Responding as Disciples to Political Violence: Micah 6:8 in a Fractured Age
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“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
— Micah 6:8
A Nation Wounded by Violence
The assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10, 2025, while he spoke at Utah Valley University, marked another moment when America’s political divides spilled over into tragedy. Authorities confirmed it was a political assassination, and his killing has reignited debates about the rising tide of violence in our nation.
Just months earlier, on June 1, 2025, violence erupted in Boulder, Colorado, during a Run for Their Lives solidarity walk for Israeli hostages. What was intended as a peaceful public protest was marred by a violent act of hate when a man armed with incendiary devices and shouting “Free Palestine” attacked marchers with Molotov cocktails and a makeshift flamethrower, injuring eight people, including the elderly.
These tragedies join a sobering list: in June 2025, two Minnesota lawmakers — Rep. Melissa Hortman and Sen. John Hoffman — were gunned down with their spouses in coordinated shootings. In July 2024, former President Donald Trump survived an attempted assassination at a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, when a bullet grazed his ear, killing a supporter and injuring others in the crowd. In 2022, Paul Pelosi, the husband of then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, was violently attacked in his home by a man looking for her, driven by conspiracy rhetoric. On January 6, 2021, a protest at the U.S. Capitol turned violent during the certification of the presidential election, leading to deaths, injuries, and a shaken sense of security in our institutions. In December 2024, UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson was assassinated in New York over grievances with the healthcare system. And in 2015, the massacre at Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston claimed nine lives in an act of racial hatred — a sobering reminder that political and racial violence are often intertwined.
Recency Bias and What’s Changed
It is easy to believe we live in uniquely violent times. The constant stream of headlines, amplified by social media, makes the present moment feel overwhelming. Yet history reminds us that political violence is not new. The 1960s saw the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., Robert Kennedy, and Malcolm X. Communities then, as now, were torn by riots, shootings, and deep divisions.
So why does today feel so different? One reason may be what is missing: leaders whose credibility spanned divides. In past crises, figures emerged who could call the nation toward shared values and collective healing. As Politico observed after Charlie Kirk’s assassination: “There’s no Rev. Billy Graham to speak to broad swaths of the faithful and call us to Americans’ better angels.” And Michael Wear, former faith adviser to President Obama, noted: “Billy Graham … spoke as someone who had something to offer to everyone, as opposed to someone who was speaking on behalf of a tribe — and that’s what we’ve lost.”
The violence itself is not new. What feels new is the vacuum of leadership: too many of our political, cultural, and even religious voices rise to prominence by sharpening division, rather than healing wounds.
When Violence Touches Home
For me, these realities are not just headlines. My aunt — Janet Stevens, was a brilliant Ivy League-trained Arab scholar, an advocate for Palestinian refugees, and, in her own way, a patriot — who was killed in the 1984 U.S. Embassy bombing in Lebanon, carried out by Hezbollah. She died the year before I was born at the age of 32.
What makes her story especially tragic is that she was killed by terrorists acting on behalf of the very people she was working to help. She had dedicated her young life to advocating for displaced and vulnerable Palestinians, yet her compassion was answered with violence.
Her death left a hole in my family. As an identical twin, her absence was not just noticed but deeply felt at every gathering — by her sister, my uncle, my grandfather, and my father. There is a unique ache when someone is cut off in the prime of life, not by natural causes but by terrorism and hatred. That loss has given me a deeper sensitivity to the families behind today’s headlines.
Micah’s Mandate: Three Disciple Responses
So how do followers of Jesus respond? Micah 6:8 gives us a way that resists both despair and vengeance: do justice, love mercy, walk humbly.
Do Justice
When someone aligned with our worldview is attacked, it feels like an assault on us as well. The temptation is retaliation. Yet biblical justice is not revenge. It seeks restoration, protection, and truth.
Jesus demonstrated that doing justly can look very different depending on the moment. At times it meant flipping tables in the temple (Matthew 21:12–13; John 2:13–17), confronting corruption and defending God’s house. At other times it meant walking the extra mile (Matthew 5:41).
This command referenced a Roman law that allowed occupying soldiers to force a Jewish subject to carry their gear for one mile. It was humiliating, a daily reminder of subjugation. Jesus flipped the script: instead of seething in bitterness or resisting in violence, He called His followers to go farther than required. What was meant to degrade became an opportunity to witness to the kingdom of God.
Both responses — protest and radical humility — reveal God’s justice. Sometimes doing justly means disrupting systems of exploitation; other times it means unsettling oppressors by meeting injustice with unexpected grace. Jesus’ greatest act of justice was at the cross, where He refused to summon angels and instead absorbed violence, breaking the powers behind political and spiritual injustice.
Love Mercy
Here lies the greater challenge: when violence is done not against “our side” but against someone we disagree with, even an ideological rival, we are still called to show mercy and compassion. To weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15), even if they are not our political allies. This strengthens the social bond we share as Americans and, for Christians, reflects the heart of God.
Scripture reminds us: “Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” (1 Corinthians 13:6). Paul exhorts us in Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” These verses remind us that gloating over the downfall of an opponent is contrary to love.
And we can show mercy because we trust in God’s ultimate justice. David confesses in Psalm 73 that he envied the wicked until he entered God’s sanctuary and understood their end. Those who persist in evil will face God’s judgment, even if human courts delay or fail. Knowing that God is a righteous Judge allows us to release vengeance into His hands and extend compassion even to those who have wronged us.
Nowhere have I seen this more powerfully than in Charleston after the Mother Emanuel shooting. Reverend Anthony Thompson, whose wife Myra was among the nine killed, shared with me how he prayed daily for the salvation of her murderer, Dylann Roof. He wrote letters, and even sought to meet him in prison, not to excuse his actions but to plead with him to repent. His willingness to extend mercy, born of grief and prayer, remains one of the most profound Christian witnesses I have ever encountered. It is a reminder that mercy is not weakness — it is gospel strength, breaking the cycle of hatred and pointing to the redeeming heart of God.
Walk Humbly
In Gethsemane, Jesus asked His disciples to pray with Him in His sorrow. They fell asleep; their lack of intimacy showed in what came next. When soldiers arrived, Peter lashed out with a sword. But Jesus rebuked him: “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.” (Matthew 26:52).
Here Jesus was not just correcting Peter’s rashness. He was teaching that violence begets violence — it sets in motion cycles of destruction that consume both victim and perpetrator. By rejecting that path, Jesus showed His followers a different way: humility that trusts the Father’s plan, even when it leads through suffering.
Humility keeps us anchored, not reactive. It means drawing near to God when we’re afraid, confused, or angry. Not claiming moral superiority, but depending on His wisdom.
A Prophetic Witness in an Age of Violence
Some dismiss prayer or calls for mercy as naïve. But history proves they are powerful. Great movements for justice — abolition, civil rights — began first in prayer, confession, humble witness, reconciliation.
If the Church will live Micah’s call — doing justice, loving mercy, walking humbly — perhaps we can help stem this rising tide of violence. Perhaps we can become a voice of healing rather than division; a people whose lives point to the Kingdom, even in times of fear.
Conclusion
Violence, particularly political or ideological violence, is not new. What feels different is the speed of outrage, the intensity of division, the absence of trusted moral guides. But the call remains: Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly with God.
If we live that way, our response will not simply be reaction. It will be witness — hope that outlasts tragedy, love that refuses to be embittered, peace that endures despite fear. And with God’s grace, the Church may yet rise to its calling: a people of healing, a people of witness, in a world that deeply needs it.
