Selective Outrage & Performative Compassion

Every time a tragedy strikes our culture, a familiar pattern emerges. Voices rush in—not simply to grieve, but to instruct everyone else on how they should feel. Facebook and X light up with moral outrage. It’s virtue signaling on full display—posts to share, hashtags to use, approved emotions to adopt, and expected conclusions to reach. The message is clear: this tragedy matters, this one demands outrage, and this is the acceptable response.

As a Christian, my heart breaks for every family who suffers loss through violence. My soul aches at the brutality of our world and longs for the Kingdom of Jesus—a day when every tear will be wiped away. That grief deepens my desire to proclaim the Gospel, because death was never God’s design.

Every life lost is a tragedy. Every family shattered by violence deserves compassion—regardless of what “side” they’re on. That should not be controversial for Christians.

As a pastor, my instinctive response to headlines—famous or unknown—is sorrow. Not analysis. Not posturing. Sorrow. I often think, “Shouldn’t compassion across the board be the natural posture of those attentive to the Holy Spirit, especially Christian leaders? Or am I missing something?” 

One-Sided Compassion

What troubles me is the selective application of empathy and outrage. When compassion consistently flows in only one ideological direction, it stops looking like pastoral concern and starts looking like brand management.

Some voices are quick to tell everyone how to feel about certain headlines while remaining silent about others that are just as horrific. Their outrage is loud, swift, and public when a story reinforces an approved narrative. But when facts complicate the storyline, or when violence happens to someone on the “wrong” side of the cultural ledger, it’s radio silence.

That isn’t coincidence.

It’s pattern.

Outrage as Performance

Social media has trained leaders—both secular and religious—to perform moral concern in ways that generate affirmation, applause, and algorithmic reward. When the goal shifts from truth and justice to staying in good standing with a particular audience, moral expression becomes less about conviction and more about curation.

The result is an unbalanced witness. Justice and truth are filtered through ideology. Discernment is replaced by talking points. Leaders who should be forming people spiritually end up mirroring the outrage cycles of mainstream culture—just with religious language layered on top.

At that point, it isn’t prophetic. It’s performative.

Silence Isn’t Neutral Either

Then there are those who have planted their flag in the imaginary land of “neutrality.” They never speak. Never grieve publicly. Never name injustice. Never risk offense. They convince themselves that silence equals wisdom.

It doesn’t.

Silence in the face of repeated violence and injustice is not neutrality—it’s avoidance. And it’s just as damaging as selective outrage. At least the performative compassion is honest about wanting approval.

Silence disguises fear as virtue. 

It communicates that comfort matters more than courage and that preserving position matters more than shepherding people. Over time, silence forms apathy, not discernment.

A Call for Integrity, Not Applause

As pastors and Christian leaders, we are called to grieve all loss of life and to tell the truth—even when it costs us applause, followers, or favor. That requires courage not to spin the narrative in the direction of our favorite team. And that kind of courage is in short supply in many leadership spaces today.

At the core, this is an integrity issue.

When “moral clarity” only activates when it aligns with a preferred ideology, it isn’t clarity at all. It’s curation. It’s platform-building. And when leadership goes silent to avoid risk, it isn’t really leadership—it’s fear. It’s self-preservation dressed up as virtue.

At that point, something essential has been lost. What remains may still look like leadership, but it no longer carries the moral or spiritual authority it claims.

Because grief should never be strategic. Compassion should never be partisan. And truth should never be held hostage by the fear of losing the crowd.

In conclusion, Christian leadership—especially pastoral leadership—must be shaped by conviction rather than applause, courage rather than comfort, and faithfulness rather than fear. Anything less may preserve platforms, but it will never form people, shepherd souls, or bear faithful witness to the Kingdom of God. It will only multiply outrage and reward performance.