Conference Minister's Corner - 9/23/2025

Stop The Madness

We Must Reach Across The Chasm

By The Reverend Walt Hampton, J.D., CFC

A Nation at the Breaking Point

Charlie Kirk is dead. Assassinated at a Utah college rally. A young life taken in a storm of rage.

The response from our leaders has not been unity, but escalation. President Trump, in his Oval Office address, tossed aside the language of mourning and healing. He blamed the “radical left,” vowed revenge, and doubled down on the narrative of enemies within.

The message was unmistakable: not peace, not reconciliation, but war.

This is where we are now. Our politics is no longer about policy. It is a zero-sum blood sport, fueled by division, rage, and fear. We are building, with our own hands, a living hell.

And unless we stop, we will lose not only our democracy but our very souls.

The Banquet of Heaven and Hell

There’s an old story about the difference between heaven and hell.

Both are banquet halls, filled with endless tables, groaning with food and abundance. Each guest is given utensils three feet long—forks, spoons, and knives impossible to maneuver into one’s own mouth.

In hell, people sit furiously trying to feed themselves. They fight, spill, claw, and scream. The food is right before them, but no one eats.

In heaven, the same tables gleam with the same feast, the same impossible utensils. But here, laughter fills the air. Each guest uses their long spoon to reach across the table to feed another. And in turn, they are fed. Everyone is nourished.

The difference between heaven and hell is not the banquet. Not the tools. The difference is whether we choose to care for each other.

Right now, America is choosing hell.

The Great Chasm

In Luke’s Gospel this coming Sunday, Jesus tells of a rich man and a poor beggar named Lazarus. In life, the rich man feasted while Lazarus starved at his gate. In death, their fortunes are reversed. Lazarus is comforted in Abraham’s embrace, while the rich man suffers in torment. Between them yawns a great chasm.

The story is not about the afterlife so much as the illusions we create here and now. The rich man and Lazarus were always bound together, yet the blindness of privilege kept the rich man from seeing.

In our day, the chasm grows wider. Political tribes glare across it, convinced of the other’s inhumanity. Our media echo chambers amplify the illusion. But in truth, there is no “us” and “them.”

The Gospel exposes the danger of forgetting this truth. The chasm is not fixed by violence or vengeance. It is bridged only by love.

The Madness of Division

After Charlie Kirk’s death, President Trump and his allies escalated their attacks. Even before a suspect had been identified, Trump blamed the left—and only the left. He promised to go after not only the killer, but the “organizations that fund and support” dissent. His administration signaled new crackdowns, new punishments, new lists of enemies.

His allies spoke of blacklisting businesses. Revoking licenses. Canceling critics with “extreme prejudice.” Foreigners who expressed the wrong view would be barred from entry. Longstanding political opponents would face criminal charges.

This is not leadership. This is scapegoating. This is authoritarianism cloaked in vengeance.

And it will not end here. Already, the loudest voices are calling not for calm, but for more division. More violence. More war.

We Can All See It

The tragedy has not only shaken leaders. It has shaken ordinary people. Across the country, citizens are whispering what many have long felt: something is terribly wrong.

A locksmith in Texas compared it to a disease spreading with no cure. A salesman in Michigan said it feels like we’re living in insanity every single day. A college student in Wisconsin admitted that conversations on campus now feel too dangerous, so people only speak politics with those they already agree with.

My dear friend, a therapist, tells me it’s showing up in nearly every session.

Even those who disagreed most strongly with Charlie Kirk’s politics were horrified by his death. They feared what it meant for free speech, for civility, for the basic idea that people should not be murdered for their beliefs.

It is as if we are all standing at the edge of the same abyss. Liberals. Conservatives. The devout. The secular. The young and the old. Everyone senses that something essential is breaking down.

What I Learned in Law School

I think back to my days in law school. What I loved most wasn’t the case law or the Socratic method. It was the debate.

We could argue all day—about constitutional principles, statutory interpretation, questions of justice. We could spar with passion and conviction. And then, at the end of the day, we would close our books, grab pizza and beer, and laugh together.

Disagreement didn’t mean dehumanization. It didn’t mean destruction.

That is the lesson we’ve forgotten. Disagreement is not the problem. Division is. We can hold deep convictions without holding each other in contempt.

We need to stay curious. To wonder why someone sees the world differently. To ask, not in accusation, but in genuine inquiry: Tell me your story. Help me understand.

Curiosity keeps the chasm from hardening. It makes it possible to reach across.

The Way of Nonviolence

History gives us another way.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. called nonviolence “a courageous confrontation of evil by the power of love.” John Lewis spoke of getting into “good trouble” by refusing to strike back. Gandhi called it satyagraha—truth-force—a discipline that melts the heart of the oppressor.

Nonviolence is not weakness. It is strength under control. It breaks cycles of hate. It disarms fear. It transforms enemies into neighbors.

And it is not just Christian. The Dalai Lama speaks of compassion as the antidote to suffering. The Qur’an calls believers to be “a community inviting to what is good.” Jewish tradition teaches tikkun olam—the repair of the world.

Every great spiritual path points the same way: love over hate, mercy over vengeance, peace over violence.

A Prophetic Call

The prophets of old knew this. Amos thundered against those who trampled the poor and perverted justice. Isaiah cried, “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.” Jeremiah wept for a nation that had lost its way. Micah reminded us what the Lord requires: to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly.

Modern prophets have borne the same witness. Martin Luther King Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and dared to dream of a Beloved Community. Dorothy Day lived solidarity with the poor and challenged a church that grew too comfortable. Desmond Tutu declared that there can be no future without forgiveness. Nelson Mandela emerged from prison without bitterness, insisting on reconciliation rather than revenge. Malala Yousafzai took a bullet to the head and still preached the power of books, pens, and peace.

These prophets, ancient and modern, remind us that the call is the same in every age. To confront evil. To speak truth. To lift the lowly. To insist that love is stronger than hate.

Their voices rise like a great chorus across time, urging us to turn from the madness of division and choose instead the way of compassion and justice.

The Science of Connection

Even science confirms what the prophets proclaimed.

Quantum physics teaches us that nothing exists in isolation. Particles that once touched remain entangled, no matter how far apart they drift. A change in one is mirrored in the other.

It is a mystery at the heart of reality itself: we are bound together at the deepest level. I am you. You are me. We are one.

This is more than metaphor. It is truth. The divisions we cling to are illusions. Your flourishing is tied to mine. My suffering is bound up in yours.

When we forget this, violence erupts. When we remember, compassion flows.

The universe itself is whispering what every faith tradition has shouted for centuries: we belong to each other.

Seeing the Best in Us

Anne Frank, hidden in an attic while the world outside burned, wrote: “I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.”

She was not naïve. She was prophetic. To see goodness when surrounded by darkness is not denial—it is defiance.

We need that defiance now. To believe in the best of one another. To insist that the image of God is in every face. To trust that even in this polarized age, we can yet choose heaven over hell.

Stop the Madness

We are standing at an inflection point. One path leads to vengeance, violence, and collapse. The other to reconciliation, peace, and life.

Heaven. Or hell. The choice is ours.

Stop the madness.

Reach across the chasm.

Choose love.