Easier Said Than Done (A Love Letter)

Dear God,

I’ve been reading your book, (and I must say, it’s a real page-turner!). But I just got to the part where Jesus preaches the Sermon on the Mount, and there’s something that’s troubling me: If anyone who gets angry is in danger of judgment, of being tossed into hell – or something like it, then who’s gonna be left? Not me. Not most people I know. If the scriptures we have inherited are to be believed, even Jesus blew his stack on occasion. For good reason, yes! But this bit from his Sermon on the Mount doesn’t appear to distinguish between justifiable anger and the other kind. (And really: Don’t we always feel justified? Isn’t that the point? That someone, or someones, or some system has betrayed us, failed to do what is right and good, as far as we’re concerned? Anger germinates in the gap between what we expect or want or need and what actually happens…)

Jesus raged at the folks who had turned Your temple from a house of prayer into a marketplace – he called it a ‘den of robbers,’ remember? He stormed in there, cracked a whip, tipped over tables – threw quite the temper tantrum. Did he forget what he’d said back on the Mount? (Feel free not to point out that I don’t always live up to my sermons, either…)

Maybe Jesus gets a pass? Or maybe he wasn’t really angry; he was just putting on a good show to get our attention…

But, there’s also the fact, if I may be so bold (and please don’t smite me): but it does seem that you’ve gotten angry once or twice yourself, God. Remember those towns of Sodom and Gomorrah, where the people abused the strangers in their midst, rather than welcoming them? You were so mad, you incinerated the entire valley. And then there were your people, the Israelites, the ones you freed from slavery. They tried your patience more than once, didn’t they? Moses had to keep intervening for them when you were ready to give up the whole show.

And really, I’m not trying to corner you, God. It’s actually a bit reassuring to me that you might lose your temper; that you get impatient, or discouraged, or dismayed at the way we behave. Really, who wouldn’t? We’ve muddled things pretty badly; we hurt each other and your planet way too often; we put ourselves before our neighbors – dismiss or disregard them. We let greed and pride govern our actions. We get angry, and we lash out – whether that means punching a friend or laying on the horn at the intersection, or yelling at the ref, or beating someone we’re supposed to love or dropping bombs on our so-called enemies. Uffff.

No wonder Jesus had something to say about anger. There’s a lot of it around, isn’t there? Like a toxin, it contaminates our lives and relationships, distorts our vision, and corrodes our ability to feel gratitude or joy. At our Bible Study this week, someone described resentment as putting poison in your adversary’s cup, then drinking it yourself. (By the way, God: you’ve got a great bunch of Bible Study students here. We laugh a lot when we’re together, and they ask great, probing, faith-full questions; but you probably know that already…). Anyway: anger, our own, it eats us from the inside out. And other people’s anger? Well, that eats us from the outside in. When someone flips me off while I’m driving, I can feel myself shrink like a salted slug. I cringe, my heart rate goes up, and I spend the rest of my trip wondering whether I deserved it. (How often do we take out our rage on innocent bystanders? Anger has a way of spilling out in unexpected ways and places, doesn’t it, God?). I can only imagine what it must be like to be the child or the spouse or the worker who gets yelled at every day.

Which brings me back to Jesus’ sermon – and not getting angry. If I understand correctly, Jesus was trying to paint a picture of your Holy Reign, your Beloved Community. “This is what it looks like to live in God’s kingdom. In God’s kingdom, we love without judgment. In God’s kingdom, we respect one another, we tell the truth, and we keep our promises.” … And it’s a beautiful picture, but, God: It’s easier said than done!

Sometimes, it feels like anger controls me, and not the other way around. Sometimes, I think I’d rather be angry than be wrong. And sometimes, my anger feels a bit like a shield; it protects me from having to admit that I’m hurt or afraid. So I guess I could use a little help here; we all could. Jesus said, “Go and make things right with your brother or sister.” Tell me, God, where do we start?

