“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”
I came across this quote recently in response to the tragic death of Austin Metcalf—and the quiet, grace-filled response of his father, Justin Metcalf. In the face of unimaginable loss, this man has become the target of criticism—not for what he’s done, but for what he hasn’t done.
He hasn’t publicly raged against the Anthony family. He hasn’t cursed Karmelo Anthony, the man charged with killing his son. He hasn’t weaponized his grief to stir public fury.
And for that… many are calling him weak. Detached. Inappropriate. Even heartless. But here’s the truth so many seem to miss:
Revenge consumes. Not just the one it’s aimed at—but the one who carries it.
Mr. Metcalf’s choice to respond with grace and forgiveness is not a lack of love for his son. It’s not a sign of apathy or denial. It’s a deep spiritual strength forged through fire—through personal battles with cancer, through hardship, and now, through the unbearable ache of losing a child.
In a culture obsessed with vengeance, we’ve lost sight of what actual strength looks like. We confuse rage with power. We confuse mercy with weakness. We mistake peace for passivity—and compassion for cowardice.
But he isn’t reacting inappropriately. He’s responding as someone who understands the cost of revenge. He knows the toll it takes on the soul. He knows that holding grief without turning it into wrath is a holy kind of power.
And I believe, in a nutshell, that Mr. Metcalf is a man who walks with grace because he recognizes—and embodies—the reality that grace has been extended to him by God, over and over again.
We should also remember this:
He has another child.
He has a family of survivors who still need him.
He has a faith that runs deeper than the crowd’s hunger for blood.
He is not just a father in mourning. He is a man of faith, a leader in his home, and a living example of what spiritual maturity can look like in real time.
So instead of projecting our own unresolved anger onto this man, maybe it’s time we each asked ourselves:
Why did his lack of rage trigger something in me?
Where do I still need healing?
Am I angry at injustice—or am I just uncomfortable with someone else’s peace in the middle of pain?
Ultimately, Justin Metcalf is modeling what Christianity is supposed to look like:
Not performative rage, not emotional chaos dressed as justice, but quiet obedience. A calm and unwavering faith. A grief that walks hand-in-hand with grace.
To those who continue to criticize him—I say this gently: Maybe the problem isn’t how he is reacting. Maybe the problem is how deeply you are not.
Because some people walk through hell and come out bitter. Others walk through hell and come out kinder. And when grace looks like silence, only those who’ve suffered know the language being spoken.
Closing Thoughts
There is a sacred strength in restraint. In a world that demands fury as proof of love, we forget that sometimes the most powerful act is refusing to let darkness dictate our response.
Justin Metcalf isn’t seeking revenge. He’s seeking peace. And in doing so, he’s honoring not only his son’s memory—but the God he serves.
Scripture reminds us:
“Good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense. (Proverbs 19:11)
And again:
“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord. (Romans 12:19)
These are not just verses. They are a blueprint for a different kind of justice—one rooted in humility, trust, and spiritual clarity. They remind us that our healing doesn’t come from punishment. It comes from alignment. From surrender. From choosing to carry pain without becoming it.
So today, let’s pause. Let’s soften.
Let’s stop measuring love by how loudly it screams and start recognizing the holiness in how quietly it endures.
And may we all learn to walk through the fire and come out not harder, but holier.
The Twin Tree Project 