Yesterday, I watched five hours of nonstop live-streamed video from State Farm Stadium in Glendale, Arizona, just up the road from where I live. It was a truly extraordinary event, the likes of which I don’t think I’ve seen in my lifetime.
It’s hard for me even to comprehend the magnitude of what I saw, much less put it into words.
I watched as America’s Secretary of State, Secretary of War, Secretary of Health and Human Services, Vice President, and President (and more) all spoke of America, American exceptionalism, conservatism, and the guiding principles of our Founding Fathers.
They were gathered to celebrate the life of one young man who believed in two things:
God
America (in that order)
Fireworks burst. Our national anthem and “God Bless the USA” were performed. People on stage, in the audience, and watching online sang along as worship songs were sung. Prayers were offered. Enormous amounts of scripture were read and quoted. Personal testimonies were shared. The gospel was presented by multiple speakers in bits and pieces throughout the day.
Even Tucker Carlson, a strange quasi-political figure who is hard to categorize, spoke more like a preacher than a pundit, calling for repentance.
Repentance!
When was the last time you heard the word “repentance” used in a political event in America? That alone was truly noteworthy in and of itself.
In all, it was a Sunday morning service of singing, prayer, mourning, remembrance, and dedication to God—a big tent revival for the 21st Century.
As much as this event was notable for what was said, what was even more notable was what was not said.
At no point in the five hours I watched did anyone plead with the audience to join a particular political party, support a specific candidate, or vote in a particular way. I didn’t hear the term “Republican” uttered a single time.
They weren’t asking for your vote. It’s not an election year, and nobody is running for office.
They weren’t asking for money, either. Not once did they pass a plate or ask for donations.
This was a free event, where people spoke freely, and people attended of their own free will, in a free country.
All of this is truly remarkable.
As a reaction to the death of an innocent man, it was also remarkable in how similar—and how dissimilar—it was to the response to the death of another innocent man.
In 2020, I watched a video of a man in Minnesota who was killed unjustly. I was outraged when I saw it. Initially, I was very sympathetic to the outpouring of anger by those in power and bystanders. Condemnation flowed on social media, all the way from average, everyday citizens up to the highest offices in the land.
Like many, I felt strongly that changes needed to be made and a serious response was due. But then that response turned very quickly from a righteous anger to hatred, and many people were energized to start a violent campaign of rage, riots, and arson.
Cops were killed. Cars were overturned. Businesses were looted. Windows were smashed. Innocent bystanders died. Police stations were set on fire and even bombed. Billions of dollars in damage were inflicted on people who had absolutely nothing to do with the injustice.
The movement that was initially started by the outrage of one life taken unfairly took many more lives unfairly in response, and the people in high places clapped along and applauded the carnage, including elected officials.
In 2025, I watched a video of another man who was killed unjustly—this time, in Utah. Once again, I was outraged when I saw it. But this time, the response was absolutely nothing like the one before.
In this case, the outpouring of righteous anger at such an injustice resulted in the aggrieved friends, family, and colleagues mourning publicly, yet not a single one of them called for rage, riots, or arson.
No attacking cops, no overturning cars, no smashing windows, no burning buildings, and no killing bystanders in the crossfire of pointless and counter-productive violence.
In contrast, I saw a woman wrongly robbed of her 31-year-old husband proclaim that forgiveness was the answer, even publicly forgiving her husband’s alleged assassin as the world watched.
That’s right: the response of a woman to the brutal murder of the father of her two children, with millions of eyes upon her, was:
“I forgive him.”
That is a breathtaking juxtaposition. In one sentence, she cut through all political posturing and partisan rhetoric and made it very personal, responding to the greatest tragedy of her life with strength, not in vengeance, but in mercy.
That is the scandalous grace of the gospel message. That is also exactly what we need to hear right now.
Today, I hope, is a new chapter for America. Like many others, I believe it is a time for us to be bold.
Unlike previous political rallies I’ve seen over the years, there were no milquetoast invocations to a faceless “Heavenly Father” at this event. There were no insincere appeals to “the creator” as a cold, distant figure who doesn’t know his creatures and doesn’t care about what happens in his creation.
Instead, I saw men and women, young and old, soldiers, pastors, professors, doctors, broadcasters, friends, and family members cry, hold hands, hug, embrace, pray, and sing in remembrance of one man who sacrificed his own life for a cause, but who also pointed us to another man who sacrificed His own life for an even greater cause.
I saw sinners. Imperfect humans. People who break the Ten Commandments, who fall short, who fail us over and over and over again. They all admitted to needing a savior, and that our only hope for America is in our faith in God.
Since I became an adult and cast my first vote in an election, I’ve been very negative about American politics and my ability to participate in shaping our future. I quietly rolled my eyes at my friends who said, “I believe America’s best days are ahead of us.”
I have never believed this. I’ve always been far too cynical to say something this optimistic. In the two decades since I participated in my very first election, I’ve always felt like America was slipping into a depressing downward spiral that we’d never be able to recover from.
Yesterday, this changed.
I don’t know what the future holds, but for the first time in over 22 years, I have never been more encouraged or optimistic about America’s future.
Yes, five hours was a very long time to sit glued to the couch.
Yes, some of the right-wing internet personalities were a bit over the top and unnecessarily bombastic.
Yes, some of the speeches went on far too long.
Yes, some of the partisan rhetoric made me squirm in my chair as we awkwardly walk that fine line of “separation of church and state” in our nation.
But having said all that, I was more uplifted and encouraged in those five hours than I have ever been watching even five minutes of the nihilistic late-night TV shows that pollute the airwaves with the toxic bile of hate and division, while unfunny comedians accuse “the other side” of doing the same.
This is definitely a new age for America, and I’m excited about it. It was like a big tent revival from the days of old: where a nation is called to reassess its purpose and meaning, and “come to Jesus,” both figuratively and literally.
It brought to mind the many times in history America’s presidents explicitly and publicly called out to God for divine intervention and protection:
In George Washington’s 1783 “Prayer for the United States of America,” which begged for the intercession of “Almighty God,” saying, “We make our earnest prayer that Thou wilt keep the United States in Thy holy protection.”
In John Adams’ 1799 proclamation “Recommending a National Day of Humiliation, Fasting, and Prayer,” where he asked Americans to “call to mind our numerous offenses against the Most High God, confess them before Him with the sincerest penitence, implore His pardoning mercy, through the Great Mediator and Redeemer.”
In Abraham Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation appointing another “National Day of Humiliation, Fasting, and Prayer,” where he rebuked the American people for their “presumptuous sins,” and said, “We have forgotten God.”
I believe what we just saw has not been seen in a very long time and is long overdue.
I’ve viewed old black and white film footage of Richard Nixon attending Billy Graham Crusades in the 1950s, but aside from a few obligatory words at the opening, he really wasn’t an integral part of the service, and I think it was just political opportunism in order to curry favor with believers on his road to the White House.
But now, I saw a sitting president, vice president, and multiple cabinet members come together to call upon America to remember one man who was killed for what he said this year, but more importantly, to call upon America to remember another—greater—man who was killed for what He said 2,000 years ago.
This was an extraordinary moment in my lifetime, and in American history. I’ll be pondering this for the months and years to come.
In one sense, yesterday was about Charlie Kirk. But in a bigger sense, it was about the man he pointed us to: Jesus Christ, the one who gives us purpose and meaning.
If September 21 becomes known as America’s “Big Tent Revival of 2025,” then perhaps our best days are not behind us, but ahead.