I am writing thousands of miles above the earth, somewhere between Phoenix and home. The hum of the engines is constant, but what reverberates within me is not the altitude, not the passage over desert and plain. What reverberates within me is the quake in America’s soul I witnessed on Sunday. I was there, at the memorial for Charlie Kirk, slain only weeks ago, and it felt less like a service than a convulsion of history.
Over 200,000 people packed into an arena and the surrounding streets—a football stadium and hockey stadium side by side, overflowing—while more than 100 million watched online, the audience continuing to grow by the day as clips and testimonies ripple outward. Some of the most powerful leaders in America, perhaps the world, stood on that stage. And yet the most remarkable thing was not their presence but what was placed at the center: faith—not as an ornament, not as a perfunctory nod to heritage, but as the fabric of meaning and order itself.
Religion was not a backdrop but a foundation.
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