Following the anguished wake of Charlie Kirk's assassination, the memorial stage in September 2025 became a crucible for two seemingly irreconcilable Christian imperatives: forgiveness and justice. Erika Kirk, a widow cloaked in grief, spoke with gospel radiance: "That young man, I forgive him… The answer to hate is not hate. The answer we know from the gospel is love and always love."
Yet, on the same platform, Stephen Miller's fiery rhetoric framed the killer as "wickedness… jealousy… nothing," a force to be crushed in a cosmic battle of builders versus destroyers. President Trump, with characteristic bluntness, admitted to parting ways with Charlie's magnanimity: "I hate my opponent and I don't want the best for them." FBI Director Kash Patel vowed a relentless probe to "deliver justice." To the uninitiated, this juxtaposition jars, how can Christians laud Erika's mercy while cheering Miller's and Patel's calls for retribution? The answer lies not in contradiction but in clarity: Scripture mandates both forgiveness and punishment, each tethered to distinct roles. As believers, we are called to forgive as the aggrieved, to love even our enemies; as authorities, we are commanded to wield the sword, protecting society by punishing evil. This dual mandate, rooted in Romans 12 and 13, is not just biblical, it's essential for a thriving society, ensuring mercy heals hearts while justice shields the vulnerable.
The Personal Mandate: Forgiveness as Christian Duty
Scripture is unequivocal about the believer's personal role when wronged. Romans 12:14 commands, "Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them." Verse 19 doubles down: "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God." Verse 20 seals it: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink." This is no mere suggestion, it's a radical call to embody Christ's cross, where He, pierced and bleeding, prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34). Erika Kirk grasped this. As a grieving mother and widow, her role was not to prosecute, but to personify grace. Her forgiveness of her husband's killer wasn't weakness; it was witness, a testament to the transformative power of divine love that absorbs evil without returning it. This personal duty extends to every Christian: When betrayed by a friend, slandered by a colleague, or wounded by a stranger, we are to forgive, to sacrifice, to show compassion. This is the heart of Romans 12, love that covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8), binding communities through empathy and reconciliation.
Forgiveness, though, isn't cheap. It demands surrender, not of justice, but of vengeance. The believer trusts God's promise: "Vengeance is mine, I will repay" (Romans 12:19). This frees us to love enemies, not because their actions are excusable, but because our role as individuals isn't to judge, it's to mirror Christ's mercy. Consider Corrie ten Boom, who forgave her Nazi captors, not denying their atrocities but releasing her heart from their grip. Such acts don't erase evil; they break its hold, fostering personal healing and communal trust. Without this, relationships fray, families fracture under grudges, churches splinter over slights. Erika Kirk's grace at the memorial wasn't just personal piety; it was a societal glue, showing that even in tragedy, love can prevail.
The Authority's Mandate: Justice as Divine Command
Turn the page to Romans 13, and the tone shifts starkly: "[The government] is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer" (Romans 13:4). Here, Scripture assigns authorities, rulers, judges, law enforcers, a mandate not of mercy but of justice. Their role is to protect the innocent by punishing the guilty, wielding the sword with impartiality. Benny Johnson's prayer at Kirk's memorial captured this: "May we pray that our rulers… wield the sword for the terror of evil men in our nation, in Charlie's memory." Kash Patel's vow of a "thorough and exhaustive" investigation wasn't personal vendetta; it was the state's biblical duty to ensure that evil, here, a murder shaking the nation, meets consequence. Stephen Miller's rhetoric, though scorching, framed the stakes: A society that fails to punish "destroyers" invites chaos, endangering the very builders who sustain it.
This mandate isn't optional. Isaiah 59:14-15 laments a world where "justice is turned back… and he who departs from evil makes himself a prey." When authorities shirk punishment, the innocent suffer. The 2022 recall of San Francisco DA Chesa Boudin, who downgraded felonies and freed repeat offenders, illustrates the cost: Crime surged 23% citywide, with homicides spiking 30% in 2021, per SFPD data. Irina Zarutska's murder on a Charlotte train by a man with 14 prior convictions, blamed by AG Pam Bondi on "soft-on-crime policies," drives the point home: Mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent, as Adam Smith warned. Governments that play therapist, prioritising "compassionate justice" over retribution, abandon their God-given role. Romans 13 demands they act as avengers, not empathisers, ensuring safety through swift, righteous judgment.
