Sitting with the Sacred

“. . .whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment . . .”

Jesus— Matthew 5:22

The verse above and the reading from which it comes, Matthew 5:17-37, is one of those that I have visceral reactions to and not pleasant ones. Until I make myself focus on inhaling and exhaling a few times, I feel suffocated by darkness. I can’t see a sliver of light, and I feel nothing I can grab onto to move forward. I experience temporary despair when I revisit verses like the one I’ve highlighted, they awaken my anxiety and depression like the slightest unusual sound that can startle me out of a sound sleep at night.

I suppose such passages are meant to jar anyone who receives them out of complacency, and they do that. But I find it difficult to see what to do long-term after the jarring. I confess my anger, resentments, and wounds, and mentally, I surrender them to God again and again. Yet anger, resentment, envy, and self-service are such a part of my heart. They cut through every layer of my being. These emotions feel like thorny weeds embedded in a soul that’s filled with concrete. As time passes, uprooting them feels more and more impossible. I feel disappointed in myself for letting poison spread in my own heart and from there the world around me over and over despite repeated and sincere intentions to spread healing and light.

When I heard Matthew 5:17-37 again this weekend, I thought maybe this was one of the weeks I’d link to someone else’s reflection. I didn’t want to spread despair. After all, even though truths can be difficult to share and to receive, I have faith that despair is not truth. I asked God where I could find hope and the truth in the midst of the weeds in my heart and on the hamster wheel of my mind.

Two answers came to me:

1. Imagine your emotions as electricity, and rather than thinking you need to make them go away, ask God to help you channel them toward creativity and the service of love, rather than simply unleashing them with the result being that they electrocute everyone and everything around you (by “you,” I mean me).
2. Don’t give up on inviting the gardener of your heart to tend it. Maybe to be alive means not to give up.

It’s easier to imagine #1 coming to fruition for someone else, thanks to an individual being personally affected by a societal wound. Mothers Against Drunk Driving came to my mind. The Wikipedia article about the organization says MADD: “was founded on September 5, 1980, in California by Candace Lightner after her 13-year-old daughter, Cari, was killed by a drunk driver. There is at least one MADD office in every state of the United States and at least one in each province of Canada. These offices offer victim services and many resources involving alcohol safety. MADD has claimed that drunk driving has been reduced by half since its founding.”

But then there are the experiences that make people angry, that hurt them, that aren’t obviously catastrophic. There are the deep-seated wounds in ourselves, and by extension, in our relationships. I wonder if it’s true that the longer we’ve known someone, the more power they have to hurt us, and the more power we have to hurt the other person. The injuries from these connections may be older and deeper. They may have festered almost as long as we can remember. Elements of them are probably relatable to most people, and yet other aspects of them are unique to the people and situations involved. (Actually, even high-profile traumatic events probably share this quality of being a mixture of painful universality and uniqueness)

As I’ve wrestled with Matthew 5:22 the last few days, I’ve been reminded of the importance of naming emotions and then sitting with them, of saying to myself and to God, “Okay, I’ve just had an experience or an encounter that’s stirred some intense feelings. What are they? Anger, resentment, disappointment, sadness. In the past, I’ve tried to label them and then go on.

But earlier today, I found myself repeating, “I’m angry and hurt. I really wish things were different. I felt a lot more peace and relief when I vented to myself and to God about the feelings rather than hoping that I could simply name them and expect them to go away. Once I had allowed myself this time of confrontation and release, I felt for a good while that Jesus was with me in this pain and that I was a tiny bit grateful to share Jesus’ pain. I prayed that my accepting this pain would do some spiritual good I can’t understand yet. I really did feel like God had helped me harness at least some of the electricity, though the harnessing took a different form than the one that firs occurred to me when I asked for help.

I know that all too soon, I’ll forget to invite God into my struggles. Maybe the key as soon as I realize I’ve forgotten, is to extend the invitation again, to reopen the gate to the garden of my heart repeatedly. Thank You, Lord, for whispering gentleness to my mind when I forget You are there and for knocking on the gate of my heart. Amen.

Works cited

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

“Mothers Against Drunk Driving.” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia, Wikimedia Foundation Inc. 28 Nov. 2022, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothers_Against_Drunk_Driving.