Payback
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 Jack, 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. Jack was speaking to the teacher now, “I think the boy next to me has 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 Jack a smoldering look.
Keith never forgot that first day. In time, he would make Jack pay. One day Jack got to lunch and discovered that everything in his lunchbox was soaked. There was a hole in his juice pouch. Another day, Jack 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 boy struck, the other struck back.
The Cycle of Anger
Anger has a way of keeping itself in circulation.
This is no less true in the world of second grade than in our homes and in our workplaces and in the tournament of nations. We see it everywhere. One person gets angry and then gets even. But rather than stopping the anger, getting even 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 is not an accident that King David looks out across the field one day and prepares to go to war with his own son, Absalom. This day has been about ten years in the making. It all began when Amnon, David’s son from another wife, 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. 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 of grief and anger. For five years, Absalom is not welcomed in his father’s house. 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 has not forgotten the length of time that he was not welcome at 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 today—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 of vengeance.
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 anger’s 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, Joab, 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. Absalom must pay.
Anger as a Parasite
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? “Would I have died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” (2 Sam 18:33).
Letting Go of Anger
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 simply 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 starting where we are and acknowledging 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. They cannot change what has happened. But 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 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 parasitic 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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