The Peril of Blurred Roles
Confusion between these roles unravels society. Progressives, as Katy Faust (see below) notes, often invert them. Cancel culture, where friends become executioners, shunning neighbours for "wrongthink," replaces empathy with judgment. A 2023 Pew survey found Democrats twice as likely as Republicans to cut ties over political differences, fracturing personal bonds. Conversely, lenient DAs like New York's Alvin Bragg, criticised for downgrading 60% of felonies to misdemeanours in 2024, embody governments playing therapist, releasing predators to prey anew. This inversion breeds chaos: Communities lose trust when friends wield swords, and cities bleed when rulers offer hugs. The 2025 FBI crime stats bear this out, violent crime up 5% nationally, with urban centres like Chicago logging 18% spikes, tied to prosecutorial restraint. Blurring roles doesn't just confuse; it kills.
Properly understood, the roles harmonise. Christians forgive personally, knowing justice lies with God and His delegated authorities. Voters and leaders demand punishment, ensuring society's shield holds firm. Erika Kirk's forgiveness didn't negate Patel's probe; it complemented it, fulfilling distinct biblical imperatives. Without justice, forgiveness feels futile, why absolve if evil roams free? Without forgiveness, justice grows vengeful, poisoning hearts. Both are vital: Mercy heals the soul; punishment protects the streets.
Living the Distinction: A Christian Call
As believers, we navigate these roles daily. As individuals, we embody Romans 12, forgiving the colleague who slanders, feeding the neighbour who scorns, weeping with the friend facing infertility. This is love that builds, as Miller's "builders" do, knitting communities through compassion. As voters or authorities, we channel Romans 13, demanding policies that punish, not pamper, evil. This means backing DAs who prosecute, not parole, murderers; supporting laws that shield children, not indulge adult whims. As Faust argues, the vulnerable, especially kids, demand our fiercest advocacy. Her work at Them Before Us exemplifies this: Empathy for struggling adults never trumps justice for children, whose rights anchor policy.
Christ Himself models the duality. On the cross, He forgave His tormentors, embodying Romans 12. At His return, He'll judge, per Matthew 16:27, wielding the ultimate sword of Romans 13. Christians must mirror both, forgiving as the aggrieved, punishing as the authority. Confuse them, and society crumbles: Families feud, streets burn. Keep them distinct, and it thrives: Hearts mend, order holds.
In Kirk's memorial, Erika's grace and Patel's resolve weren't at odds, they were biblical harmony. Forgiveness without justice invites anarchy; justice without forgiveness breeds hate. Society needs both: Mercy from me, justice for thee. Only then can we love our neighbour and keep our families safe, building a world where evil trembles and grace triumphs.
https://goodsauce.news/mercy-from-me-justice-for-thee/
Mercy From Me, Justice for Thee
by Katy Faust | 29 Sep, 2025 | Opinion
How to love your neighbor and keep your family safe.
In the aftermath of Charlie Kirk's memorial, New York Times columnist David French asked: How could so many Christians cheer Erika Kirk's forgiveness and Trump's hate? How could they celebrate the marvelous expressions of worship and also cheer Stephen Miller's "dehumanizing" rhetoric ("You are nothing")?
To outsiders or to immature Christians, I (Katy) can understand the confusion. During the four-hour event, the contrast was stark.
Erika Kirk's words rang out with gospel clarity:
That young man, I forgive him…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.
And yet, on the very same stage, other speakers took a harder tone.
Stephen Miller framed the moment as a battle between good and evil, noting "a righteous fury that our enemies cannot comprehend or understand." He went on to contrast the two forces in America today—those who build and those who destroy:
You are wickedness. You are jealousy. You are envy. You are hatred. You are nothing. You can build nothing. You can produce nothing. You can create nothing. We are the ones who build. We are the ones who create. We are the ones who lift up humanity.
