Meditation on Anger

I've always had some anger issues. By which I mean, I've always had issues expressing anger.  I try, really hard, not to overreact.  I don't scream or yell or call people names.  As a rule.  (Hey, family, any reaction to this?  Is that true?  Was it true when I was a kid?) 


The truth is, I probably didn't think it was ok to be angry.  I didn't like to be yelled at, and I was drilled to be polite and respectful.  More to the point, I wanted to be liked.  I wanted to be seen as easygoing, kind, nice.  So I tried, not quite consciously, to suppress that anger. In fact, much of the time I didn't realize I was angry.  I'd hide it even from myself, so that I could be...nice. 

Over a lot of time and reflection, especially in my chaplaincy training, I learned that suppressing anger is a really, really bad idea.  Any behavior that drives you to deny who you are, instead of dealing with it, is destructive. 

When Jesus got angry, he didn't suppress it.  He overturned tables in the temple, shouted at the money-changers, he braided a whip and drove them out of the building.  (This is awesome, by the way.) 

Anger can tempt us to sin, but anger can be a gift of God, too.  It can be empowering.  It can give you the strength and energy needed to address a difficult situation.  Circumstances that might be embarrassing, difficult, or daunting sometimes need the strength of rage to push us into action.  Anger and compassion are the two sides of justice. 

In a relationship, anger is a sign of caring.  Someone who makes you angry is someone who matters.

Anger can give you the courage to confront injustice, and to seek truth and healing in relationships. 

So it's important to act on anger.  Not to be controlled by it, but not to suppress it.  All that energy and rage seeking a solution, if suppressed, becomes a problem.  That energy has to go somewhere in the system of our lives. In my life, in my past, I wasn't confident (or mean) enough to express it outwardly (despite the occasional anti-fundamentalist rant in seminary).  I wasn't brave enough to express it openly in a healthy way, by honestly stating my grievances. So I turned it inward.

If you want a good handy shorthand for anger turned inward, "depression" covers it.  Isolating, overeating, retreating into morose despair. That's what I did in seminary.  I was depressed and almost paralyzed for close to two years.  Even now, ten years later, those ingrained habits - suppress, turn inward, isolate, retreat, overeat - those impulses are still instinctive responses that I have to monitor, sometimes more successfully than others. 

In recent months, I've had a lot of reason to be angry.  And I have been.  Sometimes it's taken me a day or two or three to realize just how angry I've been about...well, about things.  Long story.  Another time, maybe. 

But I've been angry.  I've been filled with energy and rage seeking a solution.  I've been faced with the challenge of acknowledging my anger and channeling it in healthy ways - a difficult task requiring a lot of energy, in a profession where I'm not supposed to get mad at the people I'm with, during a time when I've been incredibly busy and incredibly tired, and not a little sad.  A task not
helped by the fact that anger and sleep don't mix well. 

Ten years ago, I wasn't up for that kind of challenge.  It was only by grace that I made it through. 

Have I learned anything since? Have time, reflection, Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), and another ten years of life as a child of God taught me anything?

Yes. 

I'm pleased. 

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Meditation on Friendship

I think Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons have always been hard times for me; down times. I understand people who don’t like church; during a period of depression in my life, I found church an actively painful place for me to be. But usually, I really enjoy church. (Well…except when it’s infuriating, but that’s another post.)
I love Bible study (when it happens); I love greeting everybody (when I’m not busy and distracted); I love seeing (and teasing) the kids and youth; most of all, I love being in worship. In high school, once I started driving, my family made fun of the fact that I was always one of the last people to leave the building. Church is a high for me.

Wednesday night late, and Sunday afternoon late, I have the letdown. Coming back to Earth. Returning to the everyday grind.

Since I went on church staff full time, this has been far truer than ever before. It used to be that I went to church to worship and to see my friends. That was true at FBC Mauldin (and certainly with BSU), at Brookwood, and at EBF. I suppose churches have the reputation, unfortunately richly deserved, of being judgmental places. But for me – whether with the youth at FBCM, or in BSU, or my div school friends at Brookwood, with the fellow pilgrims at EBF – church was a place of acceptance. I was at home. I was known and valued. I was active, I did stuff, I worked – but first and foremost it was a place of friendship. So the letdown was that I’d been with my friends and then had to leave them.

