Reflections in a Time of Violence and Fear
Dear church,
Sunday was our annual Church in the Park service and as such, we didn’t record or livestream our service. Despite some early showers, the day provided a great chance for us to gather and worship, sing, take communion, and share a meal with one another. What a blessing to be able to do so after such a long few weeks of both violence and fear in our nation. I decided to take some of the thoughts I shared on Sunday and post them here for those in our church family who were unable to attend our service on Sunday.
Psalm 10 speaks into the ache of our world, the cries of our hearts, and the confusion we feel when violence shakes us. Recently, our nation has once again been thrust into sorrow through an act of senseless violence. The last few weeks have featured a number of jarring moments:
During a school Mass at the Church of the Annunciation, a former student opened fire, killing two children in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
A gunman shot a pole office outside the CDC building in Atlanta, Georgia.
A man entered and killed four people in a bar with a rifle in Anaconda, Montana.
Outside a nightclub/restaurant gunfire from a passing vehicle killed four people and wounded fourteen others.
A Ukrainian refugee was fatally stabbed aboard a train in Charlotte, North Carolina. And then the tragic events of last week.
The shocking assassination of Charlie Kirk and countless other tragic events has left many in shock. Moments like this are reminders of how fragile life truly is. They force us to face the brokenness of our world and echo the words of Paul in Romans 8: “all creation groans.”
We hear the groaning of families, of communities, of a nation struggling to find peace.
Where do we go when the world feels heavy?
Where do we turn when violence draws close, when fear threatens to overwhelm us, when the headlines shake our hope?
As people of God, we turn to Scripture to give us direction.
On Sunday we rested on the words from Psalm 10:12–18 that proclaims three truths:
God sees. God defends. God acts.
God Sees
The psalmist cries: “But you see the trouble and grief they cause. You take note of it and punish them. The helpless put their trust in you. You defend the orphans.” (Psalm 10:14 NLT) One of the deepest questions in the human heart is this: Does God notice? Does He see what’s going on? Does he know what’s happening?
When violence strikes, when evil seems unchecked, when grief is raw, we can wonder if God has turned His face away. But the psalmist assures us—He does see. He sees the injustice. He sees the tears. He sees every hidden wound.
You are not invisible to Him.
The grief of our nation is not invisible to Him. He knows. He cares.
And this is staggering when we consider the scale of creation.
If the Earth were the size of a peppercorn, the Sun would be the size of a beach ballThat Sun, massive and blazing, could fit 1.3 million Earths inside of it.
And yet, the Sun is only one star among roughly 400 billion in our Milky Way Galaxy. Our galaxy stretches 100,000 light-years across. It’s hard for me to even imagine what that means. Light, traveling at 186,000 miles per second, would still need 100,000 years just to cross it.
But even the Milky Way is only one among an estimated two trillion galaxies in the observable universe. Scientists estimate that there are more stars in the heavens than grains of sand on every beach across our planet.
Let that sink in.
Against the vast backdrop of the cosmos, we are smaller than dust. And yet—here is the scandalous beauty of the gospel—Isaiah tells us He calls each star by name (Isaiah 40:26), and He knows your name too.
David, marveling in Psalm 8, cried out:
“When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place—what is man that you are mindful of him?”
We are small, but not forgotten.
Finite, but not insignificant.
Fragile, but infinitely loved.
God Defends
Psalm 10 goes further: “You defend the helpless and the fatherless.” (Psalm 10:14)
God is not a detached observer, looking on from a distance. He is a defender of the weak, a protector of the vulnerable, a refuge for the oppressed.
Our world often rewards the strong, the influential, the powerful. But God bends low to shield those whom society overlooks. Like a shepherd placing himself between the sheep and the wolves, God defends His children.
The Bible is filled with stories of this very truth:
Hagar in the wilderness (Genesis 16, 21). Cast out, alone, and desperate, she met God, who heard the cries of her child and provided water. She named Him El Roi which means —“the God who sees me.”
Israel in Egypt (Exodus 2–14). God heard the cries of His enslaved people and raised up Moses to confront Pharaoh with mighty acts. No empire is too strong for God’s deliverance.