In what (in my opinion) was a tongue-in-cheek remark, President Trump told mourners:
"[Charlie] did not hate his opponents. He wanted the best for them. That's where I disagreed with Charlie. I hate my opponent and I don't want the best for them."
Outside of the packed arena, Trump's FBI Director Kash Patel promised that the investigation into the killer would be "thorough and exhaustive" with the focus to "deliver justice."
So which is it? As Christians, are we supposed to bring down the hammer of justice on those who have committed evil, or are we supposed to forgive them?
Why the Answer Is "Yes"
Yes, we are to punish evil. Yes, we are to love our enemies.
As Christians, we must do both.
The Bible doesn't pit forgiveness and justice against each other. It commands both. The distinction lies not in the act itself but in the role we inhabit when responding.
Most of us are dispositionally either grace-givers or justice-bringers. Many of us struggle to do one or the other. But both roles are needed, and both must be carried out with excellence.
So how do you know the right time for those polar opposite responses?
Every person embodies multiple simultaneous roles—child, spouse, friend, employer, employee, voter, perhaps even government official. Each role carries its own biblical duty.
For example, no matter how old we are, as a son or daughter, we are to honor our parents. But if we are a mother or father, we are not called to honor our children but to nurture, protect, and discipline them. Different roles, different duties.
The same 40-year-old woman will approach her visiting mother with, "Would you mind helping with the table?" but turn to her 8-year-old daughter with, "Chore time!" The disparate tone is no contradiction. It is a healthy understanding of her different roles.
When Hurt, Forgive. When Ruling, Punish.
On the question of forgiveness or punishment, the primary distinction is not gender or age. It is not whether the wound was minor or severe, nor whether you feel merciful or furious. Not whether the offense was public or private. The real question is: what is your role in this situation?
Are you the aggrieved, or are you the authority?
If you are the aggrieved, you have a biblical mandate to forgive. If you are the authority, you have the biblical mandate to punish.
Your role in the personal space will involve compassion and empathy. And when you are wronged, forgiveness.
Your role as an authority does not factor in compassion and empathy. Your role is concerned with judging rightly and bringing justice.
Interestingly, Scripture makes this distinction most clearly in two back-to-back chapters of Romans.
Our Personal Role: Forgiveness and Compassion
Romans 12 is unambiguous about the Christian's personal duty:
"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them." (Rom. 12:14)
"Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God." (Rom. 12:19)
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink." (Rom. 12:20)
The personal role of the believer is forgiveness, personal sacrifice, and compassion—even when unjustly persecuted.
Erika Kirk understood her role. She is not a prosecutor. She is not a magistrate. She is not in a position of authority. She is a grieving widow and mother. Her role is to forgive, to love, and to bear witness to the grace of God. And she did.
Government's Role: Justice Without Partiality
Turn from Romans 12 to Romans 13 and you get a very different prescription for behavior.
"For [the government] is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer." (Rom. 13:4)
In Benny Johnson's speech at the memorial, he prayed that the current administration would fulfill that biblical mandate:
Rulers wield the sword for the protection of good men and for the terror of evil men. May we pray that our rulers here, rightfully instituted and given power by our God, wield the sword for the terror of evil men in our nation, in Charlie's memory.
The role of the authority described by Romans 13 carries a very different duty than that of the aggrieved party. They are not to embody empathy, compassion, or leniency. The government's task is not to feel the pain of criminals but to protect the innocent by punishing the guilty.
God is angered when governments fail to punish evil. Isaiah lamented a society where justice had collapsed, and as a result, the innocent were victimized:
"Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands far away; for truth has stumbled in the public squares, and uprightness cannot enter. Truth is lacking, and he who departs from evil makes himself a prey." (Isa. 59:14-15)
The two roles serve distinct but critical functions in society.
We need strong familial and personal relationships characterized by empathy, compassion, and forgiveness.
We need judges, attorneys, and lawmakers who prioritize justice by punishing criminals.
