The Shadow of Death: A Nigerian Missionary on Charlie Kirk and the Cost of the Gospel
Like most Americans, I was first introduced to Charlie Kirk through a YouTube clip where he was eating college kids for breakfast. Charlie seemed to have that rare combination of composure and wit: calmly dismantling arguments one moment, dropping jaw-dropping zingers the next.
I’ll be honest, I dug his style. He was making near-perfect arguments for a conservative Christian worldview in ways I’ve fumbled many times in my own heated debates. There were moments that made me want to fist pump in celebration, and other times I disagreed with his more secular, libertarian brand of conservatism. Yet, even then, one had to respect the man’s skill.
As Al Mohler, President of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary put it on The Briefing podcast this morning: “Charlie was a provocateur, but not a poser. He wasn’t just a “culture-war guy” looking for clicks, he was a convictional conservative who grew more openly Christian as he grew older, shifting from libertarian instincts toward a worldview grounded in God, marriage, and faith.”
So while many Americans had already been processing the news for hours, I woke up here in Jos, Nigeria, to the shock of Charlie’s assassination at Utah Valley University. It struck me with unusual force. I was stunned, saddened, and then sobered, because his sudden absence pressed a finger on a nerve I already live with daily: the reality that courage for Christ is costly, and that cost often includes blood.
As a Nigerian American missionary serving pastors in Jos, Plateau state, Nigeria, one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a Christian, the murder of believers is not a rare breaking-news headline. It is a weekly reality. According to Open Doors US, Nigeria consistently ranks in the top ten most persecuted countries. Just a few miles from where I’m writing this blogpost, pastors have been gunned down in their pulpits, entire villages razed overnight, families slaughtered simply for bearing the name of Jesus.
I have visited with widows whose last memory of their husbands was holding his blood-soaked, lifeless body in their arms. I have offered comfort to orphans who know with a dreadful finality that their mothers will never walk back through the door. Week after week, the reports come in of another attack, another church burned, another community shattered here in Plateau State, while those in power seem unwilling to act. After so many nights of prayer that felt like groaning more than words, I must confess: it feels as though I have run out of tears to shed. Sometimes I catch myself going numb, not because I don’t care, but because the sheer volume of loss presses harder than the human soul can bear.
So, when I read of Charlie’s death this morning, it landed differently for me. It’s not that I count his life any less valuable than the countless nameless martyrs here in Nigeria. It’s that his assassination (because that’s what it was, a murder meant to send a political message) reminds me that…
Whether on an American campus or a Nigerian village road, the Gospel is always costly.
The Bible has never sugar-coated this. From front to back, God’s Word makes courage the entry-level requirement for anyone who dares to represent Jesus.
Joshua heard it on repeat: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).
The early church didn’t huddle up and ask God for safer neighbourhoods; they prayed for boldness while the authorities threatened their lives (Acts 4:29–31).
Paul told Timothy flat-out that fear is not from God, but power, love, and a sound mind do (2 Timothy 1:7–8), and Jesus Himself told His disciples to count the cost (Luke 14:25–33), not negotiate it down.
In other words, pastor, bold preaching might get you mocked, canceled, fired, killed, or assassinated. That’s always been on the table.
Charlie Kirk, whether you loved his conservative style or rolled your eyes at his controversies, modeled something many pastors need to recover: a bold refusal to be silenced. He walked into hostile environments, college campuses that felt less like lecture halls and more like Roman Colosseums where crowds cheered as lions tore Christians apart, and spoke truth without flinching. Was he mocked? Yes. Threatened? Repeatedly. Dismissed? Constantly. But he kept showing up.
Here’s where my Nigerian and American worlds collide. In Nigeria, pastors sometimes pay with their very lives for preaching Christ. In America, pastors may not (yet) face bullets, but they do face the slow death of cultural pressure where the fear isn’t being shot but being sidelined, criticized, or losing influence. One threat takes the body; the other can quietly choke the soul. Both are enemies of courage.
So let me say this as a brother in Christ: you don’t need a Boko Haram or Fulani militant at your doorstep to practice courage. You need courage every time you stand in the pulpit and preach the whole counsel of God in a culture that rolls its eyes at holiness and mocks the idea of truth. Please don’t imagine courage only belongs to martyrs in distant lands. Courage belongs in your Sunday sermon, your board meeting, your counseling sessions, and in your social media posts.
If Charlie Kirk’s life teaches us anything, it’s that courage in public witness is not optional. The Gospel was never meant to be whispered in the safe confines of our small groups; it was meant to be proclaimed in the streets, the campuses, the pulpits, and the marketplaces, anywhere people are searching, doubting, or even resisting. It was never designed to be trimmed down to fit cultural approval; it was designed to confront sin, heal the broken, and announce the reign of Christ.
That is why Romans 1:16 doesn’t just whisper, it shouts through Paul: “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes.” If that is true, then our task as pastors is clear: to preach it boldly, live it openly, and carry it courageously, whether the cost is criticism, cancellation, or even death.
So don’t honor Charlie by merely posting condolences. Don’t settle for “thoughts and prayers” while your sermons shrink and your spine softens. Honor him by imitating the courage he carried. Honor him by preaching Christ unashamed. Honor him by refusing to edit out the parts of Scripture that might make you unpopular at the next school board meeting or denominational gathering.
Please hear my heart, because I write this as a brother in Christ who has watched too many faithful saints buried: the call of Christ has always been a call to courage, and whether the cost is reputation or life itself, my prayer for us is that the Lord Jesus helps us find the faith to pay it with joy.
