So, overall, how does Scripture, which is well acquainted with injustice, describe anger? Take a look at some verses from the New Living Translation.
Anger is described as "fierce" and "cruel" in Genesis 49:7. It's "burning" in Exodus 11:8. In the same book, it's also described as a "blazing fury," and if you're not careful, it can "blaze against you" (Exodus 15:7; Exodus 22:24).
In Leviticus 26, anger is something given "full vent" and equated with "hostility" (v. 28). In Deuteronomy 7, it is associated with the words "burn" and "destroy" (v. 4). In 1 Samuel 20, we see an anger that "boil[s] with rage" (v. 30). Anger "will not be quenched," according to 2 Kings 22:17. In 2 Samuel 6, it "bursts out" (v. 8); in Job 4, it "blasts" (v. 9); and in Job 16, God Himself, in anger, "tears" and "pierces" (v. 9).
Anger is terrifying and fierce in Psalm 2:5. It's burning and consuming in Psalm 69:24, then smoldering intensely in Psalm 74.
In Isaiah 9:12, it's associated with a fist poised to strike. In chapter 30, it's demonstrated with flames, cloudbursts, thunderstorms, and hailstones (v. 30). In Isaiah 63:3, it tramples.
It doesn't exactly chill out in Lamentations. The words "engulfed" and "slaughtered" are used in chapter 3 (v. 43).
We're also told we should be aroused to anger when we see one of God's commands being broken. Really? Then we're going to be busy... really, really busy. We're also going to be really, really angry, all the time — and that's just at ourselves, for starters.
If this is, in fact, what we're supposed to do — experience "righteous anger" whenever we're made aware of one of God's commands being broken — we'll be precisely what the world doesn't need and largely believes we already are: a bunch of uptight, seething hypocrites.
The Bible directs us to get rid of anger (Ephesians 4:31; Colossians 3:8), but our idea of "righteous anger" turns that directive on its head: we can actually pat ourselves on the back for being offended and embracing anger.
And all that boiling, piercing, corrosive power becomes part of our lives—and destroys us.
We cling to our self-righteousness and can't possibly imagine giving it up. We think it's how we're supposed to live.
But our Father is holding out another way of living, entirely. He's saying it's far more valuable. He knows. He made us. He knows we can live better this way. We'll be under less stress. We'll be able to live in the moment. We won't be constantly offended, perpetually nursing hurts. He's telling us to hand over the idea that we know things we don't about ourselves and others, and simply be humble.
I've found myself thinking — even if I don't say it out loud — that part of my job as a Christian is assessing where people stand. Therefore, if I didn't try to make this assessment about others, I wasn't taking Christianity seriously enough, or something. I don't know what I was thinking.
What a sweet, sweet relief to not have to do this.
Jesus had to point out to seemingly upstanding religious leaders that some prostitutes were closer to the Kingdom of God than they were. Would you or I have known that?
Last night, I talked with a new friend of mine who shared that he's always seemingly been angry. "I spend half of my life with anger," he said. "I've always lost a tremendous amount of sleep because of it."
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