The Cost of Confusion
Confusion arises when we blur the two roles. We are not called to extend empathy in the courtroom, nor are we called to wield the sword in our friendships. When these boundaries are blurred, society unravels.
One of our nation's gravest problems is that we have inverted these roles. That is a particular problem on the Left.
Progressives often expect friends to act as executioners. Cancel culture is one example—friendships terminated, colleagues shunned, or parents punished for wrongthink. A survey found that Democrats were twice as likely as Republicans to unfriend someone online over political differences. In the personal sphere, empathy has been replaced with judgment.
The Left also expects the government to act as a therapist. We see progressive district attorneys campaigning on "compassionate justice," which often means emptying prisons, declining to prosecute violent crimes, or downgrading felonies. Chesa Boudin in San Francisco was recalled in 2022 for policies that released repeat offenders back onto the streets. New York's Alvin Bragg has been criticized for downgrading serious offenses into misdemeanors.
"Mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent." – Adam Smith
When the government sets aside the sword in the name of "compassion," it abandons its God-given role and exposes the vulnerable to violence.
The results are deadly. Consider Irina Zarutska, murdered on a Charlotte train by a man with 14 prior convictions. Attorney General Pam Bondi blamed "soft-on-crime policies" for the Ukrainian immigrant's murder. The government confused its role, thinking itself compassionate by allowing a serial offender to walk the streets. Compassion for the stabber was cruelty toward the stabbed.
Roles Properly Understood
When Christians understand roles correctly, the picture clears.
As individuals, we forgive, encourage, bear burdens, and show compassion. We absorb insults without retaliating. We reconcile with neighbors. We love our enemies.
As governors, judges, and voters, we demand justice, punish evil, and refuse to let sentimentality cloud judgment. We wield the sword with clarity because God commands it.
Not only are these two expressions critical for a functional society, but you cannot have one without the other. At least you cannot have genuine forgiveness without knowing that others will mete out justice.
Christians can forgive because, even if they do not see justice in this world, they believe God when He promised, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay." (Rom. 12:19)
Both roles are biblical. Both roles are necessary. And both roles save society when kept distinct.
Living Out Distinctions in Daily Life
In my personal life, I strive to let love—toward my neighbors, my church, and my family—cover a multitude of sins. I empathize with my friends and struggling marriages, and aim to be a soft shoulder on which my LGBT identifying friends can cry. I weep with my friends who see that negative pregnancy test, month after month after month.
But my role as a child advocate demands not empathy for adults, but justice for children. If empathy enters the equation, it is for the child. That means I do not allow compassion for adults, whether it is struggles with infertility, same-sex attraction, or an unfulfilling marriage, to hijack my attention away from justice for children.
That should be your posture as a voter as well. You can and must be a friend to the adults in your world who are struggling. You should rejoice when they rejoice, and mourn when they mourn. You should bear their burdens. You should do what you can to meet their needs.
But your job as a voter, and as a voice for policy in the public square, is not to see your ballot as a form of national therapy for sad adults. It is to defend the most vulnerable. And the most vulnerable are always children.
Conclusion:
So should Christians forgive their enemies? Yes. Should Christians punish evil? Yes.
The key is roles. As Erika Kirk so beautifully modelled, Christians personally forgive, love, and bless those who persecute them. But as Kash Patel, Stephen Miller, and Benny Johnson rightly reminded, the government must deliver justice, wield the sword, and protect the innocent.
Even Christ recognizes these two distinct roles and models them for us. On the cross and personally aggrieved, he cries out, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34) But compassion and forgiveness will not characterize his second coming. Then he will return as the ultimate authority, and according to his own words, "will repay each person according to what he has done." (Matthew 16:27.)
Christ on the cross forgave his tormentors and murderers. Christ, victorious, will take on the role of ultimate judge.
Confuse these roles- the aggrieved and the authority- and society collapses. Keep them distinct, and society thrives.
Katy Faust is the founder and director of the children's rights organization, Them Before Us, which is dedicated to defending children's rights around the world.