Charlie Kirt was a good man. He was a faithful Christian who sought to bring biblical truth into the public sphere. He exemplified what it means to “let your light shine” before others (Matt. 5:13–16). In every video I watched, he was always kind and respectful. He was also firm and unwavering in his convictions. The problem we face today, and what I believe contributed not only to his death but also to the insidious mocking of it by many, is that firm convictions make people uncomfortable. Today, truth is often no longer defined by principles or objective reality; instead for many, it is defined by feelings. If a conviction hurts someone’s feelings, it is labeled hateful. In our culture, how you make someone feel has become the highest virtue.

In such an environment, genuine communication becomes nearly impossible. The exchange of ideas has been replaced by the demand to affirm one’s feelings. If someone believes something to be true, the only acceptable response is affirmation. Truth itself becomes irrelevant; affirmation is what matters. This logic leads to the belief that rejecting someone’s ideas is the same as rejecting them as a person. Disagreement, then, is seen as hatred, justifying insults, or in the case of Charlie, worse. There is no room for disagreement because disagreement in their eyes is an invalidation of their person. Therefore, disagreement is often viewed as a form of violence. Thus, when feelings are not affirmed, the person feels invalidated, interpreting this as hatred, and in the case of Charlie, as justification for violent retaliation.

This, of course, is a simplification of that matter, but it gets to the heart of the issue. Others have given more nuanced arguments for how “feelings” have become the new standard of truth. The point is this: for many their sense of identity does not come from an identification with an ideal, but the ideal is a personification of their personhood. The ideal and the person become inseparable—the ideal is the person. Ironically, our culture has trained people to think this way. However, when the idea and personhood are fused together, rejecting an idea becomes rejecting the person who holds it.

How can open communication and dialogue exist under this view of personhood? It becomes increasingly difficult. When identity is equated with affirmation, not affirming that identity feels like rejection of the individual and is equated with violence. In debates over gender dysphoria, for example, activists often cite high suicide rates within the transgender community, arguing that rejection of their idenity contributes to despair and leads to self-harm. From this perspective, failing to affirm someone’s self-understanding is not just disagreement but a threat to their life. In response, the community now advocates for violence against those who do not validate them to “save” those who would otherwise harm themselves. Dialogue in such a climate is fragile at best, if not impossible. This is a lose-lose proposition. One cannot be told their views/worldview are wrong for fear of them engaging in self-harm; and one cannot tell someone their views/worldview is wrong for fear of retaliation.

Charlie Kirt experienced that retaliation. Some attempt to justify his death by labeling him a “bigot” and promoter of hate, as if disagreement alone made him worthy of condemnation. Nothing could be further from the truth. He simply disagreed and offered a biblical response—an action that, in today’s climate, is too often branded as hatred and even violence. When the shot that ended Charlie’s life was fired, the ability for effective communication and dialogue went on life support. As such, his death becomes a metaphor for silence. When words are equated with violence, disagreement is no longer tolerated, and dialogue ends. Unfortunately, those who advocate for this view have not considered the implications of their actions. For many activists, the only acceptable response is conformity. For those who see life differently, however, they can agree to conform or they can resist—but words are no longer effective.

Those who resist can no longer provide different views, ideals, or counterarguments—for dialogue itself is collapsing. This is not a minor development. It is central to the crisis we now face as a nation and as a civilization. To put it in perspective, the loss of dialogue is like an asteroid striking a continent. I do not know how big one has to be to destroy an entire continent, but I know it is smaller than we might at first imagine. A quick search reveals that one only half a mile wide could devastate life on the entire landmass. In the same way, the silencing of open discourse has the power to unravel our cultural foundations. As such, Charlie’s death symbolizes an existential threat. This is not alarmism, but a sober recognition of what is at stake. Many who advocate for violence and mock his death have not considered the grave consequences of their actions.

Psalm 11:3 asks, “If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?” We have not reached that point yet. However, we are living at the edge of collapse. The warning signs are visible, though the full consequences have not yet unfolded, and they may be far worse than most imagine. It must be recognized, however, that the collapse of a civilization is not just the collapse of the ability to communicate. The breakdown of communication is only the beginning. This is the first signal that the foundations of a civilization are giving way.

Why? Because when dialogue dies, trust dies with it. And once disagreement is treated as violence and conformity becomes the only option, society fractures along irreconcilable lines. And when the foundations of a civilization give way, everything built upon them soon follows. I have heard many people brandish the words “civil war.” This is not a casual phrase. A second American civil war will be nothing like the first. A second war will likely result in the complete collapse of society as we know it. The outcome will be the Balkanization of the continent.