Widows, orphans, and strangers (Deut. 10:17–18). God names Himself their defender, revealing His heart for the most vulnerable.
Hannah in her barrenness (1 Samuel 1). Her anguish was met by God’s remembering love, and Samuel was born.
David and Goliath (1 Samuel 17). God used a shepherd boy to topple a giant, showing His delight in using weakness to shame strength.
The poor and needy in the Psalms (Psalm 9:9–10, 68:5). Time and again, the psalmists remind us: God is a refuge.
Elijah and the widow at Zarephath (1 Kings 17). In famine, God sustained the woman’s household with daily bread.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego (Daniel 3). Thrown into fire, they were not alone. God Himself was with them.
Jesus in the Gospels. He touched lepers, defended the woman caught in adultery, fed the hungry, and restored the broken. In Him, we see the Father’s heart on display.
The early church (Acts 6, 12). They organized to care for widows and prayed fervently until Peter was freed from prison.
Paul’s weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9–10). God reminded him that His power is made perfect in weakness.
The final victory (Revelation 21–22). Every tear will be wiped away. Evil will be silenced forever.
From beginning to end, God is consistent:
He defends the helpless.
He shelters the afflicted.
And He calls His people to join Him in this work.
The church is not meant to mirror the world’s outrage, but to embody God’s compassion.
In times of division, we are called to be a refuge of grace.
God Acts
Psalm 10 closes with hope: “Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them. You will bring justice to the orphans and the oppressed, so mere people can no longer terrify them.” (vv. 17–18)
God does not merely see. He does not only defend. He also acts. His justice will prevail. His comfort will reach the grieving. His kingdom will not be shaken.
Political powers rise and fall, but the kingdom of God endures forever. Evil may roar for a season, but it will not win. The Bible’s great story arc is this: God will not let violence have the last word. His justice and mercy will.
This is where our hope rests—not in Washington, D.C., not in political victories, not in human leaders—but in the God who rules heaven and earth.
How Do We Live This Out?
In light of God’s vision, defense, and action, how do we live faithfully in these troubled days?
Here are a few things I began to journal for my own soul as I process the violence of the past few weeks.
I need to avoid the need to explain everything or fix everything.
Rather, I will focus on sitting with people in their grief, their anger, their fear. James 1:19 urges us: “Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” Presence often speaks louder than words.
I will pray with people, not just for people.
When a friend shares their sorrow or outrage, I will do my best to pause and pray in the moment. Prayer spoken aloud is ministry, reminding both hearts that God is present.
I will cherish meals shared together.
Violence occurs when there is not the capacity or will to have meaningful, thoughtful discussion. When I’m unable or unwilling to have conversations with people, I tend to isolate myself and in our isolation we devolve. Tragedy tends to isolate us, but hospitality creates belonging. A shared meal, a cup of coffee or tea, or even a simple conversation at the table communicates this powerful truth: You are not alone. This is how the early church grew strong in the face of persecution.
I will speak hope, not fear nor anxiety.
Culture thrives on cycles of outrage. If we’re not yelling about something then people wonder why we don’t care. Yet as followers of God we are called to not just increase the volume of fear or anxiety. We are called to break that cycle with words of encouragement and faith. Paul exhorts: “Encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thess. 5:11).
When I think of someone, I will check in on them.
They Holy Spirit will guide you and bring to your memory specific people and specific times. He becomes imperative that we listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit in our lives. A text. A call. A knock at the door. Simple acts of checking in remind others of God’s care. Especially in unsettling times, steady presence is a gift of grace.
Psalm 10 reminds us that God sees, God defends, and God acts. In a world where violence seems unchecked, where grief feels overwhelming, and where fear stalks our days, these truths anchor our hope.
He sees every tear.
He defends the helpless.
He will act to bring justice and comfort.
Church family, let us be people who reflect His heart. Let us notice the overlooked, defend the weak, and trust that God’s justice will have the final word. And as we do, may the watching world see not just our sorrow, but our hope—the hope of a God who rules forever, who bends low to comfort, and who one day will wipe away every tear.
I love you, church.
Pastor Daniel
