Oh, how precious life is, and how awful is the pain we endure. This broken world delivers blows that sometimes feel impossible to recover from. How do we cope when tragedy strikes? How do we find light when darkness seems to reign?

Twenty-four years ago, on September 11, 2001, terror tore through America’s soul. The skies burned, towers fell, and nearly 3,000 lives were stolen by hatred’s cruel hand. “Never forget,” we vowed, and how could we? That day carved scars into our collective spirit, reshaping our nation with grief and fear that still echo. We were attacked by external forces, by ideologies that sought to shatter our way of life. But now, as the wounds of Wednesday and recent weeks reveal, a more harrowing truth emerges: the attacks are also rising from within.

Charlie Kirk was more than a name. He was a devout follower of Jesus Christ, a husband to Erika, a father to two young children. Through Turning Point USA, the organization he founded, he championed a simple yet profound idea: “When people stop talking, really bad stuff starts.” Charlie lived for open dialogue, for the fearless exchange of ideas, for truth pursued through reason and respect. I spent months watching his debates, captivated by his eloquence, his courage to engage any opponent, and his unapologetic love for God and country. He preached the gospel with a fire that stirred souls. And now, that voice has been silenced. Assassinated in front of thousands at Utah Valley University, Charlie’s life was stolen in a calculated act of evil. And it hurts.

Today, America weeps. Not only those who knew Charlie personally, but every heart that saw in him a man who stood for something greater, a man who did not deserve this fate. We grieve for his family, now navigating an unimaginable void. We grieve because this act open our eyes to the depths of evil in our midst.

This week, we lost Charlie Kirk to what Utah’s governor called a “political assassination.” In recent weeks, we’ve mourned Iryna Zarutska, a Ukrainian refugee seeking a new life; children gunned down in a Colorado high school; young souls taken at a Catholic Mass in Minneapolis — all stolen by cold-blooded violence. The weight of these losses crushes us, forcing us to ask: How do we endure in a world so fractured, so stained by hate and violence?

1. This world is fallen, and pain is inevitable, but God understands suffering.

We stumble through a valley of tears, where pain is a relentless stalker. Yet we are not forsaken. God, who carried the cross, knows our torment. Jesus wept for Lazarus, bore the lash of betrayal, and drank the full cup of God’s wrath against sin. He is not a distant deity; He is near, catching every tear, feeling every wound. His scarred hands hold us. When the world’s brokenness threatens to drown us, we cling to the One who declares, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Our agony is not unseen; our pain is not without purpose.

Scripture is laden with proof that God understands our suffering with Jesus Himself being the greatest example, for “Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit” (1 Peter 3:18). In John 15:18, Jesus also warned us, “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you.”

But 1 Peter 5:10 asks us to hold on, for “after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” And we can find comfort in the promise of Psalm 147:3, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

2. God can — and does — use tragedy for good.

In the chaos of Charlie’s assassination, as panic gripped and hope flickered, Joseph Backholm of Family Research Council asked God to use this for good. And you know what? He is.

People are falling to their knees in prayer. Souls who’ve never darkened a church’s door feel a pull to worship. I’ve seen hearts break open — people apologizing for venomous words hurled at Charlie, ashamed of their hatred. Some are abandoning ideologies soaked in malice, seeing them for the poison they are. Others are rising, vowing to carry the torch of truth, to marry and raise families rooted in faith, to use their voices to ignite courage in others. Christians, too, are shaking off their slumber, emboldened to stand unyielding in the face of evil.

I could never fully fathom why such heartbreak is allowed, why evil is permitted to wound so deeply. But I know this: God is good. No weapon formed against His purposes will prosper (Isaiah 54:17). As Charles Spurgeon so powerfully said, “I have learned to kiss the wave that slams me into the Rock of Ages.” I despise the pain we endure, but I praise a God rich in grace and mercy, who gives our suffering meaning — who gives us hope in life and death. He takes what evil intends for destruction and weaves it into redemption. As Genesis 50:20 declares, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”

“Where, o death, is your victory? Where, o grave, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55).

3. This broken world is not our home.

In response to Charlie’s death, many are saying they feel like they’ve lost a close friend or relative. But that isn’t shocking, right? I can’t speak for everyone who has been unjustly slain in the name of hatred, but I firmly believe that Charlie was a brother in Christ, which means a brother was taken from us. But do you know what else that means? Charlie is home now, wrapped in the arms of his Heavenly Father, having been welcomed with the words all believers long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

As Christians, we view suffering through the lens of eternity. This world, with all its beauty and brokenness, is not our final destination. It is a fleeting shadow, a stepping stone to the glory awaiting us. Every trial we face, every tear we shed, carries eternal weight because we are running a race toward a finish line in heaven. Death does not have the final word. The pain we endure is no match for the blood of Christ. We have hope, now and forever, in His name, because He is the lamb who was slain for us. As Charlie posted days before his death, “Jesus defeated death so you can live.”

The late pastor John MacArthur once said, “The sting of death for the Christian? Gone! Christ has taken that sting for us, and death is now a welcome friend.” Dear reader, someday soon, we will be more alive than we ever were on this earth. We, too, will hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” We will see, before our very eyes, the reality of Revelation 21:

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.’”

Together, as one people united in Christ, we will live in the fulfillment of Revelation 22:

“No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.”

Oh, weary soul, take heart. If you’re alive now, God is still using you — and right now counts forever until He calls you home. And before long, “He who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus! The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.”