whether I like them or not — is somebody’s child. Who am I to think I get to decide who should live or die? But that’s what pride does. Pride says I’m right. I know it all. I couldn’t possibly be wrong.
How did we lose compassion for each other? How did we lose our heart? When did we start believing that having a heart makes you weak?
Growing up, I cried at movies — happy ones and sad ones. My mom always told me it was okay, that crying showed I had a heart and I cared. That stuck with me.
The Power of “I’m Sorry”
One way I’ve learned to spot pride in someone — they rarely apologize. How do I recognize it in myself? I have a really strong urge NOT to apologize. When I feel that? Yep, that’s pride.
And I’ll admit, I mess up… a lot. I’ve had to learn to say, I’m sorry. I’ve made mistakes that hurt people — some intentional, some not. And I’ve had to apologize, over and over.
“I’m sorry” might just be two of the most powerful words we’re not using enough.
Feelings Aren’t the Compass
Our pastor says, “Feelings make a lousy compass.” And he’s right. Just because I feel something doesn’t make it true or valid. Most of the time, my feelings are not something I should be giving power to.
If we want compassion back, we have to start by looking in the mirror. I know, it’s not pretty most times. That’s why we avoid it. It’s so much easier to focus on everyone else’s flaws.
But when we refuse to look, we miss the beauty too. Both the ugly and the beautiful exist inside of us. It’s like the old fable: two wolves. Which one gets stronger? The one you feed.
We always have a choice.
Words That Reveal the Heart
My words are evidence of my heart — and of any pride that lives there. What are the words I’m using day in and day out? Like really. When you’re in church you know the right answer is “Jesus” but in every day life, how are you speaking? How am I speaking? It really that important to criticize someone else? Do I need to speak harsh words to make my point? Do I need to push someone else down?
Would I want someone treating me the way I’m treating them? If the answer is no, then why am I doing it? Am I trying to prove something — or improve something?
And if I say I love Jesus, do my words, thoughts, and actions line up with that? What am I posting on social media? What words are coming out of my mouth? Because what comes out of my mouth reveals what’s in my heart (Matthew 15:18).
Our thoughts become words, and words become actions. I’ve had to dig up some ugly roots in my own life. It was exhausting. It hurt. But it was necessary. And I’m still working on it.
Cleansing the Wound of Pride
Circling back… pride is a wound. And like any wound, it has to be cleansed. Cleansing stings — like pouring alcohol on a cut. But if you don’t do it, it only festers and spreads deeper.
When I see pride in myself or in others now, my heart hurts. Because underneath it, there’s always a wounded heart.
And when I think about Charlie Kirk’s murder, my heart aches all over again. Pride whispered lies to someone until they believed them. Lies so strong they justified taking a life. Lies so strong they made a choice that left children fatherless, a wife widowed, and parents burying their son.
That’s the cost of pride when it goes unchecked. It doesn’t just destroy the one who carries it — it destroys everyone it touches.
When I face pride, I want to react as the world does – defend myself, puff up, lash out but I’m not supposed to live as the world does. That’s not supposed to be my model. My model was different. Jesus lived differently. He spoke differently. He loved differently. And that’s who I want to be like but it comes at a cost… my “self”.