Angry Like Jesus — Grace for Those Below

“..and they watched Jesus, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man with the withered hand, “Come here," and he said to them, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save a life or to kill?”

But they were silent.

And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart.” (Mark 3:2-4)

I’m always intrigued by the accounts of Jesus’ anger. I am by nature a fairly placid person. If I do get angry, it’s usually a white hot flash of anger at myself for doing something stupid or over some unfairness against someone I love. But the one person in history who had no reason to be angry with Himself, and every imaginable reason to be angry with what He daily witnessed, what set Him off?

In this instance, Jesus was faced with the blatant hypocrisy of those who claimed to worship the True God. Those who should have seen Him and fallen at His feet had been reduced to tricksters and finger-pointers because they couldn’t begin to entertain the notion that their long-awaited Messiah might prefer the company of drunkards and fishermen to their own spotless dinner parties. Jesus, as the True God in human form, had every right to put them in their tiny, insignificant place.

But this is what gets me– Jesus’ anger was mingled with grief. Even in the midst of calling them out for the lunacy of their treatment of fellow souls, he mourned that they would never understand the freedom they would have experienced if they could have set down their pride and certainty long enough to accept it.

“But this is what gets me– Jesus’ anger was mingled with grief. ”

This past year has unleashed a torrent of anger in our public discourse, and for many, our private discourse too. And there are plenty of reasons to be angry. People who claim the name of Christ have said and done awful things. Too many people who claim to follow the True God have been silent or aligned themselves with oppressors for fear of challenging the status quo. It feels as if every day brings something else to be righteously indignant about.

But the problem is that we often think that the righteousness of our anger lies in the wrongness of the behavior we witness. They are just so wrong to act like that/say that/ be like that, so I’m right to be angry. I’m right to take out my anger on the first person who appears to condone the behavior that enrages me. I’m right to let that anger settle into me and make me see everyone as an enemy if they don’t agree with me. And there is certainly room for calling out misuses of power and injustice. And there is a time for our anger to motivate change.

And yet, if my anger isn’t leaving room for grief, it isn't righteous or Christ-like. If we can’t mourn the souls of the oppressors while we champion the rights of the oppressed, our anger isn’t really rooted in love. In love, we can grieve for the hearts of those caught up in bigotry and racism, while still speaking out clearly about systems and prejudices that diminish the sanctity of our neighbors’ lives.

If anger motivates action, then grief tempers our actions with compassion. We need both, our anger and our grief, if we are going to change the world we live in.