“It’s
been a long time since we had one of your poems on a Sunday”, somebody said to
me a couple of weeks ago.
And
shameless attention seeker that I am, that was all the encouragement I
needed…..
Now
I wouldn’t dignify this bit of writing by calling it a poem because it pays
absolutely no attention to metre or rhyme; though apparently that’s fine these
days if you’re writing what’s known as ‘free verse’!
No
– I’m reading it not because it has any literary merit, but because it’s a good
illustration of the subject matter for today which is anger. Or more
specifically, the anatomy of anger. Where does it come from. How does it
manifest. What do we do with it?
The
events you’re about to hear happened exactly as written, almost exactly ten
years ago to the day. This is called Eggs.
Eggs
First
day out on the road bike.
Tanking
along towards Potterton
gaining
speed after the hilly slog
through
Ardo to the Tarves road.
Surprised,
for all the indoor training,
How
tired my legs feel.
Young
idiots crawl up behind me
In
an orange Polo.
Woolly
hatted,
Woolly
headed,
And
the passenger hollers right at me
As
they speed past,
Yahooing
into the distance.
Scared
the life out of me.
Took
a moment to steady myself
Before
the anger took hold.
The
thoughts that race through your mind!
I
got the registration.
I
remember it now! P40 FOR.
Could
I call the police, make a complaint?
Would
there be a satisfying knock on his door?
Would
his smug face turn ashen grey as he opened it?
Better
still – could I trace the car, find out where he lived.
Teach
him a lesson of some kind?
Revenge
daydreams still circling in my mind
as
I turned into Panmure Gardens;
And
saw the car sitting there.
Suddenly
all those dreams became possible.
I
could break off a wing mirror.
Stop,
and let his tyres down.
I
could return in darkness
And
do a drive by with eggs,
Or
even paint.
I
freewheeled past, but all the while my mind was turning over.
And
still, a day later, the anger smoulders.
I
looked in the fridge late yesterday night,
Found
a whole box of eggs.
Checked
the time – well past midnight.
No-one
around.
Nobody
would see.
But
actually, somebody would see.
And
that alone,
More
than anything else,
Stayed
my hand.
This
parish is small enough that I bet some of you know who was driving P40 FOR that
day! And if you do, tell them from me they had a lucky escape!
But
I share that wee story with you because it’s a text-book case of anger.
There
I was, minding my own business, when these young guys bellow in my face and
nearly make me fall off my bike into a busy road.
And
the first reaction to that is purely instinctive. The primal brain responds to
that kind of idiocy with anger. When someone deliberately scares you and puts
you in danger, you can’t stop getting angry any more than you can stop your
heart racing or your breath quickening. It’s out of your control. And there’s
nothing wrong with that aspect of anger. It’s a hard-wired defence mechanism
that we all share.
But
once the brain’s got some of its equilibrium back, it moves onto the next stage
of anger. It rationalises what’s just gone on and becomes angry at the
injustice of it all. I was just out on my bike for a quiet ride! I wasn’t
bothering anybody, I wasn’t in anyone’s way. It’s not fair that these guys
noised me up! Did they even think about the danger! What would have happened if
I’d ended up in the middle of the road?
And
again, that aspect of anger isn’t sinful. We have genuine grievances in life,
and we shouldn’t pretend them away. Injustices happen, and anger, rightly harnessed,
can be a powerful motivating force for change.
Around
the same time I was making that bike ride, some of us were preparing to oppose
a quarry development right on our doorstep. And part of the motivation for that
was anger – anger at the injustice that these millionaire developers could come
in and completely disrupt the lives of some of our neighbours. One couple were
going to have to have a fifteen foot earth bund placed on two sides of their
property to try and minimise the effects of dust and noise, completely
obscuring their views and depriving them of daylight. And on the third side of
their house there would be a queue of lorries every morning, belching out
exhaust fumes while they waited for the quarry to open, and scores more coming
and going throughout the day.
It’s
not just that a couple at that stage of their lives should be threatened with
that level of intrusion. And it’s not just that an area of outstanding beauty
like this corner of North East Scotland should be peppered with more of these
kind of unsightly developments.
Sometimes
it’s entirely right to be angry. As children of a God who cares about justice,
children made in his image, there would be something sorely amiss if we weren’t
angry when folk are exploited, or abused or persecuted or ignored.
“Do not take advantage of a widow or an
orphan. 23If you do and they cry out to me, I
will certainly hear their cry. 24My anger will
be aroused.” (Exodus 22:22-24) says God.
Some anger is completely unwarranted. The rage that makes a young
guy kick a stranger’s head in on a
Friday night in Union Street just because he can.
But there is such a thing as just anger. And that kind of anger,
in itself, isn’t sinful. It’s actually godly in that it reflects something of
God’s passions and God’s concerns.