Thanks, and Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love, Devoted but Dubious

Dear Devoted but Dubious,

First: I love you. Remember that. Second: I love the people you’re angry at, and the ones who are angry at you. Remember that, too! If you can hold on to both of those truths, you’ll be getting a lot closer to living in my Beloved Community. You’re right: anger is part of the human condition (maybe even the divine condition). It’s what you do with that anger that matters to me. Does your anger seep into your interactions? (If you’re not sure, pay attention to your heart rate and whether you’re clenching those muscles between your shoulder blades, or at the base of your jaw.) Even good deeds, when they sprout from anger, have a way of getting distorted. “Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.” One of my faithful servants, Martin, said that once. And what’s true of hate is equally true of anger. Nelson Mandela (with whom I just had a fantastic reunion) had very wise words to say about this, back in 1990, after he spent 27 years in prison for challenging that Apartheid system in South Africa (now there’s a system to stir the ire; how my heart wailed to see my people so divided and in such pain). In fact, Nelson’s words are printed in your bulletin today. He said, “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.”

Nelson did it, didn’t he? Left behind the bitterness. Set his gifts at my altar and went looking for the very people who had done him harm. And look at what they achieved together: a South Africa a little less divided. A South Africa that is beginning to heal.

Beloved, it may not be easy to relinquish anger and reconcile with your adversaries, but I assure you, holding onto anger is far worse; some have even called it ‘hell.’ I suspect you know that already. And you’ve asked for help. So maybe we could start here: You mentioned Valentine’s Day. Did you know that the root of the word Valentine, valens, means ‘worthy’? So when I say, “You are my Valentine,” I’m really saying: You are worthy of love. Not because of what you have or have not accomplished. Not because you have or have not succeeded at anything. Your worthiness precedes all that. Without lifting a finger, you are already worthy of love. My love, first and foremost.

Is that hard to believe? It never ceases to amaze me how people can be harder on themselves than I am on anyone. And how I get blamed. “God’s going to send you to Hell. God will condemn you. God hates this or that person.” Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I do not condemn people. I judge your choices, yes! More than anything, I want you to choose life, choose love and connection, choose to receive my blessing, to lean into my kingdom. When you choose the opposite, well, you’ve already described what that’s like, how it eats at you. When your choosing hurts others or yourself, for that matter, then yes, I get angry. But even so, hear this: There’s nothing you can do to make me love you less.¹ There’s nothing you can do to make me love you less. Nothing.

Believing that, really taking it in, could just give you the courage to lower that shield you talked about, to live from a place of love and grace, instead of anger or fear. ‘Courage’ is another good word to use on Valentine’s Day. It comes from the Latin root cor, which means ‘heart.’ As in, “Love me with all your heart and mind and soul and strength and your neighbor as yourself.” Courage isn’t so much about holding your ground or resisting the forces that threaten you. Almost the opposite. To live with courage is to lead with an open heart. To be whole-hearted.² It takes courage to be the first to say, “I’m sorry,” or “I’m afraid,” or “I was wrong,” or just, “Let’s start again. Let’s start here.” It takes courage, but it’s also how my Beloved Community begins to take shape.

Here’s something else I want you to remember: You don’t have to do this work alone. Never alone. I’m here, and so are all the folks gathered in this room with you. Look around. Believe it or not, they are all as devoted and dubious as you are. They are all trying to find their way. They have done fantastic, faithful things; they’ve also stumbled. Ian McLaren, one of your Scottish writers and a theologian, he was known for saying, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” How true. How true.

Have you considered this? That if you shared your story with some of those folks around you – actually talked about what’s been hard or hurtful in your life, shared some of the unresolved anger and what you’re still trying to mend… they might just admire your courage, and they might just tell you their stories in return.

So there’s your starting place, Valentine. My love. This church. Your courage. Start there, and see whether you don’t discover ways to overwrite anger with love. I know it’s easier said than done, but it’s worth it, I promise. Because letting go of anger opens all kinds of space for that gratitude, and wonder, and hope and joy. When you run into trouble, when the brokenness is more than you can bear, call me. In fact, let me know when it’s going well, too. I love hearing from you.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love, God