Now, I go to church to work. And I don’t have pure friendships at church anymore; everyone has some expectation of you or from you. And you’re there with people who (whether correctly or not) see it as their right and function to judge you, your performance, whether you’re good enough. They decide your salary, and your day off, and they talk about you to each other without any sense of shame or discretion. That’s just how it is. There are many people at my church that I feel great affection for, and trust that they do for me (as well as others that I know do not, but that’s also another post). Like it or not, church since I went on staff full time is a place where I am judged. I’m on display among a crowd.

For an introvert like me, this is a big deal. Being an introvert doesn’t mean I don’t love being around people; as I said above, that’s one of the reasons I love coming to church. But it’s draining. On some low level, just being with a crowd draws my energy away. And knowing that the crowd is watching you, weighing you, judging you…that amplifies the drain enormously. I work hard to stay authentic, to be as real and transparent as I can…but working hard is hard work. It’s tough, as an introvert, to be open and transparent with a group that’s judging you. And there are some (many) that I just can’t be fully authentic with. So some portion of my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs has to stay hidden. And that, too, is draining. Generally speaking, by Wednesday night or Sunday afternoon, I’m exhausted completely, physically and emotionally.

Now, interestingly, when real worship breaks out, when I feel my focus and the room’s on God, that gives me energy. During those moments, I don’t have to be hidden. We’re in God’s presence and I can be free to be me.

So anyway, part of the letdown of church ending is that worship is over, and the sense of being judged returns, sometimes intensified by people telling you what was wrong with worship.

But I’ve found that, introvert though I am, not everyone drains me energy. There are some folks who (generally) give me energy.

Friends. Pure friends. People who don't want see me first for what they expect of me. People who purely enjoy my presence.

Not just people I'm friendly with. You know, friends.

I’ve been thinking, off and on, lately more on than off, about the nature of friendship. For a single person, friendship assumes a significance and importance that you married folks lose, I think. Your family, rightfully, becomes top priority - under God, hopefully. For me, under God, friends make the world go round.

For me, some things are non-negotiable for friendship. Two biggies are mutual respect and trust. I need to know that I’m valued by the people that I value; few things are more unpleasant (hurtful) than finding out that you’re less important to someone than they are to you. So that mutual sense of respecting/liking/valuing each other is important. And trust. I have to know that I can trust you. That you’re not judging me, that you can see my flaws and weaknesses as well as my strengths, and still value me. And I have to know that you’re honest with me, that you have that same trust in me. Without that, there’s no basis for friendship.

But with that mutual trust and respect…ah. There’s magic in that. I’m an introvert, even people I like drain me. But if you’re a real friend? If I respect and trust you and believe in your trust and respect for me? 

Well then, I don’t have to work to stay hidden. I can trust you and relax. And I don’t have to work to be authentic. I can let go and let it flow. I can be sarcastic or sentimental, obnoxious or compassionate, supportive or mocking, say what I think and mean what I say and not worry that what I said is going to come back to bite me, that someone’s going to judge me for it and try to take me out with it. 

There are people whose simple presence relaxes me. If I sent you an invitation to see this post (not an exhaustive list, by the way), you are one of those people, at least sometimes. We’re all human and far from Heaven. Sometimes family can annoy me, sometimes friends become distant. But for the most part, your proximity gives me rest and renews my strength. In that way, you are the presence of Christ to me; Christ, who said “come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” Simply being you, being someone that I trust to trust and respect me, just that. Not anything you say or do. Just…the fact of you. 

This is why, in college, I could spend a full day in class and a full night at church, and still stay up til midnight talking with Tom Smith, my mentor and friend. This is why, after the enormous energy drain of being among church people and being friendly to church people and teaching SS and leading worship, going out to lunch with some of our college students refreshes rather than exhausts me. 

You give me rest. You show me Christ. 

So friendship…it’s big. Jesus said to his disciples that he saw them as friends, not servants. Friendship is a picture of Christ and the church, just as much as the more often repeated picture of marriage. 

Friends, I admit that sometimes I may be tempted to cling to you, rather than to the Christ you help me see. I value you greatly; sometimes, I overvalue. Moreover, I fear that for some of you, rather than giving you rest, I drain you. 

You see, I value that mutual trust and respect. So if I ever feel some barrier to that? I will fight for it. I will confront the barrier and try to get past it. That, of course, takes energy, and strength, and courage (far more, I think, than the silent “grin and bear it” path that our culture encourages us, especially men, to take). I fear for many of you it stretches you outside your comfort zone. I’m sorry. I’ll probably do it anyway, trusting in friendship to get us through it, trusting in your respect/trust in me to make you speak up if I push too far. 

