Anger

 Choral Evensong, Church of the Redeemer The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

“Let every man be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not work the righteousness of God.”

“If anyone thinks he is religious, and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this man’s religion is in vain.” James 1:19-27

I beg to differ. I have to admit, I get a little crazy when I hear scripture lessons telling me to be slow to anger and bridle my tongue. Perhaps you have been told repeatedly that anger is sinful. That ladies especially need to bridle their tongues. Put a bit into our mouths so that whoever is riding our horses can pull us this way or that, without a complaint, despite the harm that is being done; otherwise our religion is worthless; and our efforts at piety are in vain.

Last Sunday morning, as I was driving to Redeemer for our worship service, I listened to reporters talking about the tragic events of 9-11. I heard one ex-Marine, who lost both his legs in a war against terrorists, claim that he didn’t have hate in his heart but he still had anger in his soul. Every day! And then last Sunday, later in the day, in his powerful sermon at Evensong, I heard our rector ask for personal and communal forgiveness for the anger unleashed on our world from that event on 9-11. 

The gospel passage came from Matthew last Sunday evening, in which Jesus said, “You shall not kill; and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you”, Jesus continued, ‘that every one who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother shall be liable to the council, and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ shall be liable to the hell of fire.’” This evening’s passage from the letter of James, who is believed to be the brother of Jesus, seems tame in comparison. 

I have a group of friends from Trinity Episcopal Church in Newtown, Connecticut, who now live in different parts of our country. Once a year we gather in the Adirondacks for conversation, community worship, and fun. During our time together this year, we realized that many of us are angry, and that we are angry about a variety of things. 

We are angry about the injustices in our world. Angry about diseases that have claimed the lives of loved ones. Angry about unbridled tongues that spew hate, offer conspiracy theories, and encourage division. Angry about the betrayals of our bodies and the losses we’ve endured. Angry that inflation hurts the poor and that some of the wealthiest people in our country waste it unnecessarily. Angry with our political leaders, with our institutional Church, and some of us are even angry with God. 

Both as a lay person and as a priest I have been to many retreats in many places throughout our country. One of the very first retreats I attended was in 1995 at Holy Cross Monastery, which is a Benedictine community of men located in West Park, New York. The retreat was entitled “Seeking God in Your Anger” and was led by a married couple from Connecticut, the Rev’d Lyn Brakeman and her husband, the Rev’d Richard Simeone. In it, they explored the spirituality and theology of anger.

In her article entitled “The Healing Power of God’s Wrath” Lyn claims that “relational honesty must include wrath. God’s and ours. Holy anger,” she argues,” is fuel for justice, for creating necessary changes, for ministry, and for healing by confronting evil.” (Mundi Medicina, June 1994)

It has always been confusing to me how Jesus condemns anger out of one side of his mouth, as he did last week in the scripture lesson from Matthew, and then acts out his own anger throughout the gospels. In righteous anger, He overturns tables in the temple. He rages against the Pharisees, and threatens and warns everyone about God’s impending judgment, no less than the prophets of old, or even some of the prophets today. “What’s up with that?” I keep asking myself, if I am to take Jesus seriously, as our rector has reminded us. And “what exactly am I supposed to do with my anger?”

 In another article entitled “The Power of Anger in the Work of Love,” by Beverly Wildung Harrison, the Professor of Christian Ethics at Union Theological Seminary in 1981, she wrote that “Christians have come very close to killing love precisely because we have understood anger to be a deadly sin. Anger is not the opposite of love. It is a vivid form of caring. It signals something amiss in our relationships and is a signal that change is called for, that transformation in (our relationships) is required.” 

This ex-Marine, who fought in a war against terrorists, confessed that he does not have hate in his heart but anger in his soul, every day. And we often hear those two words of anger and hate intertwined. Unfairly so, I believe. For the absence of love is not hate but indifference. Or as the great theologian, Martin Buber, once claimed: direct hatred is anger that has turned rigid, fixated, cold, or deadened, and it is actually closer to love than the absence of feeling.

Several years ago, more recently than 1995, I went on a silent 8 day retreat to Eastren Point, a Jesuit community of men in Gloucester Massachusetts. It was during a time of personal transition for me once again. I was angry with how events in my life had unfolded and systems that seemed unjust. Each day I would meet with a spiritual director who told me that I had to walk straight into my anger. That I couldn’t just push a button and let it go. 

Now this letting go of our anger is not like pulling the trigger on a gun or detonating a bomb, or even hurling words or fists at another human being; rather, it is letting go of our strong feelings of hate and anger, and giving them to God. She told me that I had to face my anger directly before I could “move on '' to a place of peace in my heart, in my soul, and in my relationships. She suggested that I talk directly to Jesus.

I’ve frequently been told that underneath our anger lies wounds that have not yet healed and a deep sadness that has not been fully grieved. So I considered my anger in the silence of this retreat, and like many times before, I realized how much I had been hurt. How deeply sad I was about some losses. Feeling guilty about being angry, I had denied, rationalized, and explained away the reality of my feelings without acknowledging their truth for me. 

And so, I realized that I needed first to address those deep wounds. I had to acknowledge the ways in which I had felt diminished, passed over, and ignored, regardless of whether or not someone’s actions were intentional. I had to acknowledge my sadness in lost relationships. I had to turn the power of my anger to the work of love that God was calling me to share. To walk in love as Christ loves us. To be angry but not sin.

So I went outside to walk the stations of the cross and to talk to Jesus about my anger, my wounds, and my grief. I went outside to verbalize my hurt in the silence of the forest; and then I suddenly came upon a station of the cross. With tears streaming down my cheeks, and angry words spewing out of my mouth, I told Jesus how deeply I felt. And there on the cross, Jesus showed me his hands and pointed to his side. He said, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it on my side.”

As I looked at the cross, I saw a human being. Certainly he had been hated, ignored, diminished, saddened, and hurt. Certainly He had been angry enough to overturn tables and call people hypocrites. Certainly he had been killed, not by a bomb or a bullet, but rather by a corrupt political and religious system, and an angry mob. His sentence of death was unjustified; and it came by crucifixion, which was intended to shame and humiliate the one who was suffering. 

And yet, Jesus’ anger, his righteous anger, called for peace; His sadness was not for himself but for the poor, the sick, the lost, and the lonely. He argued passionately for those who had been persecuted, oppressed, and diminished by unjust systems and abuses of power. Feeling forsaken, He had cried out to His Father in heaven, while forgiving us in the process.

“So why doesn’t God intervene now?” cried my friend in the Adirondacks. “Why doesn’t God stop this madness?”

Today, I offer two responses from that retreat long ago. The first is that God’s wrath is for goodness’ sake, and it works for healing through God’s people, for personal and systemic change. We use our anger to transform our lives.

The second response is an image of God, offered by the Rev. Lyn Brakeman. “I think for Christians, the Resurrection of Jesus is an expression of the healing power of God’s transcendent wrath,” she wrote. “Sometimes I imagine it like this; “the great Godmother Resurrection rages and roars down from the mountains of heaven with immeasurable speed to her son’s tomb.”

“She hurls aside the giant boulder as if it were a strand of straw, then reaches carefully into the darkness of the stone prison to scoop up the body of her son. Cradling him in her arms, she bellows a thunderous, a sundering, “NO! NO! This is NOT MY WILL. THIS IS NOT MY WILL. My will is for life, for life everlasting!”

As a mother and a grandmother, and as a disciple of Jesus, I can relate.