When Charlie Kirk was shot in the neck while giving a speech at Utah Valley University, he collapsed mid-sentence, and the crowd screamed.
By the time his body hit the ground, half the country had already written the narrative: “Charlie Kirk got what was coming to him; he was too opinionated and outspoken.”
But if that’s the tone we’re adopting after a political assassination, we have crossed a line we may never come back from. And, in that moment, we saw not the death of a man, but a chilling silence that descended over the voice of bold Christian conviction in public life.
Charlie Kirk’s life and the loss of it, due to exercising his right to free speech as a U.S. citizen, impacts both sides of the aisle. This is a moral failure in humanity, not just a disagreement. If this action is justified by mere difference of opinion, then what’s to stop me from choosing my own course of action against anyone else I oppose based on my beliefs or feelings? We are treading on dangerous ground.
What the media mostly will not talk about is why Charlie Kirk mattered to so many people in the first place. He helped a generation start thinking beyond themselves, both ethically and morally, and logically, to search for truth.
I have spent years in mental health as a Licensed Professional Counselor, and I have seen what disconnection really does to people. It is not just sadness; it’s soul-level starvation.
Millions in this country are dying inside from a lack of meaning. Young people, especially. Underneath the culture wars and viral clips is something worse: numbness, a quiet epidemic of isolation, aimlessness, and hopelessness.
We are the most connected generation in history, and the loneliest. Surrounded by likes, followers and group chats, yet completely unseen. Unknown. Unvalued.
Charlie Kirk recognized this and spoke with conviction. He believed deeply that truth is not a social construct; it is a person. His worldview was grounded in a biblical understanding of purpose, sin and redemption. He did not just speak on politics; he aimed for clarity in a world that is allergic to truth.
Kirk was neither a trained therapist nor a theologian. But he spoke directly into the vacuum. He told young people that they mattered. That they belonged to something. That truth existed, and they had a role to play in defending it. He offered clarity in a time of confusion, conviction in a time of apathy, and, most importantly, identity in a time of fragmentation.
The audiences that showed up for him were not political hardliners. They were college students, homeschooled teenagers, ex-liberals, confused kids from broken homes and kids raised without faith or fathers. Many were angry. Others were just deeply, painfully alone.
What Charlie gave them was not just politics; it was a tribe. That is what scared his critics the most.
Loneliness is “the state of being unseen or unnoticed relationally, mentally, emotionally, physically or spiritually.” I have worked with too many young people who have never once felt truly known. So, when someone like Kirk stepped in and spoke to them with directness, they listened. Because he did not speak about them, he talked to them.
And he gave them a mission. For many, that mission was not just political; it was spiritual. Kirk called young people back to a faith their generation had been taught to mock. He reminded them that life without God leads to confusion, addiction and despair—and that the path to restoration starts not in Washington, but at the foot of the cross.
You do not have to agree with his politics to understand the appeal. The progressive establishment has spent a decade telling young men to tone it down, sit it out or shut up. Kirk told them to stand up and speak. He said their values were not toxic, their masculinity was not a disease, and their instincts to protect faith, family and freedom were not something to be unlearned; they were something to lean into.
And that message landed.
Not because it was polished, but because it was personal. And in a lonely society, personal wins.
Charlie Kirk’s bottom line was always the Divine. His ultimate message was not political; it was spiritual. He met and debated at institutions that brainwashed this generation and the younger to believe the agenda instead of thinking for themselves or simply following what was socially taught. Charlie fought for a generation that is actively self-destructing.
If we do not offer something better than what he provided, we risk losing an entire generation. We already are.
Prolonged loneliness is not just an emotional issue; it is a spiritual crisis. It disconnects people from meaning and erodes the soul. If left unchecked, it can lead to addiction, depression, violence and even radicalization. But we will not solve that by simply censoring the symptoms. We need to focus on the root cause: our breakdown of connection.
Charlie Kirk saw the ache. He offered identity, belonging and a sense of purpose. That is why people listened. And now that he’s gone, they are not going to stop listening; they are going to listen harder.
The question is not whether you liked Kirk. The question is, do you have the courage to speak truth with the same fire, same faith and same fearlessness as he did?
Dr. Mark Mayfield is a Faculty Fellow with the Centennial Institute and serves as an Assistant Professor of Clinical Mental Health Counseling at Colorado Christian University. The views expressed are those of the authors and do not represent the views of Colorado Christian University or the Centennial Institute.