I have seen this circulating on FB, and maybe you have also. It's written by a Brian Drinkwine, about whom I know nothing except he has a website here: https://briandrinkwine.com/
Our pastor is fond of asking us to examine whose kingdom we are building. I have found that to be an excellent check (in so many areas). Balance is hard, and I know believers have had differing opinions from the beginning of Church history until now. May we love God first and love our neighbor well.
post from FB:
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***If you follow Jesus and you saw Charlie Kirk's funeral yesterday, please stop what you're doing and read this post. As a pastor, I simply don't think we're seeing the whole picture.***
Yesterday, Charlie Kirk’s memorial service was broadcast to the world. Eighty thousand people packed into a stadium, millions more watching online, numbers that rival the Super Bowl. The sheer scale reveals something: this is bigger than politics. Charlie’s death has become a defining moment for the American Church, exposing the deepest fractures in our faith.
While I missed parts of it because it overlapped with our service, I watched most of the service. There were several moments that I found heartwarming and moving. In fact, I found it quite beautiful. And the sight of worship music to such a massive audience was just awesome.
But I also felt an uneasiness about it, as I knew that so many people weren't watching it, not because they don't love Jesus, but because for them the service was not a symbol of hope, beauty, love, or the gospel of Jesus. These people love Jesus, see the Bible as utterly authoritative over their lives, and I would consider them spiritually mature and biblically astute. Yet for them, the service was something else entirely.
And here’s the hard truth: we are not all remembering the same Charlie Kirk.
For some, Charlie was a hero: calm, articulate, respectful in hostile territory, unflinching in his defense of Christian values. They saw a committed Christian, a faithful husband, a caring father, and now, a martyr. Their grief carries pride, even hope, that his death has awakened a movement of “little Charlies” rising up.
For others, Charlie was a threat. His words carried wounds, his rhetoric stoked fear, his nationalism blurred the lines between Caesar and Christ. For them, celebrating Charlie rings hollow. “Little Charlies” don’t sound like hope, but like a nightmare.
How can Christians have such vastly different views of the same man?
On one hand, it has a lot to do with the worldview we already hold, the paradigm through which we interpret everything. On the other hand, it has a lot to do with the news we watch, the voices we allow to shape us, and the algorithms that carefully curate what we see until we live inside an echo chamber.
It's easy to flatten someone into a caricature, a black-or-white symbol of good or evil. And when tragedy strikes, our simplicity bias tempts us to point fingers, assign blame, and reduce complex people into one-dimensional heroes or villains.
So don’t gaslight the other side. You have an algorithm, too. Instead of focusing on why they’re wrong and you’re right, consider what might be missing from your echo chamber.
And so, as Charlie was laid to rest, two very different memories were on display. Some saw a uniter, others saw a divider. Some saw a lamb-like faith, others saw a lion-like rhetoric. And the truth is, both can be true at the same time.
There were two moments at the funeral that stood out to me the most:
The first came when Charlie’s widow, Erika, stood through tears and forgave her husband’s killer. Her words rang out with such grief, but such heartfelt authenticity: “The answer to hate is not hate... The answer we know from the Gospel is love, and always love. Love for our enemies, and love for those who persecute us.”
"I forgive him," she declared, as she sobbed. Eighty thousand people stood on their feet, cheering through tears. That was the lamb. The Spirit of Jesus. The echo of the cross.
But then came another moment. Our President stood before the same crowd and declared: “I hate my opponent, and I don’t want the best for them.” And again, the stadium erupted. That was the lion without the lamb. The roar of empire, cheered by those who had just applauded the cross.
The Bible repeatedly uses lion and lamb language to describe the Messiah. One symbolizes strength and power. The other, innocence and sacrifice.
When Jesus touched down on earth, everyone wanted the lion. They wanted the Messiah who would take Rome by force, crush the oppressor, and establish a throne of power.
Instead, Jesus showed them something radical: He had the lion’s power, but He chose to lay it down. He gave them not the lion they demanded, but the lamb they desperately needed. They wanted a lion. He gave them a lamb.
They called him "meek," which isn't weakness. It's what happens when you have the strength to bring down worlds, but the resolve to lay it down for the very people who hate you.
Here’s the test of true faith: it’s not the lion cloaked in the lamb's clothing that reflects the heart of Jesus. It’s the lion willingly cloaked in the lamb’s sacrifice.
When the same crowd can cheer forgiveness in one moment and hatred in the next, it tells us something uncomfortable: the two Charlies we all see are really a reflection of the two natures inside each of us.
