In the aftermath of a horrific scene in Grand Blanc, Michigan following a gunman ramming his truck into a Latter-day Saint chapel this past Sunday, setting it on fire and shooting at members as they exited the building; people across the country are trying to make sense of an utterly senseless act.
In addition to the gunman, at least four of his victims have died. At this point, the perpetrator’s motive is unknown.
No explanation will ever be sufficient.
It is not the first time senseless acts of violence have occurred this year in a place of worship. Two children were killed in an attack prior to a back-to-school Catholic Mass in Minnesota on Aug. 27, two women were fatally shot in Lexington, Kentucky at a Baptist Church on July 13, a gunman opened fire at a vacation Bible school in Wayne, Michigan, on June 22, and the list goes on.
So far this year, the Family Research Council reported 415 “acts of hostility” against Christian churches as of Aug. 15, 2025.
Yet wherever we may live and regardless of our religious persuasion (or lack of one), we are all victims.
Martin Niemöller, a German Lutheran pastor who served in the German Navy during World War I, initially supported Hitler and the Nazi regime but changed his mind later after witnessing religious and political persecution. Before being imprisoned himself, he famously said:
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out — because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.
Years ago, while living in Houston, a friend of mine and I saw a derogatory and slanderous epithet about a minority group on a bench while waiting for our bus. We decided to miss our bus and find sandpaper to blot out the disparaging labels. A coworker, a member of that ethnic group, saw us and asked what we were doing. After telling him, he wept.
“You’d do the same thing for us, wouldn’t you,” my friend said to him.
He asked if he could help. We said “no.” This is our job, we said. But you can tell us when we’ve done enough that not even a trace is visible.
There is something extraordinary about standing together, about looking out for each other, about standing for others who may be very different from us.
In the movie “Gandhi,” a follower of Hinduism who has lost his son in a terrible act of violence by a Muslim group asks Gandhi what he should do to assuage his grief. Gandhi tells him to find an orphan Muslim boy his son’s same age.
He nods. He can do that.
But he is shocked by what Gandhi tells him next.
Don’t raise him as a Hindu, but as a Muslim. Doing that Gandhi says, will cleanse your soul, purge your hate and soothe your grief.
There are plenty of things which reasonable people can disagree on these days from sports teams to music to politics to religion. But when we cross a fundamental line between expressing differences respectfully and doing so in a way that inflicts harm — physical, emotional or personal — we relinquish both our dignity and our humanity.
In a very real way, we then become inhumane, and yes, perhaps even a little less human.
Regardless of our differences, we all benefit when we stand up for each other. It preserves our own dignity and protects others’ dignity. It makes us a community, not merely a group of strangers. Russell M. Nelson, president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, who passed away late Saturday night, spoke often about the dignity of each person as a child of God, the importance of becoming peacemakers in a troubled world, and not only striving to “Hear Him” — the God and Father of us all — but hear each other as well.
We need that more than ever before.
So, today, we are having a neighborhood block party. I walked the entire neighborhood and invited everyone to our backyard. Let’s get to know each other better. We worship with some of our neighbors, others have told me they don’t agree with our faith. Still others have a non-Christian faith tradition.
All are invited. We refuse to let senseless events keep us in fear.
Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer went to Grand Blanc today, to the site of this unspeakable horror. “I know that this community is reeling right now, but I want you to know that the state of Michigan has your back,” she said. “Your grief is our grief.”
Today, because of rage and unspeakable outrage, our community grieves. Tomorrow, because of the state of political discourse, likely it will be another community. We cannot control what senseless acts of violence may occur, but we can grieve with each other, we can watch each other’s backs, and we can stand up for one another regardless of our differences.