05/06/2025
Firmness in Principle, But with Charity for All
A Reflection in the Spirit of Lincoln’s Second Inaugural
The Civil War was drawing to a close when Lincoln stood to speak—not to gloat, but to heal. He called not for vengeance, but for mercy. The wounds were deep. The nation torn. And yet, he asked us to bind up, not tear down.
Today, we face no battlefield at Gettysburg, but the division at home is real—sharp, bitter, and dangerous. The stakes are different, but no less grave. We are being tested again—this time not by muskets, but by malice, mistrust, and a fractured house.
The world watches. The enemies of freedom circle. If we do not stand together, they will not wait for us to get our house in order.
It is time to steady our footing—firm in principle, yes, but with charity for all. Because without unity, there will be no liberty. And without liberty, there is no America worth defending.
We must unite. And fast.
Fellow countrymen,
At this hour in our history, though the cannon of war may sound more distantly, yet its echo rolls across the earth. Though we live not beneath the same shadow that once darkened our Union with musket and mortar, still, there is division—deep, bitter, and unrelenting—not drawn upon maps, but upon hearts.
Both sides decry the other. Each claims the mantle of truth and casts the other as unworthy of it. We prosecute our politics with a zeal once reserved for the battlefield; our weapons now are words, our battles waged in courts and comment threads, through legislation and litigation, with victory measured not in peace, but in the silence of the other.
It has become easier to indict than to persuade, simpler to mock than to understand. Where once the Senate stood as a place for reasoned debate, it now serves as theatre. Where once the press sought to inform, now it contends for allegiance. And we, the people, are drawn into camps, under banners red and blue, forgetting the red and blue that bind our common flag.
Each side prays for victory, as though Providence were theirs alone to command. Yet if we are honest—and humility is the beginning of wisdom—we must confess that justice is not the sole property of any party. The Almighty has His own purposes, and we would do well to remember that His ways are not our platforms, nor His judgments written in the rhetoric of man.
Let us then strive—not to vanquish one another—but to bind up the wounds of this fractured house. Malice may cloak itself in policy; charity must reveal itself in restraint. Let us not mistake indignation for righteousness, nor fury for principle. The cost of this present conflict—though not yet measured in fields of blood—is found in broken friendships, poisoned trust, and a nation that shouts but seldom hears.
We have been met with calamities before. Civil war, depression, tyranny abroad—each generation has known its trial. Yet from each, the republic has risen—chastened, but enduring. It may be that we, too, are being refined. That from this discord might emerge a wiser people, a gentler people, slow to condemn and quick to comprehend.
The work of reconciliation is neither swift nor certain. It demands of us patience, sacrifice, and a will to see in the other not a foe, but a fellow. It begins not in chambers of government, but in households, neighborhoods, and the quiet dealings of conscience.
With firmness in principle, but with charity for all, let us press on—each in our place—to finish the work we are in. That this nation, under God, may not only endure, but mature. That our quarrels may yield, at last, to understanding, and that we may be remembered not for how bitterly we fought, but how humbly we healed.
Let us return to that better angel—the one that bade us form a union, not as parties, but as a people. And if we must contend, let it be not for triumph over each other, but for the truth, and for the grace to know it when it comes.