A Prayer for Those Who Cheer

There’s an old saying that’s been floating around since my granddad’s day: “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his enemies.” If that’s true, then right now we’re in a heap of trouble.

Because let’s be honest—nothing makes the headlines faster than folks whooping and hollering over somebody else’s misfortune. Even death, that most solemn and unavoidable appointment, has somehow turned into a spectator sport for people who ought to know better. It’s enough to make a fella want to shut off the news, lock the front door, and retreat to the back porch with a tall glass of iced tea and a Bible.

But here’s the rub: as tempting as it is to wag our finger at the folks celebrating and call them every name under the sun, Jesus didn’t give us that option. He laid it out plain as day—love your enemies, bless those who curse you, pray for those who spitefully use you. Now, He didn’t say it would be easy. He just said it was necessary.

I’ll tell you right now, praying for people who cheer at death is tougher than trying to get a cat to take a bath. My instinct is to stomp around, mutter under my breath, and maybe even compose a very un-Christlike letter in my head. But then that still, small voice sneaks in and reminds me, “Son, their hearts are just as broken as yours, only twisted in another direction.”

And that’s when I realize something. These folks aren’t celebrating because they’re whole. They’re celebrating because they’re hurting. Hatred is often just pain with its Sunday clothes on.

So what’s the remedy? Not more shouting, not more division, not more smug “we’re right and you’re wrong” speeches. The only medicine that works on a heart twisted with hate is forgiveness mixed with prayer.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Forgiveness isn’t approval. It doesn’t mean we pat folks on the head and say, “Good job cheering for death.” That’d be nonsense. Forgiveness means we put down the heavy sack of bitterness we’ve been dragging around and hand it over to God. It’s His job to judge hearts, not ours.

I remember once when my boy was little, he and a neighbor kid got into a shouting match over who got to use the red toy truck. The neighbor boy stomped home in a huff, and my son sat on the porch sulking. After a while, he asked me, “Dad, why do people act like that?” I thought about it for a minute and said, “Because we forget we’re supposed to love each other more than we love winning.” He nodded, then wandered off to play with the blue truck. Kids get it faster than adults sometimes.

And maybe that’s where we are now—squabbling over who gets to feel righteous, forgetting that love is the only victory worth winning.

So here’s my prayer: Lord, forgive them. Forgive us. Heal the wounds in our country that keep bleeding every time someone falls. Remind us that death is not a scoreboard–it’s a sorrow. And teach us that no matter how deep the divide, Your grace can still build a bridge across it.

Friends, I don’t know if this will change the world overnight. Probably not. But it just might start changing us. And maybe that’s enough for today.

Because at the end of the day, we’re all going to face our Maker. And when that day comes, I don’t want to be remembered for how clever my insults were or how loudly I cheered at someone else’s fall. I want to be a man who, even when it was hard, tried to pray instead of curse, forgive instead of fume, and love instead of gloat.

That, I reckon, is the only remedy worth taking.