The air feels charged with anger. Outrage spreads like fire through our feeds. Families split across political lines, friends grow suspicious, neighbors draw the curtains. In many Western nations, democracy itself groans under the weight of distrust, misinformation, and division.[1] Political culture has become toxic, not only in what leaders say, but in what ordinary citizens begin to breathe, absorb, and repeat.
Yet underneath the noise, the majority longs for another way. Many are weary of living on the edge of constant outrage, of choosing sides like teams in a war, of assuming the worst of those who differ. A hunger rises for a different spirit: one that pulls us back from the brink, restores civil discourse, renews democracy, and rebuilds the fragile common good.
The question is urgent: how do we find the off-ramp? How do we step away from the cliff edge and turn toward life again?
When Politics Turns Deadly
We don’t need more evidence that our political culture has crossed a dangerous threshold, yet it keeps arriving.[2] The murder of Charlie Kirk, no matter one’s politics, is a wound to the whole body. It joins a grim list: elected officials attacked in their homes, legislators harassed on the streets, staffers threatened, judges and election workers living under constant fear. What was once unthinkable has become tragically familiar: political disagreement giving way to intimidation, hatred, and even bloodshed.
When political opponents become enemies to be eliminated rather than neighbors to be argued with, democracy collapses under the weight of fear. When fear rules, truth is silenced, mercy withers, and every policy dispute carries the shadow of violence. The danger isn’t only to public servants but to the soul of the people.
The Christian vision insists that no neighbor can be reduced to an enemy without also reducing ourselves. The cross of Christ exposes violence as a lie, a counterfeit solution that leaves only ruin. And it summons us to another way: to see even adversaries as bearers of dignity, to wrestle with ideas rather than destroy those who hold them, to create space for robust disagreement without surrendering to rage.
We must lament every act of political violence. We must name it as sin, resist its normalization, and call forth communities of courage where words replace weapons and reconciliation outshines revenge. Only then will we find the off-ramp from this spiral of destruction.
A Prayer of Lament and Resolve
O God of peace,
we grieve the blood that has been spilled on our streets,
the voices silenced by hatred,
the leaders struck down by rage.
We confess our complicity in a culture that feeds division,
that prizes victory over truth,
that forgets the image of your love in every neighbor.
Hold before us the faces of those lost,
the families who mourn,
the communities shaken.
Do not let us grow numb to this sorrow.
Teach us again the ways of mercy,
the courage to speak truth without violence,
the patience to seek justice without vengeance,
the hope to build a common life where weapons are laid down
and words become tools of healing.
Through the cross of Christ,
reconcile what hatred has torn apart,
and make us instruments of your peace.
Amen.
Naming the Disease
To find healing, we must name the wound. Political polarization has turned difference into enmity. Debate has hardened into contempt. Outrage has become currency, cynicism a badge of honor. We live in a culture where scoring points matters more than seeking truth, and humiliating opponents is valued more than persuading them.
“When we no longer see the image of God in those across the aisle, democracy decays, and our humanity falters.”
Violence hovers at the margins, sometimes spilling into the open. We see threats against leaders, hatred directed at neighbors, and ideologies clothed in religious garments that betray the very faith they claim. Social media amplifies the worst, rewarding extremity and reducing complex realities into slogans that wound rather than heal.
This isn’t just politics; it’s a spiritual crisis. When we no longer see the image of God in those across the aisle, democracy decays, and our humanity falters. When contempt replaces compassion, society begins to fracture at its very core.
The Spiritual Roots of Democracy
“Democracy is a spiritual practice not merely a political arrangement.”
Democracy isn’t only a political arrangement; it’s a spiritual practice. At its heart lies the conviction that every person bears sacred worth, that voices should be heard, that power must be shared. Democracy presupposes humility: that no single group or party possesses the whole truth, and that we need one another to approximate wisdom.
The prophets of old spoke of justice rolling down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream (Amos 5:24). They reminded rulers and people alike that authority is a trust, and governance must serve the vulnerable. Jesus embodied a kingdom not of domination but of service, where the greatest are those who wash feet (John 13:12–15). These aren’t just religious ideals; they are the spiritual soil out of which democracy grows.
When politics becomes toxic, it isn’t simply a failure of policy but a betrayal of this sacred trust. To heal democracy, we must tend to the soul of our public life.
The Hunger for a Different Spirit
Beneath the shouting, most people are tired of living in a state of constant conflict. They want leaders who speak truth without venom, who can disagree without destroying, who value cooperation over conquest. They want to see neighbors as neighbors again, not as enemies.
This longing is itself a grace. It’s the Spirit groaning within societies that are weary of hatred. It’s the holy discontent that says, “This isn’t who you’re meant to be.”
The off-ramp begins here: in listening to this yearning, in trusting that the vast majority doesn’t want to live at war, in believing that renewal is possible.
“The off-ramp begins here: in listening to this yearning, in trusting that the vast majority doesn’t want to live at war, in believing that renewal is possible.”
Practices for Pulling Back from the Brink
How then do we begin? Not with quick fixes, but with slow, deliberate practices that form a new political spirituality.
1. Practicing the Presence in Public Life
Mystics speak of practicing the presence of God in all things. What if we learned to practice presence in our politics? Before speaking, pause. Before posting, breathe. Before debating, remember the humanity of the one who differs. Carry into civic life the same reverence we bring to prayer, seeing opponents not as obstacles but as sacred icons of divine image.
“Carry into civic life the same reverence we bring to prayer, seeing opponents not as obstacles but as sacred icons of divine image.”
2. Choosing Curiosity Over Contempt
Contempt dehumanizes; curiosity dignifies. To ask, “Help me understand why you see it that way,” is to resist the poison of polarization. It doesn’t mean surrendering convictions but approaching difference with humility. Curiosity opens space for grace to move, even when agreement never comes.
