Does anybody lie on his or her deathbed and think,
“Gee, I wish I had spent more time being angry”?
Do people reach the end of their lives
and regret not holding more grudges
or exacting crueler revenge?
Maybe some people do,
but I suspect that most of us,
facing the end of life,
find the things that angered us
suddenly seem trivial,
and the grudges we held
and the revenge we exacted
look like a petty waste
of our precious time.
These things, like us,
are swept away by time.
So why do we live our lives
cultivating anger,
holding grudges,
and seeking vengeance?
For it seems as if our world
is awash in an epidemic of anger.
Perhaps this has always been the case,
but the public expression of our anger,
of our grudges and vengeance,
seems particularly prevalent in our day.
We live in an era of performative anger,
where what we call (without irony) “social media”
is often the arena for
the most anti-social sorts of behavior.
We have declared open season
on those who differ from us
in their political affiliations,
and in their racial and cultural identities
and vent our spleens at people
whom we don’t really know.
This epidemic of anger
has even infected the Church,
with people hurling
accusations of heresy at others,
turning difference into division
and positioning themselves
as defenders of the true faith.
I can hate you because of
who you did or didn’t vote for,
what you did or did not do
during the pandemic,
how you do or do not respond
to what I think is the most pressing issue
in the world or in the Church.
We live in a time
when unforgiving anger
has become a virtue.
“Gee, I wish I had spent more time being angry”?
Do people reach the end of their lives
and regret not holding more grudges
or exacting crueler revenge?
Maybe some people do,
but I suspect that most of us,
facing the end of life,
find the things that angered us
suddenly seem trivial,
and the grudges we held
and the revenge we exacted
look like a petty waste
of our precious time.
These things, like us,
are swept away by time.
So why do we live our lives
cultivating anger,
holding grudges,
and seeking vengeance?
For it seems as if our world
is awash in an epidemic of anger.
Perhaps this has always been the case,
but the public expression of our anger,
of our grudges and vengeance,
seems particularly prevalent in our day.
We live in an era of performative anger,
where what we call (without irony) “social media”
is often the arena for
the most anti-social sorts of behavior.
We have declared open season
on those who differ from us
in their political affiliations,
and in their racial and cultural identities
and vent our spleens at people
whom we don’t really know.
This epidemic of anger
has even infected the Church,
with people hurling
accusations of heresy at others,
turning difference into division
and positioning themselves
as defenders of the true faith.
I can hate you because of
who you did or didn’t vote for,
what you did or did not do
during the pandemic,
how you do or do not respond
to what I think is the most pressing issue
in the world or in the Church.
We live in a time
when unforgiving anger
has become a virtue.
St. Thomas Aquinas said that there is
a kind of zealous anger that is not sinful,
and may, in fact, be praiseworthy,
because it shows that we have
a finely-tuned sense of justice.
But even if he is right about this,
let’s be honest:
most of the anger
that we encounter in the world today
is not of the zealous, praiseworthy sort,
but is simply the impulsive aggression
that results from too much dopamine
and too little serotonin in our brains.
It can be addictive, however,
since we tell ourselves it is
a manifestation of righteous zeal,
and don’t we relish feeling righteous?
Don’t we use our displays of anger
to proclaim to the world our righteousness?
I have a hunch that the unmerciful servant
in the parable Jesus tells in today’s Gospel
was convinced that he was simply
displaying his commitment to justice,
even as he clamped his hands on the throat
of his fellow servant.
As the book of Sirach memorably puts it,
“Wrath and anger are hateful things,
yet the sinner hugs them tight.”
a kind of zealous anger that is not sinful,
and may, in fact, be praiseworthy,
because it shows that we have
a finely-tuned sense of justice.
But even if he is right about this,
let’s be honest:
most of the anger
that we encounter in the world today
is not of the zealous, praiseworthy sort,
but is simply the impulsive aggression
that results from too much dopamine
and too little serotonin in our brains.
It can be addictive, however,
since we tell ourselves it is
a manifestation of righteous zeal,
and don’t we relish feeling righteous?
Don’t we use our displays of anger
to proclaim to the world our righteousness?
I have a hunch that the unmerciful servant
in the parable Jesus tells in today’s Gospel
was convinced that he was simply
displaying his commitment to justice,
even as he clamped his hands on the throat
of his fellow servant.
As the book of Sirach memorably puts it,
“Wrath and anger are hateful things,
yet the sinner hugs them tight.”
Perhaps we could medicate ourselves
out of this impulsive aggression,
out of our anger and grudge-bearing.
But the wise man who speaks
in the book of Sirach
offers a different sort of remedy:
“Remember your last days…
remember death and decay.”
He knows that few of us
will lie on our deathbed
and think, “Gee, I wish
I had spent more time being angry.”
He calls us to live our lives
conscious of that moment
when all of our anger
will seem kind of pointless,
all of our grudges
will seem kind of petty,
all of our vengeance
will seem merciless and cruel.
He exhorts us, as the old Latin adage goes,
momento mori—“remember that you will die.”
Remember that moment
when everything will melt away,
including the pretense of righteousness
that is rooted in the poisoned soil of our anger,
and we will stand before the righteous judge.
“Could anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?”
out of this impulsive aggression,
out of our anger and grudge-bearing.
But the wise man who speaks
in the book of Sirach
offers a different sort of remedy:
“Remember your last days…
remember death and decay.”
He knows that few of us
will lie on our deathbed
and think, “Gee, I wish
I had spent more time being angry.”
He calls us to live our lives
conscious of that moment
when all of our anger
will seem kind of pointless,
all of our grudges
will seem kind of petty,
all of our vengeance
will seem merciless and cruel.
He exhorts us, as the old Latin adage goes,
momento mori—“remember that you will die.”
Remember that moment
when everything will melt away,
including the pretense of righteousness
that is rooted in the poisoned soil of our anger,
and we will stand before the righteous judge.
“Could anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?”
Remember death…
Not simply because it reminds us
of how everything ends,
even our anger and grudges.
Not simply because it reminds us
that we will one day face the righteous one
whose mercy will be measured out
according to the mercy we have shown to others.
Remember death because it reminds us that
“whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.”
Sirach bids us “remember your last days…
remember death and decay”
so that we might remember Jesus Christ,
who “died and came to life,
that he might be Lord of both
the dead and the living.”
We remember death
so that we might remember
that Christ has conquered death,
has conquered wrath and vengeance,
and has made us his own.
We remember death because
even there Christ claims us,
and to belong to the Lord Jesus
is to let his mercy flow over us
and through us,
washing away our anger
and its phony righteousness
and filling us with his gifts
of faith, hope, and love,
gifts that we are called
to share with others.
To belong to the Lord Jesus
is to show to others
the mercy he has shown to us.
May God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all.
Not simply because it reminds us
of how everything ends,
even our anger and grudges.
Not simply because it reminds us
that we will one day face the righteous one
whose mercy will be measured out
according to the mercy we have shown to others.
Remember death because it reminds us that
“whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.”
Sirach bids us “remember your last days…
remember death and decay”
so that we might remember Jesus Christ,
who “died and came to life,
that he might be Lord of both
the dead and the living.”
We remember death
so that we might remember
that Christ has conquered death,
has conquered wrath and vengeance,
and has made us his own.
We remember death because
even there Christ claims us,
and to belong to the Lord Jesus
is to let his mercy flow over us
and through us,
washing away our anger
and its phony righteousness
and filling us with his gifts
of faith, hope, and love,
gifts that we are called
to share with others.
To belong to the Lord Jesus
is to show to others
the mercy he has shown to us.
May God, who is merciful,
have mercy on us all.