One nature is capable of lamb-like forgiveness. The other is seduced by lion-like strength to endorse hatred.
It’s a testament to the war within us, between our new identity in Christ as sons and daughters of the King, and our old nature still marred by sin and shaped by empire.
Empire thrives on sides. It needs enemies. It feeds on blame. It demands we pick “us” or “them.”
But Jesus doesn’t play the blame game. In Luke 13:1–5, when asked to explain political violence, Jesus refuses to assign fault. He says instead: “Unless YOU repent, you too will perish.”
"Wait, me? What do I have to do with anything? I'm not the shooter."
And yet, Jesus wants us to stop pointing the finger and look in the mirror.
The word repent there is metanoia: to change allegiance. To reorient your whole life around a different King. The word for perish? It doesn't merely mean to die. It implies that you've wasted your life in the wrong kingdom.
Empire asks: “Whose side are you on?” The Kingdom asks: “Whose King are you under?”
And here’s the tragedy of our moment: many Christians are convinced that we are in a battle to reclaim the soul of our nation. They don’t realize it’s not the soul of our nation we should be most concerned about. It’s the soul of the Church.
Make no mistake, we currently have two very powerful parties that are spending billions to disciple you into believing their empire is the side you should take. Don't buy it. They don't deserve your allegiance. Only Jesus does.
As heartwarming as it was to watch political figures and influencers speak of their faith, invoke the name of Jesus, and quote Bible verses at Charlie's memorial service, I also saw a disturbing number of times where people used us-vs-them language, language of fighting, uprising, and waging war. It was odd to see so much genuine talk of faith and the gospel mixed with language that is utterly antithetical to the gospel of the Kingdom.
But when Tyler Bowyer, the chief operating officer of Turning Point Action, told everyone there that they had successfully brought “the holy spirit to a Trump rally," a dream of Charlie Kirk's, I just have to wonder, is that really the best way to describe this? Did we actually bring the holy spirit, or did we just appropriate the holy spirit to endorse our political rhetoric?
Some are saying Charlie’s death has awakened millions of little Charlies. But let’s be honest. That’s not what we need. When a person who saw Charlie as a hero hears that, it sounds like good news. But for those who experienced his words as a threat, it sounds like an apocalypse.
And if we love Charlie, it’s tempting to gaslight the pain of others. But the Kingdom calls us to resist that temptation, to look them in the eyes and say: “You’re not alone. I’m not your enemy. I’m here with you.”
We don’t need millions of little Charlies.
We need millions of little Jesuses.
That’s literally what the word Christian means: “little Christs.” It began as a slur. A mockery. And yet it became our identity.
What if, instead of multiplying culture warriors, the Church multiplied lamb-like disciples of King Jesus, self-sacrificial, enemy-loving, cruciform followers, marked not by demands to enthrone Him in Washington, but by confidence that He already reigns in heaven.
There are people on both sides of this issue: in the Church, in your neighborhood, maybe even in your family. And as followers of Jesus, the only way forward isn’t to erase those divisions with empire logic. It’s to unite around the Jesus the world thinks it knows, but clearly doesn’t: the Jesus who welcomes every tribe, tongue, and nation, the Jesus who breaks down the dividing wall of hostility, the Jesus whose love eclipses every partisan slogan and outlasts every political empire.
So where do we go from here, now that the funeral is over? (I did it with 3 "R"s because... I'm a pastor)
First, I suggest doing what Jesus told us to do: repent. Not just of bad behavior, but of misplaced allegiance. This isn’t about feeling sorry. It’s about shifting your loyalty from Caesar + Jesus to Christ alone. Stop giving your heart to parties and pundits. Change your mind. Change your direction. Change your King.
Second, resist. Don't focus on resisting the "other side." Instead, refuse the bait of outrage. Refuse to clap when leaders preach hate. Refuse to let algorithms disciple you into echo chambers of fear. Say no to empire’s false urgency, and yes to the slow, patient work of love.
Third, re-center. Anchor your identity not in political movements, but in the crucified and risen Lamb. Remember that you don’t fight for victory. You live from it. Jesus already sits on the throne. The question isn’t whether He will reign. The question is whether you will live as though He does.
Because here’s the truth: Jesus is both lion and lamb. But He wins not by roaring louder than His enemies, but by laying down His life for them. Empire celebrates strength. The Kingdom celebrates sacrifice.
And the Church must decide, in this moment, which story we’ll tell.
