"You should get killed on the spot."
That was waiting in my Facebook inbox, tucked between a listener asking about the show and somebody’s grandmother sharing a Bible verse.
The writer called me a liar. A propagandist. Several other things unfit for a family newspaper. He said he hoped somebody would “take care” of me and my team. Then he promised the death penalty was on its way.
I read it once.
Then I read it again.
The first time, I read it as a broadcaster who has spent years receiving insults from strangers. Fourteen-plus million impressions a month will introduce you to plenty of people who don’t like you.
The second time, I read it as a husband, a father, and a man responsible for people who work alongside me.
That felt different.
Suddenly this wasn’t simply another guy pounding angrily on his keyboard. He had mentioned my team. My mind moved immediately to the people I love. I wondered whether this was merely ugliness or something more serious.
Then the anger came.
I wish I could tell you my first reaction was spiritual. It wasn’t.
Part of me wanted to post his name and picture and let my audience handle the rest. I could have turned thousands of people loose on him before lunch. I even could have convinced myself that I was doing something righteous — that humiliating him publicly was simply another form of accountability.
But it wouldn’t have been.
It would have been revenge with better branding.
So what is a Christian actually supposed to do when somebody says he wants you dead?
First, Christians are not commanded to be stupid.
I saved the message. I reported it. I blocked the account. If authorities need to become involved, they will. Scripture does not ask me to gamble with the safety of my family or staff to prove I trust God. Forgiveness does not eliminate boundaries. Mercy does not erase consequences. And loving an enemy does not require giving him continued access to your life.
But after the report is filed and the account is blocked, there is still something left to confront.
Me.
What am I going to permit this man to produce inside my own heart?
Jesus said, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
I have read those words countless times. They sound beautiful in a sermon. They are considerably less comfortable when the enemy has just described your death.
Jesus never pretended enemies weren’t real. He didn’t call evil a misunderstanding. He didn’t tell His followers to ignore danger or abandon justice. He told us to do something much harder: to see the person committing the evil as someone who still bears the image of God.
So I began to pray for the man who wrote the message.
Not eloquently.
Not warmly.
And not because I suddenly felt affection for him.
I prayed because obedience sometimes has to begin before the feelings arrive. I prayed because if I waited until I wanted to do it, I might never do it. I prayed because I know what hatred does to a human heart, and I did not want his hatred taking up residence in mine.
Paul wrote, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
That is not a decorative verse. It is a battlefield command.
Being overcome by evil doesn’t only mean becoming its victim. It can also mean allowing someone else’s evil to reproduce itself in you. He sends hatred; you return hatred. He dehumanizes you; you dehumanize him. He wants a mob; you gather a larger one.
Soon everyone is speaking the same language, and nobody looks much like Jesus.
This man believes I deserve to die.
Here is the part of the Gospel that levels both of us: apart from Christ, I do.
Not because his accusations are true. They aren’t. But the Gospel does not sort humanity into respectable people who deserve mercy and monsters who don’t. He is a sinner. So am I. We both stand guilty before a holy God, incapable of talking our way out of the verdict.
“The wages of sin is death.”
That sentence has no exemption for radio hosts, conservatives, churchgoers, or people who believe they are on the correct side of an argument.
But the verse does not end there.
“The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Jesus did not curse the men driving nails through His hands. He prayed, “Father, forgive them.”
That was not weakness. He could have called legions of angels. Instead, He willingly bore the judgment of the very people mocking Him. That is power under perfect control. It is also the standard I cannot meet without His help.
So I will keep telling the truth. On the air. In this column. Everywhere God gives me a microphone.
A death threat does not get a vote on my convictions.
But neither does it give me permission to abandon them.
I will not ask God to destroy this man. I will ask God to rescue him.
I hope the rage that produced those words is interrupted by grace. I hope he discovers that political fury cannot heal whatever is broken beneath it. I hope he meets the same Jesus who stopped Saul on the road to Damascus.
Saul was “breathing threats and murder” against Christ’s followers. The early believers had every human reason to want him gone.
God wanted him redeemed.
Saul became Paul — not because his evil didn’t matter, but because the grace of God was greater than it.
That is what makes the Christian response different. We seek justice without craving vengeance. We establish boundaries without surrendering compassion. We tell the truth about evil while remembering that no human being is beyond the reach of Christ.
So, to the man who wants me dead: I do not hate you. I will not threaten you back. I do hope you are held accountable for whatever danger you pose.
But even more, I hope you are changed.
You wished death on me.
I offer you the One who died for both of us — and rose again so that neither death nor hatred gets the final word.