Compassionate Anger

Jesus wept

“Jesus wept” (John 11:35). I love that verse. I’ve used it in several of my posts, including one of my first and my last one, to illustrate how much God cares for us.

Here’s the very Son of God walking down the dusty road to Lazarus’ tomb, surrounded by the dead man’s grieving friends and family. And what does He do? He joins them in their sorrow and their tears. That’s what love does.

That was always my understanding of the verse. That’s how many commentators interpret it.

But in recent years, I’ve heard a different explanation for this scene. A Bible teacher I know said that, in the original language, the phrase “he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled” (verse 33) implies anger. Jesus was irate at death and suffering. Mad enough to be brought to tears.

I didn’t like this angle as much as the thought that He cried because of the pain Lazarus’ loved ones were going through and because He’d just lost a dear friend. (Verse 3 calls Lazarus the one Jesus loves.) I want a God and Savior who can feel what I feel when someone close to me dies. I want a God and Savior who weeps with those who weep (Romans 12:15 ESV).

But recently I was going through yet another period of lower energy as a result of overdoing. At these times, my emotions get kind of out of whack. The best way to cope is by honestly and openly bringing my frustration, fear, and discouragement to God. Then I feel guilty for obsessing about myself.

Question: Why can’t I just let go and give it all to Him? Permanently. Answer: Because of a health issue that messes with my brain.

Finding myself repeating angrily, “I hate this weakness. I hate this life.” (Not in the sense of being suicidal, but in the sense of longing for something better and knowing that He can provide it.)

One day realizing that, in a way, God hates it too. He hates sin and its consequences—suffering and death. And all of a sudden the second interpretation of the scene on the way to Lazarus’ tomb brings me comfort.

Holy and compassionate anger

Too often, I imagine a God who’s either harsh or complacent. Either He judges sin in His wrath and inflicts terrible suffering on us as a result, or it doesn’t really bother Him to see us suffering because He knows how much we deserve it. Both of these options seem to make sense. What other explanation could there possibly be?

But maybe there’s a third way. Maybe the God of the Bible is both holy and compassionate. Maybe He can be mad at sin and its consequences (even though He allows us to choose sin and decrees the consequences that will follow) and yet grieve when we suffer from those consequences. Kind of like a parent saying, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” before punishing a child. Maybe that’s where parents get it from.

Maybe both interpretations of John 11:35 are true. Maybe Jesus’ tears were a result of both anger and sympathy. Maybe He experienced the anger because of His sympathy. Maybe part of the fury that I feel when my own suffering goes on and on and prevents me from doing all I long to do for others is a reflection of God’s compassionate anger.

My anger vs. God’s anger

I have to be careful here, though. I know the main reason I’m mad comes from my fallen human nature. I want what I want and I want it right now. Frustration at my limitations leads to wrath. Wrath at anything and anyone (including God) that prevents me from having my own way.

But I suspect that at least part of my anger is in sync with God’s. His anger at sin and death and  evil. His anger, not toward me, but toward my suffering. His anger toward the evil that’s attacking me. His anger is on my side. I can find real comfort in that image.

Especially when I consider how His wrath differs from mine.

My temper flares up quickly. God is slow to anger (e.g. Exodus 34:6). If He’s slow to anger and yet He’s angry at my suffering, what does that say about the depth of His love for me?

My ire is aroused when I feel helpless against injustice or unfairness. God’s wrath is never a result of helplessness. His is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever, including right now. Everything that happens in this universe is either caused or allowed by God. Nothing happens apart from His will. He is never helpless, even against the greatest evil we can witness.

My rage can lead to a loss of self-control. I can say hurtful things that I later deeply regret. Even as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s wrong to fling them at my target, but I can’t seem to stop them. God never experiences a loss of self-control. Emotions cannot overwhelm Him to the point where He fails to do what’s absolutely right and best.

My anger is usually focused on a particular person, regarding him as my enemy. But Ephesians 6:12 says, “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

Maybe when God is expressing His wrath against an individual in the Bible, that emotion is directed more toward those spiritual forces of evil (as in John 11) than toward the person himself. Not that He feels no righteous anger against sinners. But Scripture places far greater emphasis on His love and compassion for His enemies.

“He is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35). “Christ died for the ungodly” (Romans 5:6). Surely the ungodly are God’s worst enemies. And yet the depth of God’s compassion for those enemies is so great that He sacrificed His own Son for us “while we were still sinners” (Romans 5:8).

Thank You, Jesus, for Your tears of both grief and anger, as demonstrated on the way to Lazarus’ tomb. Thank You for feeling the pain of the loss of a friend. Thank You for weeping with those who weep. And thank You for Your anger at my own personal, painful, day-after-day suffering.