In moments of national shock—when horrific events fracture communities and flood the public square with grief, anger, and fear—House Speaker Mike Johnson has urged Americans to pause, reflect, and turn toward something older and steadier than outrage. His message is simple but weighty: return to Scripture, and “appeal to our better angels.”

It is a call that echoes through American history, most famously invoked by Abraham Lincoln at the dawn of the Civil War. Johnson’s words are not a policy prescription or a partisan directive; they are a moral appeal. In an era when tragedy is instantly amplified by screens and algorithms, his message asks the country to resist reflex and rediscover restraint—to answer darkness not with more fire, but with conscience.

Johnson’s invocation of Scripture does not come as a surprise. He has long framed his public service as an extension of personal faith, arguing that leadership requires moral grounding, not just political calculation. In the wake of horrific events—acts of violence, senseless loss, or moments that threaten to tear at the social fabric—he suggests that the nation’s first response should not be division or blame, but reflection and humility.

The phrase “better angels” resonates because it acknowledges a tension at the heart of the American experiment. We are capable of compassion and cruelty, wisdom and impulse. Tragedy exposes both. Social media rewards speed and outrage; cable news thrives on conflict; political actors are often pushed to stake positions before facts are known. Johnson’s appeal pushes in the opposite direction. It asks Americans to slow down, to listen, and to remember shared moral commitments that transcend party lines.

Turning to Scripture, in this context, is not framed as exclusionary doctrine but as a reservoir of ethical language—calls to love one’s neighbor, to mourn with those who mourn, to seek peace, and to restrain vengeance. For believers, Scripture offers comfort and orientation. For non-believers, the underlying virtues—empathy, patience, humility—are widely shared civic values. Johnson’s framing attempts to bridge that gap by emphasizing character over ideology.

Critics, of course, argue that such appeals risk becoming symbolic gestures in the face of real-world harm. They contend that words of faith must be accompanied by concrete action. Johnson’s supporters counter that moral clarity is not a substitute for policy but a prerequisite for it. Without a shared ethical compass, they argue, policy debates devolve into power struggles rather than problem-solving.

What makes Johnson’s message notable is its timing and tone. Rather than exploiting tragedy to advance a legislative agenda or score political points, he calls for collective introspection. In a polarized environment, that restraint stands out. It suggests a belief that leadership includes knowing when not to speak loudly—when to guide the public toward calm rather than catalyze conflict.

The appeal also reflects anxiety about the cultural moment. Americans are more connected than ever, yet trust is eroding. Institutions are questioned, motives doubted, and narratives fractured. In such an environment, the call to “our better angels” functions as a reminder that national identity is not only defined by laws and elections, but by shared moral habits—how we treat one another when emotions run hottest.

Johnson’s language does not deny pain or anger. Instead, it seeks to discipline them. Scripture itself is filled with lament, grief, and righteous anger, but it consistently warns against allowing those emotions to curdle into hatred or despair. By urging Americans to look upward and inward before lashing outward, Johnson frames tragedy as a test of character as much as a test of governance.

Whether one agrees with his religious framing or not, the underlying question he poses is difficult to dismiss: Who do we choose to be when everything feels like it’s falling apart? Do we default to suspicion and division, or do we make a conscious effort to act with grace and responsibility?

In the end, Johnson’s call is less about theology than about posture. It asks leaders and citizens alike to remember that words matter, reactions matter, and tone matters—especially when the nation is wounded. “Appeal to our better angels” is not a guarantee of unity, but it is an invitation to try.

In a time when tragedy often becomes fuel for outrage cycles, Mike Johnson’s message stands as a reminder that the strongest response may be the quietest one: a return to conscience, compassion, and the difficult work of choosing restraint over rage.