3. Recovering Silence and Slowness
Toxic politics thrives on immediacy. Outrage demands instant reaction. But democracy requires patience. The contemplative path teaches us to slow down, to sit in silence, to listen deeply. If we can’t be silent in prayer, we can’t be calm in debate. Slowness restores proportion and gives wisdom room to speak.
4. Practicing Confession and Repentance
Each side of the political divide carries blame. Confession is the courage to admit complicity. Repentance is the willingness to change course. Without confession, we remain trapped in cycles of blame; with it, we open the door to renewal. Communities that confess together can also heal together.
“Without confession, we remain trapped in cycles of blame; with it, we open the door to renewal.”
5. Re-Centering on the Common Good
The prophets remind us that proper governance seeks justice for those experiencing poverty, liberation for the oppressed, and dignity for the forgotten. When politics is reduced to tribal gain, the common good disappears. To restore democracy is to recover the vision of shared flourishing: that my neighbor’s well-being is bound up with mine.
The Role of the Church and Communities of Faith
If democracy is to be renewed, communities of faith must reclaim their prophetic vocation. Not as chaplains to parties, but as witnesses to the kingdom that transcends them all. Not as cheerleaders for ideologies, but as servants of truth, reconciliation, and justice.
The church should be the one place where people of different views can pray together, eat together, and work for the good of the world together. It should be a community where we learn how to hold differences without division, how to speak the truth in love, and how to embody the reconciling Christ in a fractured age.
“When the church baptizes partisan rage, it betrays the gospel. But when it models humility, compassion, and courage, it becomes a sanctuary for hope.”
When the church baptizes partisan rage, it betrays the gospel. But when it models humility, compassion, and courage, it becomes a sanctuary for hope.
Prophetic Resistance to Violence and Lies
Pulling back from the brink doesn’t mean softening truth or ignoring injustice. The contemplative life gives us courage to resist lies, name violence, and stand against oppression. But it teaches us to do so without hatred, without mirroring the tactics of those we oppose.
The cross is the ultimate act of resistance and reconciliation: absorbing violence without returning it, exposing lies without becoming a liar, defeating death through the surrender of love. To follow the crucified One in political life is to resist with both courage and compassion.
Reimagining Disagreement
What if disagreement were no longer a threat but a gift? In a democracy, disagreement isn’t failure; it’s the way wisdom emerges. When handled with respect, disagreement sharpens thought, broadens vision, and protects against tyranny.
To reimagine disagreement is to remember that unity isn’t uniformity, and peace isn’t silence. It’s possible to disagree robustly while still affirming the dignity of those across the table. This is the discipline we must relearn if democracy is to survive.
Stories of Renewal
Throughout history, societies have found ways to escape despair and off-ramps from political violence. Nations scarred by war have chosen reconciliation. Leaders who were once at odds have forged bipartisan alliances for the sake of the vulnerable. Communities fractured by hatred have rediscovered common humanity in the rubble of disaster.
These stories remind us that the brink isn’t the end. It’s the place where repentance can begin, where mercy can surprise, where grace can interrupt the spiral of destruction.
A Mystical Vision for Public Life
Mystics teach us to see the world as charged with the presence of God. Imagine politics charged with that same awareness. Imagine debates carried out as if the Spirit hovered over them. Imagine policies shaped by prayerful listening, legislation born of humility, leaders formed in silence before they speak in public.
This mystical vision doesn’t remove conflict, but it transforms its spirit. Politics becomes not a battlefield but a pilgrimage, not a zero-sum game but a shared journey toward justice.
The Hope Beyond Despair
It’s easy to despair when violence erupts, when lies spread, when civility crumbles. But despair is itself a toxin, paralyzing the will to act. Hope isn’t naïve optimism; it’s stubborn trust that the Spirit is still at work, that resurrection follows crucifixion, that even now renewal is possible.
“Hope is stubborn trust that the Spirit is still at work, that resurrection follows crucifixion, that even now renewal is possible.”
Hope looks at a polarized society and sees seeds of grace: ordinary neighbors longing for peace, quiet majorities who want something different, communities where reconciliation is being practiced in small but powerful ways. Hope dares to believe that the toxic spirit isn’t the final word.
Stepping Off the Brink
We stand at a precipice. The culture of outrage tempts us to leap into chaos. But there is another way. There is an off-ramp, a path back to sanity and grace. It will require humility, silence, confession, curiosity, and courage. It will require communities of faith to model reconciliation, citizens to choose compassion over contempt, and leaders to put the common good above partisan gain.
This isn’t easy. It’s the way of the cross: costly, slow, and often misunderstood. But it’s the only way that leads to life.
If we dare to walk this path, we may yet find ourselves surprised. We may discover that enemies can become neighbours again, that democracy can be healed, that truth and mercy can kiss in the public square. We may find that the brink wasn’t the end, but the threshold of a new beginning.
And in that discovery, we’ll glimpse the more profound truth: that politics, when purified, can become a form of love: an imperfect but real participation in the covenant of God, who calls us to seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly in this world (Micah 6:8).
“Politics, when purified, when carried out as an expression of our discipleship to Christ, can become a form of love: an imperfect but real participation in the covenant of God.”
Graham Joseph Hill is the Mission Catalyst – Church Planting and Missional Renewal for Uniting Mission and Education. You can read his Blog here and his Substack here.
Bibliography
Levendusky, Matthew. How Partisan Media Polarize America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013.
Levitsky, Steven, and Daniel Ziblatt, How Democracies Die. Danvers: Crown, 2018.
References
[1] Levendusky, How Partisan Media Polarize America.
[2] Levitsky and Ziblatt, How Democracies Die.
