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In a postmodern age awash in what Jacques Maritain called “practical atheism,” Charlie Kirk had several strikes called against him before he was assassinated at a crowded college campus in Utah.
A partial listing of strikes would include 1) a loving marriage to his wife. Really, who in an age of twinkling celebrities and star power politicians remains married to the same woman until “death they do part and boasts of it publicly? 2) Kirk was an unapologetic Christian fundamentalist at a time in which the profession of belief in any firm religious doctrine is frowned upon by all the right people, perhaps even your local pastor, not to mention the editorial page editor of your local newspaper. 3) In Kirk’s ordering of highly important matters, politics falls behind faith and marriage, a lamentable disordering in an age of post-pagan paganism.
The post-modern post-Christian pagan has learned to tolerate brief periods of religious eruptions pretty much the same way Pontius Pilate tolerated them, with large dollops of pagan sangfroid. In John’s gospel rendering of Pontius Pilot’s trial of Jesus, Pilot, a typical Roman politician, at first suspects that Jesus is a political savior, but quickly loses interest in discovering that his kingdom is “not of this world.”
The left in the US could never forgive Kirk for having successfully penetrated high schools and colleges, an ideological castle whose thus far unreachable walls they are determined to defend to the last pedagogical warlord. Kirk began his sapping work when he was eighteen years of age and, by the time he was bloodily assassinated, he had managed to insert Turning Point USA (TPUSA) chapters in 900 colleges and 1,200 high schools. He had tapped into a powerful and persistent undercurrent in American history and ventured out into the world to share his findings with doubtful young people. Andrew Kolvet, executive producer of "The Charlie Kirk Show," tells us that (TPUSA) has received more than 54,000 inquiries from people wanting to start new campus chapters.
Following Kirk’s assassination, the internet crackled with some surprisingly reassuring commentary. Mark Twain once said of his widely reported but false obituary, “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. So too, it must be said, with reports of the death of Christianity, often reported by false neo-progressive prophets.
Bishop Robert Barron viewed Kirk “as a kind of apostle of civil discourse, but above all, as a man who loved Jesus Christ.”
Andrew Fowler is the Communications Specialist at Connecticut’s Yankee Institute and editor of RealClear Religion. In an essay on the utility of prayer, Fowler writes, “In the wake of mass shootings, policymakers and media personnel often advocate for gun or mental health reforms. While these may be well-intentioned, they mask the persistent underlying ‘happiness crisis’ confronting Americans. Beyond the physical realities, as scientific studies have demonstrated, prayer’s metaphysical and spiritual fruits are more transformative to mind, body, and soul, deepening our filial trust in our Creator. In prayer, we know God loves us — even in the darkest trials of life.”
For many students, Kirk represents that point in the human soul where religion and politics meet and must meet to assure sanity of both. In the course of his private meditations and very public interactions with students, Kirk had developed a language and presentation that can only be described – even by those who disagreed with him – as persuasive and convincing.
But, as we’ve always known, sound arguments may always be met with the assassination of truth. Metaphorically, Kirk stands on the same ground as Saint Paul and other martyrs of the Christian church. In February 303AD, the Christian church was nearly wiped out by Diocletian, a Roman emperor whose pagan belief in the separation of religion and state was considerably more energetic than that of our postmodern practical atheists.
Diocletian’s edict ordered the closure of all churches, the burning of sacred Christian texts, and severe penalties for Christians, signaling the start of what is now known as the Great Persecution. Diocletian aimed to unify a crumbling anti-republican Roman Empire under the old pagan gods. The Great Persecution was the most intense and systematic attempt by the Roman state to eliminate Christianity. Rome fell. Christianity did not. In northern Africa, Bishop Augustine wept when news was brought to him of the sack of Rome and later wrote The City of God.
All the canonical disciples were martyred, but for Saint John, exiled to the island of Patmos, where he wrote the three Letters of John, the Fourth Gospel, and possibly the Revelation to John in the New Testament.
John’s first letter to a disheartened church denounced false prophets who had embraced a heresy that had found favor among the pagans. The heretics, who denied the incarnation of Jesus, claimed to have had profound mystical experiences, professed to be without sin and exalted themselves above the commandments, thus sanctioning moral laxity. John’s letter urges Christians to hold fast to what they had been taught and persevere in leading a moral life.
All this sounds too familiar. There are powerful cross currents between John the apostle and Kirk, who held fast to his faith. That current is where the Christian faith meets Diocletian-like politics. Christians and Jews know where final victory lies: If God is for us, who can be against us?






