(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on August 12, 2018, Proper 14)
A Smoldering Look
It was the first day of second
grade. Keith found the desk with
his nametag and sat down.
Immediately he knew something was not right. As the boy next to him began to snigger and several heads in
front of him turned around and stared, he could feel that his seat was
wet. Terrified, he stood up and
saw a puddle. The boy sitting next
to him, whose name was Jeff, must have put water on his seat before he
arrived. He hadn’t seen it when he
sat down.
His face red with embarrassment,
Keith dried his seat and sat down again.
But that was not the end.
Jeff was speaking to the teacher now, “I think the boy next to me had an
accident.” All the class looked at
Keith. The teacher came over and
discreetly asked if he needed a change of clothes. No, he shook his head, the seat just had some water in
it. He gave Jeff a smoldering
look.
Keith never forgot that first
day. In time, he would make Jeff
pay. One day Jeff got to lunch and
discovered that everything in his lunchbox was soaked. There was a hole in his juice
pouch. Another day, Jeff opened
his pencil box and found all his pens and pencils and crayons stuck together,
caked in glue. Before long, these
petty pranks had escalated into an outright battle. Every offense was remembered. None was left unaccounted. Whenever one struck, the other struck back.
Keeping Anger in Circulation
Anger has a way of keeping itself
in circulation.
This is no less true in our homes
and in our workplaces than in the world of second grade. We see it everywhere. One person gets angry—and then gets
even. But rather than stopping the
anger, this only spreads it. The
other person gets angry and retaliates.
Once the cycle starts, it is hard to stop. Anger has a way of keeping itself in circulation.
It was not an accident that King
David looked out across the field one day and prepared to go to war with his
own son, Absalom. That day was a
little over a decade in the making.
It had all begun eleven years ago when Amnon, one of David’s other sons,
raped Absalom’s sister Tamar.
Absalom channeled his anger into cold revenge. Saying nothing, he waited for two years. Then he threw a feast and invited his
family, including his half-brother Amnon.
The Bible says that when the heart of Amnon was merry with wine, Absalom
gave the signal and his servants killed him. The news deeply distresses his father David, filling him
with a bitter mix grief and anger.
For five years, Absalom is not welcome in his father’s home. Finally David receives him, and the two
reconcile. Or at least they appear
to. But anger has a way of keeping
itself in circulation. Absalom never
forgets how long it took his father to welcome him back home. In his smoldering resentment, Absalom
conspires for the next four years to usurp his own father’s throne. Finally his plan comes to
fruition. He takes his father’s
throne, and David flees the city with the warriors that remain faithful to him.
Which brings us back to David
looking out across the field and preparing to go to war with his own son. Twelve years before, the scene would
have been unimaginable. But that
was before anger began its vicious cycle.
Even so, David keeps
perspective. Before the battle
begins, he gives careful instruction to his army not to kill his son
Absalom. David wants out of the
cycle. He keeps alive the hope of
one day reconciling with his son.
But by this point in time, the
anger has grown beyond his control.
David’s wishes are too feeble in the face of its outsized demand. When Absalom finds himself stuck in the
trees, hanging helplessly above the ground, anger licks its chops. This is too good to be true. David’s commander, who heard very well
David’s instruction, thrusts three spears into Absalom. Why? He is the surrogate of anger, possessed by its demand,
driven by the betrayal his king has suffered and the need for vengeance.[1]
The Satisfaction of Anger:
Who Is Satisfied?
I’m fascinated by the way we talk
about anger. We commonly refer to
nurturing anger and satisfying our anger.
I wonder if there’s more truth in these words than we realize. Our expressions suggest that anger is a
reality and a power distinct from us.
When we nurture anger, we are not nurtured. Anger is. When
we satisfy anger, we are not satisfied.
Anger is. In my mind, this
paints the picture of anger as a parasite. It feeds off us.
We might think that payback will make us feel good, but really it will
make the parasite feel good even as it drains us of life.
That’s what happened rather
literally in the story of King David.
At each turn in the road, someone kept the anger alive. Seeking to get even, to settle the
score, someone kept the anger in circulation. And each time the anger was satisfied, it left someone
dissatisfied. It deprived its
hosts of life. The anger grew and
grew until one day it literally took life. Not only Absalom’s, but also a part of David’s. Who can hear his anguished cry
and not hear the death of part of his soul?
The Most Powerless Thing To Do?
The trouble with anger is what to
do with it. If it’s hard enough to
stop the cycle in second grade, what do we do when it comes to the tragic
realities of our own world?
Because what we see in Absalom’s story we see also in our own
world. Sexual abuse. Rape. Murder. War.
In response to evils like these,
it is tempting to jump ahead and look for an answer, a solution, a fix. But if we are not careful, the answer
or solution will become a vehicle for anger, keeping it in circulation and
draining us of life at the same time.
In today’s epistle reading, Paul paraphrases Christ on the importance of
simply starting where we are and acknowledging the anger: “Be angry,” Paul
says, “but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Eph 4:26; cf.
Matt 5:21-26).
Words like these cannot even
begin to address the horrors of something like rape or murder. They are not meant to. They are meant to address another
horror, one that promises satisfaction but only deprives us further of
life. Words like these would not
have restored the honor of Absalom’s sister Tamar. They wouldn’t have brought David’s son Amnon back to
life. Words like these cannot
change the past. But they can
change what happens next. They can
stop the cycle.
“Do not let the sun go down on
your anger” promises neither a restoration of what was lost, nor the offender’s
repentance, nor a future reconciliation.
The only thing it promises is a stop to the cycle.
Its power is not in what it
accomplishes but in what it makes possible. Like much of God’s power, it is a possibilizing power. It is the same power of the cross. Proclaiming forgiveness instead of
vengeance, returning after his shameful death with a word of peace instead of
retribution, Christ makes possible an entirely different way of life, one where
violence is not kept in circulation, where life is no longer lost in the quest
to get even, where anger is just a feeling and not a power that holds us in its
crippling grip.
To let go of anger is perhaps the
most powerless thing to do in the world.
It accomplishes very little in itself. And yet—the life that it makes possible! That, according to Jesus, is worth
dying for.
Prayer
Tenderhearted Christ,
Instead of nurturing grudges,
You nurtured us—
Liberate us
From the ruinous grasp of anger;
Teach us your way
Of feeling anger
And letting it go;
Train us in that powerless power
That makes possible
The world of which you dream,
The kingdom of God.
Amen.
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