I’m not a prophet, but I think a likely scenario would be, in rough terms, as follows: first there would be an escalation of violence. This unrest would at first appear to be only a law enforcement issue. Localized violence would seem manageable, yet beneath the surface the rule of law would be collapsing. As violence intensified, police resources would be stretched thin and calls for martial law would most likely follow. However, behind the scenes, basic logistics like food, fuel, and medicine would begin to slow, and shortages would soon become a daily reality. The things we count on being at the grocery store would simply not be there. History shows that once supply lines collapse, economies falter. First come empty shelves, then hoarding, then rationing. As businesses close and money loses value, desperation would grow. In such a condition, starvation would outpace the violence itself. With institutions overwhelmed, the collapse of the economy, and the collapse of the rule of law, new power centers would emerge. Regional leaders, who are no more than warlords, would step into the chaos, offering survival in exchange for control. By the time all this unfolds, no one would remember why it all started to begin with. Survival would be the new norm.

The first American civil war ended with a defeated side and a preserved union. A second civil war will likely end with a fragmented nation, a shattered infrastructure, and millions dead from violence and deprivation. The result will be the Balkanization of the continent. What will be left will be a patchwork of competing territories where the American experiment is remembered only as a failed ideal.

Does that seem unlikely? The first world war began with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary on June 28, 1914, triggering a chain reaction of events. He was not a significant historical figure—until he died. It was the events surrounding his death that led to war and the death of approximately twenty million people. That number greatly increases when one considers that WWII was a continuation of WWI. I’m not here to argue that point, but to point out that one assassination had significant historical significance—and none of it was good. While Europe did not collapse, I think America could. Those two wars were fought by nations, and those nations retained their historical identity after the conflicts. But the American identity is tenous. It is not rooted in ethnicity or in tradition handed down through many generations. The American identity is an ideal. And with a second America civil war, I believe that ideal would die.

Again, this is not alarmism but a sober recognition of what unchecked division can bring. When the foundations are destroyed, collapse follows. Therefore, the time to act is now, before fracture becomes escalation, and escalation becomes collapse, and collapse becomes the end of a civilization.

So, what do we do? We can give an honest answer to the question posed by Psalm 11:3. The answer is not despair, it is to rebuild. Even in the darkest moments of history, God has preserved a remnant and called His people to stand firm. The righteous cannot control the tides of culture or the collapse of institutions, but they can choose how to respond.

The first task is to anchor ourselves again in truth. In an age where feelings are mistaken for reality, God’s Word remains a solid foundation. To rebuild begins with courageously speaking the truth in love, refusing to let the fear of rejection or retaliation silence the gospel. Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and truth will set your free” (John 8:32). We must never underestimate the power of God to open eyes and change hearts. He is the master of changing destiny. When all hope seems lost, He provides an empty tomb!

Second, we rebuild by focusing on community. No one rebuilds alone. Throughout Scripture, God’s people rebuilt walls (Nehemiah), temples (Ezra), and communities together. When Pentecost arrived, under the power of the Holy Spirit, God’s people began the task of building the Kingdom of God. We must never lose that focus. We can only build together as team. Therefore, the church must lean on each other, bearing one another’s burdens, demonstrating to the world what real love looks like. When we work together, we have the ability to form resilient communities that models the hope, compassion, and strength found only in Christ. It is time to set aside non-essential differences and become the church God created and Pentecost. The truth shines brightest through the community of believers who live it and demonstrate to the world what it looks like.

Third, we rebuild faithfulness. The collapse of civilization is not the end of God’s kingdom. When worldly systems fail, the testimony of God’s people becomes even more powerful. Every act of kindness, every word of truth, every display of integrity points others to the unshakable kingdom of Christ. Since the birth of the church, nations have risen and fallen. Through all the uncertainties of history, the church has been a solid foundation, pointing the world to the only true hope we have. Christ is the solid rock upon which we stand. Nations may rise and fall, but the Kingdom of God will stand forever.

And fourth, we rebuild our perspective. Our ultimate hope is not in saving America but in bearing witness to the reign of Christ. Even if nations crumble, the gospel advances. Even if dialogue fails, prayer never does. Even if foundations are shaken, God Himself is our foundation.

We may be standing at the edge of collapse, but collapse is not the final word. The righteous rebuild, not by clinging to power, but by clinging to Christ. In doing so, we remind a broken world that darkness does not have the last word. The light still shines, and the foundations of God’s kingdom cannot be destroyed.