In the days since the shocking attack on Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University, one voice has risen above the confusion, anger, and noise — the voice of apologist and author Frank Turek, a man who not only witnessed the tragedy but has spent every moment since trying to make sense of the unimaginable. His response has not been political, defensive, or speculative. Instead, it has been something far deeper: a raw, unfiltered meditation on evil, goodness, and the God he believes anchors both.
Turek, a longtime friend and spiritual mentor to Kirk, was just a few feet away when chaos tore through what was supposed to be an ordinary campus event. And yet, when he finally stepped forward to speak publicly, what emerged from him was not panic or rage — but clarity.
“I knew what I saw was evil,” he told CBN News. “And the only reason I know something is evil is because I know what is good — and that standard doesn’t come from me. It comes from God.”
It is the kind of statement that stops readers mid-scroll. Not because it is loud, but because it is unnervingly calm. While the internet spiraled into theories, accusations, and suspicion, Turek refused to join the frenzy. Instead, he returned again and again to one central point: evil only makes sense in a world where good has an author.
Rather than weakening his faith, the violence he witnessed has sharpened it.
“People think evil disproves God,” he said. “It doesn’t. Evil may suggest the presence of the devil — but it absolutely does not erase God.”
But Turek’s calm philosophy didn’t spare him from online fire. Within hours of the incident, clips of him adjusting his hat were spun into wild claims that he had “signaled” the shooter. Turek dismissed the rumors with frustration but no venom.
“I was fixing my hat,” he said simply. “That’s all it was.”
The speed with which the accusations spread stunned him — not for what they said about him, but for what they did to a grieving family already drowning in shock.
The speculation intensified when commentator Candace Owens publicly raised questions about the attack. Turek did not attack her character. Instead, he drew a sharp line between curiosity and reckless suggestion.
“She’s implying quite a lot without any evidence,” he said. He warned that such unfounded conclusions only inflame fear and division — something he described as “one of the things God hates most.”
Then came the moment no witness ever forgets.
Turek recalled the instant the shot rang out — the chaos, the instinctive crouching, the fear that another bullet might follow. He watched others rush to carry Kirk to a vehicle, and he ran behind them without thinking. Inside the emergency car, surrounded by panic and disbelief, Turek had a sinking realization.
“When we got to the hospital,” he said softly, “it was clear Charlie was gone.”
Yet even in describing those moments, Turek refused to let despair have the final word. He spoke instead of purpose — a purpose he believes Kirk would insist on.
“If a hundred people come to faith because of this,” he imagined Kirk saying, “sign me up.”
It is a stunning reframing of loss, not as senseless tragedy but as a spark. Turek believes the impact of Kirk’s life — and even his death — will ripple outward in ways no one can yet predict. And that belief has shaped his next steps.
He’s not retreating. Not stepping back. Not silencing himself.
He is returning to campuses, returning to students, returning to the conversations he believes matter.
“Jesus wants us there,” he said. “Charlie did too.”
Through heartbreak and public scrutiny, Frank Turek has offered something many people weren’t expecting: not a theory, not a political angle, but a stark declaration that good and evil exist — and that faith still shines brighter than chaos.
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