Yes, friends, you give me energy when you’re near. So lately…I’m tired. Things aren’t going poorly or anything. I’m just…not near. Christ be with you, friends.

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Sacrifice and Celebration

It’s fitting that it’s only now, for the first time in eons, that I’m able to make the time and the effort for a new blog post. This is the season of Lent, a season of discipline.

I grew up (and still am) Baptist, and Lent was not something we talked about or observed in my early years. It wasn’t until high school that I heard of the mysterious “Maundy Thursday.” I wasn’t part of a Good Friday Tenebrae service until about 5 years ago, while I was hospice chaplain and a member of Emmanuel Baptist Fellowship in Lexington, SC. By that time I was a seminary grad, and it was at my (interdenominational) seminary, Beeson Divinity School, that I first was asked by someone what I was giving up for Lent. Probably an Episcopalian. (I hadn’t planned to give up anything, thanks much.)


Sacrifice isn’t that popular an idea in our consumption-driven culture. Perhaps it’s that contrast that makes Lent intriguing to me. Or maybe it’s the appeal of the unfamiliar and new (to me; Lent is OLD), making Lent seem exotic and exciting. In theory, at least. In previous years, my attempts to give up something for Lent have generally been wildly unsuccessful. Me and discipline? Distant acquaintances, at best, and we don't really get along, to be honest.

This year, I’m trying something different. Two days in (38 to go), I’m doing well. It’s early yet, but I’m hopeful the excitement will last this time. Because I've finally understood that despite the common perception, Lent isn’t really about giving something up. The sacrifice is a means, not an end. We sacrifice a human good for a divine better.

I think Lent, like Advent, is really about preparation. We get ready to celebrate Easter (the resurrection of the One Who saved us from sin and death) by reflecting on our need for a Savior. We give up something important to us, that has a grip on us. We turn that time and energy from what we've given up and put that into the Kingdom of God instead.

So this Lenten season, I’m giving up buying meals when I’m alone. I’m a single guy who works many, often most, nights. And I’m really not a cook. So I buy most (75% or more, breakfast, lunch, and supper) of my meals from a restaurant – occasionally going and eating there, but more often (and more problematically) doing take out or fast food.

Giving this up is clearly in my own best interests, as are most of the “sacrifices” God asks from us. Eating out is more expensive and less healthy. By fixing meals at home, I’ll consume less empty calories, get more nutrients, and save money. Still, I tried this last year, and it was (as alluded to above) a spectacular failure. The personal benefits didn't outweigh the sheer inconvenience. Getting up earlier to fix meals? Fixing meals at the end of a work day? Blargh. Last time I tried this it just made me grumpy.

But this year, any day I’m unmotivated to cook, or inclined to cheat, I’m shifting focus. I'm going to figure out what meal I want and how much money it would cost me. Then I'm going to donate that amount.

I’m not sure where I’ll donate it to – there are lots of good possibilities. Maybe the Change This World fundraiser our youth are involved in for summer camp. It’s very likely to go to one of the five initiatives from the YouChoose video. Maybe it’ll go to a smaller, more local organization - the Food Pantry here at Westfield, Love Wins Ministries in Raleigh, Union Mission in Roanoke Rapids.

The point is, each time I’m tempted to give in, I can do something positive instead. Ironically, the less tempted I feel, the less money I’ll raise. Conversely, the more money I give, the more tempted and flawed it’ll mean I am. :) But if anyone else wanted to join me by doing something similar in your life, so that we could celebrate together how God led us to take something unhealthy and turn it to something good - that would be cool to hear about from you folks!

Caveats and fine print: I can still eat out if invited by someone else. I don’t get to share a meal with someone else all that often, and doing so is a Good Thing. Also, one day a week is a day of celebration, when the Lenten restriction is relaxed. Hey, I didn't come up with this! But I am adapting it to my situation. Traditionally the day of celebration is Sunday, the day of worship. For the time being, I’m going to make it Thursday, my day off. This is part of trying to more closely observe Sabbath on my off-day – another Lenten discipline, actually.

So that’s the plan for Lent this year. How about you? How are you spending Lent? How are you preparing to celebrate the Savior?

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