Remembering Rightly: A Christian Response to Suicide Memorials
by Joe Hamm
As a Christian and as a man who deeply cares about the moral and spiritual direction of our community, I want to speak plainly and compassionately about what these memorials communicate. Because they do communicate something. Public displays like this are not neutral. They are symbolic, emotional, and formative. They function, whether we realize it or not, like a kind of civic ritual. And like all rituals, they teach.
So the question we have to ask is: What are they teaching?
These memorials are meant to honor the fallen, and that impulse is good. But when we raise flags in tribute to men who took their own lives, we risk turning tragedy into something resembling honor. In fact, the sign at City Hall explicitly calls on us to “Remember and Honor” them. I am not suggesting that we shame the dead, far from it. But we are responsible for how we publicly frame their stories, and for how we prepare the next generation to think about life, death, pain, and hope.
Our society is spiritually adrift. We send men to war, often for unclear causes, then bring them home to a culture that mocks manhood, weakens the family, medicates every form of sadness, and severs men from any lasting sense of purpose. We tell them they’re strong, but we isolate them. We applaud their service, but offer them no vision for manhood, fatherhood, or legacy. And when they begin to unravel, we hand them slogans instead of Scripture. We build monuments to their death instead of fighting for their life.
That’s not compassion. That’s resignation.
This issue isn’t just cultural or political for some of us; it’s personal. I’ve seen what it looks like when a good man wrestles with thoughts of ending his life. It doesn’t come from weakness. It comes from a world that no longer gives men a reason to carry on. That’s why I’m not writing this to judge, but to warn and to offer hope.
Let’s be clear: suicide is not a badge of honor. It is not a sacrifice. It is not brave. It is a tragedy. And it is a tragedy not only because a life was lost, but because no one was there to speak into that moment of despair with truth and authority. It is a symptom of deep cultural failure. When despair becomes normalized and then publicly honored, we don’t reduce suicide; we reinforce the conditions that produce it.
Some may say that strong words like these lack compassion. I would argue the opposite. Genuine compassion tells the truth. And the truth is that suicide is a lie. It tells a man that he has no future, that he is alone, that he is no longer needed. It convinces him that his life no longer has weight. That is not a message from God. That is a message from hell.
And the church bears part of the blame. For years, we’ve softened the gospel, tiptoed around hard topics, and turned the church into a weekend therapy center. We’ve removed discipline, rebuke, and repentance from our vocabulary. We’ve stopped training men to carry burdens, and then we act surprised when they collapse. A church that refuses to teach men how to suffer well will inevitably produce men who see death as a reasonable way out. It doesn’t matter how polished the worship set is or how modern the lighting becomes. If we’re not forming men who can endure hardship with faith, then we’re not forming men at all.
But the root of the problem didn’t begin with the church. It began with the loss of the household. God gave man a mission, and that mission was grounded in the family. Fathers were meant to train sons. Men were meant to build homes, plant trees, and leave legacies. The household is where strength is forged and where meaning is found. If a man sees himself only as an isolated individual, floating in a sea of pain, then suicide will always remain an option. But if he sees himself as part of a multi-generational story with sons to raise, daughters to protect, and a wife to cherish, then the weight of life will not crush him. It will call him to rise up.
We need to rebuild the household. We need to call men out of their despair and back into responsibility, headship, worship, and brotherhood. That is where life begins again, not in another row of flags, not in a slogan about awareness, but in the gritty, glorious calling to be a man under God.
And above all else, we need Christ. He is the One who endured the cross, despising its shame, not as a victim, but as a victor. Jesus did not take His own life. He laid it down willingly, with purpose, for the joy set before Him. He did not escape pain. He conquered it. That is our example. That is our standard. That is our hope.
To the man reading this who may be struggling in silence: don’t listen to the lies. Your life matters. Your pain is real, but so is your purpose. You are not alone. You are not forgotten. You are needed. You are called. And you are loved not just by your country, not just by your family, but by the God who made you. Don’t give up. Reach out.
If you’re ready to fight for life, I’ll stand with you.
Let’s stop planting flags in the dirt and start planting roots in our homes, our churches, and our communities. Let’s raise sons who do not fold under pressure. Let’s preach Christ without apology. Let’s rebuild what the world has torn down.
“I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).
Let’s choose life and let’s build like we mean it.
