When Erika Kirk stood before thousands at her husband’s funeral and declared forgiveness for his killer, the crowd rose in thunderous applause. Even those vehemently ideologically opposed to Charlie Kirk and his ilk called it “an incredible act of grace.”
Pastors and pundits alike praised her as a model of Christian virtue. Max Lucado, who doesn’t often weigh in on political issues, wrote an op-ed for Fox News, saying, “She deserved the standing ovation she received.”
Amid the horror of the loss and the horror of the display of unabashed Christian nationalism, plenty of folks seemed desperate to latch onto the one positive thing they saw come from Charlie Kirk’s murder — his wife, following Christ’s example, forgave his killer.
Josh Olds
Yet beneath the celebration lies a troubling pattern within evangelicalism — a theology that rushes past grief toward triumph, valuing victory over lament and preferring performance over process.
Yes, forgiveness resides at the heart of the gospel. And, yes, we are called to forgive as Christ forgave. And, yes, even while on the cross, Jesus called out to the Father to forgive those responsible for his impending death. But I have concerns. And those concerns aren’t an indictment of Erica Kirk, but an indictment of a theology that demands an immediate proclamation of forgiveness in the face of unspeakable evil.
Standing before a crowd at her husband’s funeral, she said, “That young man … I forgive him, I forgive him because it was what Christ did, and it’s what Charlie would do.” And she received cheers and a standing ovation.
I don’t know if Kirk actually forgave her husband’s murderer. I don’t know if her words were empty words, or expected words, or words she hoped to mean but struggled with, or words she believed wholeheartedly. I don’t know her heart. I won’t claim to. Regardless, those words — sincere or not, because of where they were said and to whom they were said — were words of performative forgiveness.
She didn’t give this declaration of forgiveness to the offender, but to a crowd of like-minded allies amid a flurry of speeches and proclamations of hate that otherwise drowned out the message of forgiveness. It was a performance. And it was expected.
“The problem is that, in rushing to forgiveness, we rush past actually sitting with and healing from the offense.”
The Christian message is one of forgiveness, and Christians often rush to forgive and rush to tell others to forgive. Rick Warren, one of the most influential church leaders in the past generation, teaches “forgiveness must be immediate.” The problem is that, in rushing to forgiveness, we rush past actually sitting with and healing from the offense.
Immediately after her statement of forgiveness, Kirk turned toward the future. “The world needs Turning Point USA,” she continued, “I promise you today, every part of our work will become greater. I am tremendously honored to be the new CEO.” There’s no pause for reflection. No time for grief. We move on and continue the work.
Erika Kirk believes she has to do this because that is what her theology has taught her. White American Christian Nationalism holds to a theology of victory. Everything’s got to go right because usually things do go right, so even when things go bad, that must be right.
The late theologian Walter Brueggemann indicts this theology in his book Peace, saying: “The well-off do not expect their faith to begin in a cry, but rather, in a song. They do not expect or need intrusion, but they rejoice in stability and the durability of a world and social order that have been beneficial to them.”
Western Christians, especially those in the grip of Christian nationalism, are used to celebration. They are used to status, power and wealth and believe it to have come from God. They believe God controls all things so that even when something bad happens, you hear things like “it was God’s will,” “beauty will come from ashes” and “God works all things for good.”
This view of God is so authoritarian, so patriarchal, so controlling, that when a man is gunned down in front of children and thousands of witnesses, the only way they can wrap their minds around it is to say that something good must come out of it because God allowed it. Therefore, let us move on past this sadness and get to the happy part.
And that is a terribly, terribly deficient theology. It’s not incorrect to say God works amid tragedy. It’s not incorrect to say God creates beauty from ashes. But it is incorrect to say just because good can be worked out of evil that we should refuse to mourn it.
Forgiveness should not be immediate. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, a theologian and clinical psychologist, says: “The first thing trauma survivors need to do is tend to their own healing, then work on forgiveness after that. Quite frankly, sometimes forgiveness is not the appropriate response after trauma.”
“When you hold a theology of victory, then you have to overlook suffering because suffering is a threat to your theological system.”
We have so focused ourselves on victory that we have robbed ourselves of properly processing any tragedy we go through. We have developed a theology of celebration and forgotten a theology of lament. When you hold a theology of victory, then you have to overlook suffering because suffering is a threat to your theological system.
So, Erika Kirk has to go up on a platform, facing thousands who never met or barely knew her slain husband, amid a funeral that held the tone of a political rally and patriotic celebration, and declare she had forgiven her husband’s murderer. Because evangelical Christianity does not leave space for lament. Because it tells you to steamroll your grief, to hold it all in, to grin and bear it until Jesus comes again. Because it tells you the only faithful thing to do is celebrate and move on.
And that’s so harmful. Standing before the tomb of Lazarus, knowing he was going to raise him from the dead, Jesus wept (John 11:35). And not just wept. The Greek word is embrimaomai. It presents a word picture of outrage and indignation. Jesus isn’t softly crying one performative tear. He’s breaking down, can’t-catch-his-breath, snot-on-his-tunic sobbing. He’s lamenting over death — not just that of his friend but of the very concept.
Going back further in Scripture, we see a picture of lament in the book of Job. And I want you to know Job is never condemned for his mourning. Even his friends, who want him to rush past his grief, sit with him in the town dump silently for a whole week (Job 2:13) before offering their bad advice. Job’s friends — notorious for their bad advice — still afford Job more space to grieve than does evangelical theology.
We need space to grieve. We need space to lament. We need space to mourn. Erika Kirk does, too, as do her husband’s friends and family and business associates. As does American Christianity at large — because something bad has happened. Something awful has happened. And it’s only when we stop to lament, when we take the time to process our grief, that good can come out of it.
Beauty does come out of ashes, but it’s a process. Avoid the process, and you don’t get to claim the beauty. The loss is wasted.
That’s what I fear will be the inevitable conclusion in all of this. Because we will not stop to mourn, nothing will change. Kirk’s death will become just another senseless statistic as we celebrate ourselves into a hell of our own making.
Josh Olds is a public theologian and pastor for those disillusioned with institutional church. He is the creator of the forthcoming small-group video series “Year on the Mountaintop” and a featured contributor to Fostering Hope: A Prayerbook for Fostering and Adoptive Parents. Follow his work on Facebook or at JoshOlds.com.
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