But this is where we come to a fork in the road, because there are
two ways to go with just anger. You can take things into your own hands and
start plotting your violent revenge. Kick off the wing mirror. Find some eggs.
Check out what paint sprays you have in your garage. Do you see where your mind
takes you when you follow that path? Into disproportionate retribution. An
endless spiral of violence. Your anger may be just, but your response to it
isn’t. It’s wrong. It’s sinful.
The better way is to own your anger; not to lessen it by one iota,
but to vocalise it to God, and ask for his help – in whatever form that help
may come.
I’ve been using a trivial example this morning to illustrate my
point. But now I’m going to jump to the other end of the spectrum. I’m going to
ask Meg Duncan to read Psalm 137 to you. You’ll know the start of this Psalm
well. I doubt that you’ll know the finish.
1 By the
rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when
we remembered Zion.
2 There
on the poplars
we
hung our harps,
3 for
there our captors asked us for songs,
our
tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they
said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
4 How
can we sing the songs of the Lord
while
in a foreign land?
5 If I
forget you, O Jerusalem,
may my
right hand forget ëits
skillû.
6 May my
tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
if I
do not remember you,
if I
do not consider Jerusalem
my
highest joy.
7 Remember,
O Lord, what the
Edomites did
on the
day Jerusalem fell.
“Tear
it down,” they cried,
“tear
it down to its foundations!”
8 O
Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy
is he who repays you
for
what you have done to us—
9 he who
seizes your infants
and
dashes them against the rocks.
What an appalling thing to find in scripture. A bloody death-wish for the babies of Babylon.
And of course, people will point to texts like that and say – ‘there you go –
that’s the problem with religion. That’s the kind of thing that their God
sanctions.’
But let’s not be too hasty.
Firstly, just because it’s vocalised, written in the Psalms, it doesn’t
mean that God agrees with it. What we’re hearing here is the Psalmist pouring
out everything that’s in his heart, unfiltered. God understands what he’s
saying, but it doesn’t mean that he necessarily approves of it.
But secondly, it’s worth remembering the context. This psalm was
written while Israel was in exile. Babylon had laid siege to Jerusalem for two years and thousands had died of
starvation. Thousands more were killed or raped when the Babylonians finally
entered the city – looting and destroying God’s temple, burning the palace and
tearing down the defensive walls. They captured King Zedekiah, slaughtered his
sons in front of him and then gouged out his eyes before leading him and his
people off to Babylon as slaves.
Simple question - If they did that to you and your people, what would
you wish on them in return?
If you’d seen soldiers dash your children’s brains out against the
rocks, what would you want to do to their children?
This kind of text isn’t in the Scriptures because it shows us what
God wants. It’s in the Scriptures to show us that whatever bitterness and anger
rages within us, we can pour it out to God undiluted. Because God doesn’t want
propriety! He wants our honesty. He wants us to acknowledge what’s really in
our hearts, because it’s then, and only then, that he can start to help us deal
with our anger. Help us find another way.
Because there always is another way. Another option to revenge,
though it’s usually a far harder path to take.
You can choose to break the cycle of violence. You can choose to fight
evil not with more evil, but with courage, with non-violent resistance, with
moral authority; maybe even with forgiveness. All this becomes possible when we
take our anger to God, rather than holding onto it for ourselves.
The Psalmist, understandably, wanted to dash babies’ heads against
the walls. God, through Jeremiah, offered a different way to come to terms with
exile. “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry
and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters
in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number
there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to
which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers,
you too will prosper. This is what the Lord says: “When seventy years are
completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfil my gracious promise to
bring you back home.” Jeremiah 29: 4-10.
When we are justifiably angry, we’re not sinning. But we do find
ourselves at fork in the road with a choice to make. Will I let my anger deafen
me to anything God might say to me, and take my revenge? Or will I pour out all
the pain and injustice to God, and let him help me deal with it?
We always have a choice. Reflecting on his release from prison many years later, Nelson Mandela wrote -
“As I walked out the door towards 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.”
Are you imprisoned by your own anger this morning? Maybe you were
treated unjustly, and it still rankles. Maybe you were mis-represented, spoken
ill off when you’d done nothing wrong.
I know, says Christ. They did that to me too.
Maybe you were actually hurt; physically, emotionally,
spiritually. Maybe you still carry the scars of that conflict, even though it
might have happened years ago.
I know, says Christ. They did that to me too.
Maybe you want to call judgment down on their heads, to repay them
double for all that they’ve done to you.
I know, says Christ. I could have felt like that too. But I chose the
better way. I chose to leave it all in God's hands.
I don’t know your circumstances, or the justice of your cause this
morning. But I do know this. If your anger is just, you have a choice. You can
take things into your own hands and make them worse, or you can swallow hard,
pour out your heart to God and find the freedom that comes with knowing that
justice and judgment is in his hands, not yours.
Amen, and thanks be to God for his word.
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