Lord, have we killed your prophets?

Mourning Annunciation in the shadow of Kirk

On August 27th, I was sitting in the administrative office of St. Catherine of Siena trying to convince the sweet women there that I really should be allowed to host a writing workshop on their campus.

No, ma’am, I don’t attend Mass. No, ma’am, I haven’t met the priest. No, ma’am, I’m not Catholic.

They were kind, and we chatted until one of their volunteers made a comment I didn’t understand.

“Poor Annunciation, I can’t even imagine.”

“Oh, I know, honey.”

I didn’t know., so I asked, “Uh, what’s wrong with Annunciation?”

If you aren’t aware, a gunman opened fire on Annunciation Catholic School during morning Mass. Two children, Harper Moyski (10 years old) and Fletcher Merkel (8 years old) were killed. Eighteen other children (between the ages of 6 and 15) and three other adults, were injured.

At the time, all we knew was there had been a shooting that morning and at least two children had been killed. Other details would trickle in later, but that was more than enough to have me and these two women in tears.

We prayed and felt helpless, as is routine.

And, unlike the families of the slain, we moved on with our day. And then our days. And then our weeks.

Routine.

Exactly two weeks later, on September 10th, Charlie Kirk was gunned down on the campus of Utah Valley University.

I prayed and felt helpless, as is routine. And then I began to move on.

Except, the world was not moving on with me. I’m not referring to Kirk’s family, who — like the families of Harper and Fletcher — will not just “move on”. I mean that the cultural machine dubbed “the world” wasn’t budging.

Kirk’s death has become a flashpoint and (after more than two weeks) events around his death still dominate my Substack feed. Even this morning I read a thoughtful piece by Josh Nadeau over on Everyday Saints, titled “Vengeance is Mine”. It’s incredibly well written and worthy of your time.

It also made me more than a little sick.

Not sick because of anything Nadeau said, exactly. Sick because of one simple thought that’s been rattling around in my head ever since I watched the explosion of interest and conversation around the death of Kirk.

Why didn’t the children deserve this? The children killed and injured at Annunciation, I mean. The adults who tried to save them too. Where is their attention and discourse? Why did we deem their deaths not worthy enough for “the world” to stop and stare?

They do deserve the attention and discourse, obviously. No one would disagree with that (directly). But we also won’t give it to them either, which just means we do disagree (indirectly).

Nadeau reflects on how Kirk will never again be there when his children wake up.

That’s a good and powerful reflection. A godly reflection that draws us into love and empathy.

But where were the powerfully written pieces about the parents of Harper and Fletcher? Who is empathizing with the parents of Sophia Forchas, who is recovering after a bullet was lodged in her brain from the shooting? She’s only 12, by the way.

What has it been like for those parents to watch the world become disinterested in their children just days and hours after the shooting, then forget about them entirely when Charlie Kirk was killed two weeks later?

Kirk who’s life — and thus his death — are not free of conflict and murky waters.

Have we forgotten that our feelings about those who’ve died are directly connected to the life they lived? Out of a good desire for needed empathy, some of us in the Church write about the death of Kirk as though the realities of his life should not complicate our grief.

It does and it should.

Like a child grieving the loss of a parent who left a legacy that’s essentially a bag of some good moments tossed in with a bunch of unresolved hurts, it’s complicated and messy. With tears in our eyes we should feel confused about the death of a man who claimed to carry the banner of Christ while having made a considerable amount of wealth saying things that do not coincide with the gospel of Jesus.

We still grieve him. We pray for his family. We mourn and weep as we should.

But when we, the Church, grieve more for the death of a complex figure killed because of his political advocacy than we do for children slain because they were worshipping in a Church, we should have the decency to be sickened with ourselves.

We don’t need to become defensive, we just need to beat our chests and cry out, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

And I’m the worst of us. I am no saint, here. I know the names of the children killed at Annunciation because I googled them. I remembered there was a “shooting at a Catholic school” but thought the name was “Ascension” and couldn’t remember the date or who was affected. I had to read the Wikipedia article and I despise myself for it.

I only remember the shooting at all because I heard about it while in a Catholic church.

God have mercy on me, a sinner. I’m the worst of us.

Selah

I wonder, sometimes, what an Old Testament prophet would say to me and the congregation I worship with.

Our church didn’t pray for the children killed at Annunciation on our Sunday gathering on August 31st, but we prayed for Kirk and his family the Sunday following his death.

Would Isaiah rail against us because we valued the celebrity over the children? Would Jeremiah weep with us because we don’t realize the judgment God is bringing upon us for our lack of repentance regarding our indifference?

Or would they be kind to us because they know we should never have access to so much death and suffering? Would they speak easily, gently, because they know we should never have to choose between the two and don’t have the capacity to fully grieve both?

Would they think us children ourselves, unable to parse where to give our limited attention and grief?

Do we even have prophets today?

We probably do, but I think we’re too busy killing them in our feeds. Rail against them in the comments, call them names, ignore them. That rising emotion in us must be holy, and so use that holy anger against whoever doesn’t seem wholly onboard with us.

Hail Kirk or Kimmel as your prophet and see no false way within them.

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem,” Jesus says, “who kills the prophets and stones those who have been sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were unwilling.”¹

Oh Lord, I want to be willing, but I’m so confused.

Am I right to call out our obsession with the death of Kirk and force us to grieve our wayward hearts for they did not break this way for the children at Annunciation? Or am I so wrong and evil myself that I’ve built up a callous heart that only breaks for little children and not others?

When political leaders — Christian or not — get exceedingly more of our attention than our children, is this not a problem someone should raise? Call attention to? Wave a flag and say, “Harper and Fletcher’s deaths aren’t complicated! They deserve our grief, our essays, our time, our thoughts, our money, our prayers!”

Oh, Lord, what are you thinking? Are you angry? Do you grieve with us? Will you judge us?

Jesus, intercede.

Holy God
Holy and mighty
Holy, immortal One
Have mercy, have mercy on us

Holy God
Holy and mighty
Holy, immortal One
Have mercy, have mercy on us

Holy God
Holy and mighty
Holy, immortal One
Have mercy, have mercy on us

Have mercy, have mercy
Have mercy, have mercy on us²

1. Matthew 23:37

2. Trisagion