When Violence Becomes Our Language: An Invitation to Choose Another Way

by Lori Wilson

Another shooting. Another sanctuary violated. Another community shattered.

I find myself sitting with a grief that has no bottom, a weariness that threatens to pull me under. How many more times will we gather to mourn children who will never grow old? How many more communities will have their sense of safety torn away?

And I keep returning to Jesus.

Jesus, who looked at the crowds and said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Jesus, who taught us to turn the other cheek, to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us. Jesus, who had every reason to call down violence—occupied by Rome, betrayed by his own people, facing execution—and yet, in the garden, told Peter: “Put your sword back in its place.”

Yes, Jesus had righteous anger. He overturned tables in the temple when he saw the vulnerable being exploited. He was fierce in his love and uncompromising in his confrontation of injustice. But nowhere—nowhere—do we see him harming another person. Even as he was being crucified, his words were “Father, forgive them.”

So who have we become?

When did annihilation become our response to anger, to fear, to disagreement? When did we accept that this is simply how things are—that violence is inevitable, that there’s nothing we can do?

I confess: some days I want to retreat. I want to close the news app, silence the notifications, become a hermit in my own protected space where I don’t have to face the enormity of what we’re doing to each other. The weight of it all feels unbearable.

But then I hear another voice—quieter, more persistent. It’s the voice that asks: What am I being called to do? What am I being called to say? What curiosity am I being called to bring to this moment?

Because here’s what I know: this isn’t about one person. It isn’t about one political party. It isn’t even about one issue, though there are certainly practical steps we could take. This is about all of us. This is about the culture we’re creating together, the world we’re building with our choices, our words, our silences.

We all share a call to justice. To human dignity. To the common good.

And we all share the responsibility to ask ourselves: What kind of world do I want to live in? What am I doing—right now, today—to build it?

Jesus didn’t say the kingdom of God would come someday, far off in the future. He said it’s here. It’s now. It’s among us, breaking through whenever we choose love over hate, curiosity over judgment, peace over violence.

So perhaps our work begins not with changing them—whoever “they” are—but with changing ourselves. With developing hearts that seek peace rather than division. With approaching those we disagree with not as enemies to be defeated, but as fellow human beings created in the image of God.

This is hard, vulnerable work. It means sitting with our own anger, our own fear, our own desire for simple answers. It means resisting the pull toward tribalism and certainty, and instead dwelling in the messy, uncomfortable space of genuine dialogue.

But if we who follow Jesus won’t do this work, who will?

A Prayer for Peaceful Hearts

God of Peace,

We come to you with heavy hearts, weary from violence, overwhelmed by a world that has forgotten how to be gentle.

Soften our hardened places.Calm our anxious spirits.Give us the courage to lay down our weapons—the ones we hold in our hands

and the ones we carry in our hearts.

Teach us to be curious instead of certain, to listen instead of shout, to seek understanding instead of victory.

Help us see in every person—even those we fear,even those we oppose—your image, your beloved child.

Show us how to build your kingdom here and now, one conversation at a time, one act of peace at a time, one choice of love at a time.

Give us hope when we are weary. Give us courage when we want to retreat. Give us your peace, which surpasses all understanding.

In the name of the One who taught us another way, Amen.

Questions for Reflection

1. When I hear news of violence, what is my first response? Do I retreat into despair, harden into anger, or find myself moved toward action? What might my response be revealing about my own inner state?

2. Where in my own life do I respond to conflict with a desire to “annihilate” rather than understand? This might not be physical violence—it could be in how I speak about those I disagree with, how I engage on social media, or how I hold others in my heart.

3. What does it mean for me, specifically, to “put away the sword”? What would it look like to follow Jesus’s example of fierce love without causing harm?

4. When have I experienced genuine dialogue that led to understanding, even if not agreement? What made that possible?

5. What is one small, concrete step I can take this week to build the world I want to live in? To participate in creating the kingdom of God right now?

6. How might God be inviting me to stay engaged rather than retreat? What am I being called to do, to say, to become curious about?