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At our Mission Network gathering of United Methodist pastors this week, our conversation grew heavy as we wrestled with the brokenness of our world and the responses to the murder of Charlie Kirk. Whatever our political differences may be, one truth must remain clear: violence is wrong. Taking a life is never God’s will. Violence never brings healing, only more brokenness. And the kind of hateful rhetoric that stirs up fear and anger only deepens the wounds that already run so deep in our communities.

The truth is, the world around us seems to thrive on division. We are constantly pressured to pick sides, to dig in, and to view our neighbors as opponents to defeat rather than people to love. Labels and slogans swirl through the public square, and with them comes the constant pull to prove ourselves “right,” no matter the cost. That seems to be the spirit of our age—finding new ways to tear one another down.

But our Christian faith is not defined by political platforms. It is defined by the cross of Christ and by the love that flows out from it. Whenever faith is twisted into a weapon to silence others, or raised up as a banner that divides neighbors into “us” and “them,” we lose sight of Jesus—who calls us to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us.

I grew up as an Army dependent, moving from place to place, surrounded by people of many cultures, backgrounds, and traditions. I even had the gift of knowing people from other countries. In that setting, I learned something important: difference is not something to fear, but hate is. Difference can enrich us, expand our vision, and remind us of the beautiful variety of God’s creation. Hate, on the other hand, can destroy us. And the most dangerous form of hate is the kind that hides under religion, speaking against others as if it speaks for God.

Jesus warned us about this very thing when he told us to look first at the log in our own eye before pointing out the speck in our neighbor’s. Maybe what we need most in this time is not more debate or sharper arguments, but a deeper honesty about our own hearts. Maybe instead of asking, “How do I win?” we could begin asking, “How do I live more faithfully in the way of Christ?”

The call of Christ is always to love one another, not to tear one another down. That doesn’t mean we will all see things the same way. To be honest, I disagreed with Charlie Kirk’s politics and public statements. But even in disagreement, I cannot and will not condone hate or violence from either side.  It is heartbreaking that we even speak of “sides,” when Christ calls us to something far greater: the work of reconciliation and compassion.

I want to pause here and speak directly to the grief that cannot be ignored. Charlie Kirk’s wife and his children are walking through a loss that is deep and devastating. Grief does not care about politics. It does not stop to ask about party lines. It simply aches. We may not share the same convictions, but we can share compassion. I pray especially for his children, who will grow up with questions, fears, and pain that words may never fully answer. May they be surrounded with love. May they be anchored in the hope that God is near to the brokenhearted. And may they find comfort not in partisan statements, but in the gentle presence of Christ.

I also need to share something from my own journey. I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of hate. I have been threatened. I have been told more times than I can count that I am bound for hell—simply because I am a woman pastor.  Those moments did not make me bitter, but they did convince me of this: if the church does not choose love, we have chosen wrongly.

So my prayer is simple and yet demanding: may we, the church, resist the temptation to mirror the world’s divisiveness and instead reflect the love of Jesus. Difference does not have to divide us. Hate always will. May we be the people who choose love—always.