Monday, September 19, 2011

How to Handle Anger With God

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Keeping these things in mind, we offer the following
suggestions on how to bring our anger and other honest feelings before God.









Brenda's friends and Kevin assumed that feeling angry
with God is bad. Therefore, they told Brenda so; Kevin chose to keep those
emotions bottled up. "No telling what might happen otherwise," he reasoned. Many
people wrongly believe that anger must always be destructive—that it is clearly
a "bad" feeling or emotion.
As such, every emotion has an important function for
us. It gives us important feedback about what is going on inside us. As
suggested earlier, we need to see that our feelings are one thing, and
our behavior in response to them quite another thing. Feeling anger at
someone, for example, does not inevitably mean we will murder or harm that
person. Anger can be expressed constructively and could lead someone to stop
treating us unfairly. My expression of anger could even help bring about a
reconciliation.
We can decide not to face an emotion, but we cannot
stop that emotion. Even if we do not freely choose which emotion to feel at any
given moment, we still have many choices about how to deal with that emotion.
Feeling angry with God, then, is not bad in itself. In
fact, our faith can never grow unless we are honest about our feelings. Once we
admit we can be angry with God, we become free to see the many ways in which we
can express that anger. A person who feels angry with God has, in fact, many
options for expressing that anger: for example, turning one's back on God,
cursing the next person who says, "Don't be angry with God," or expressing that
anger honestly in prayer and coming to terms with it and with God. Because some
ways of expressing anger are admittedly very destructive, we need to choose ways
which truly represent our deepest Christian values.







Dividing our feelings into "nice" and "not nice"
categories encourages us to deny those feelings we label as "not nice." Such a
denial, however, severely limits our possibilities of dealing with them.
"Nice people," Brenda's and Kevin's friends may say,
"don't get angry with God." But what price do they pay for being "nice?" "Nice"
five-year-olds, parents often say, shouldn't become angry with younger brothers
or sisters. The truth is: five-year-olds sometimes become angry with their
siblings. This is an honest, healthy feeling, but now they feel guilty and
confused about it because it clashes with their self-image—or their parents'
expectations that nice children shouldn't get angry. This also reinforces the
idea that "not nice" feelings automatically lead to "not nice" behavior.
Adults often deny the existence of conflict so that
they can be "nice." But is a relationship between two people which is so weak
that it cannot withstand any quarrel worth maintaining? What kind of God is so
fragile that we cannot admit, as Brenda did, honest feelings of anger before
this God? Who really fears such anger? God? Or the "nice" person trying to
"save" his or her faith? Such a "nice" person will probably deny the existence
of many emotions which continue to work quietly but relentlessly.
If someone is angry at God because of a personal or
family tragedy, denying that anger as Kevin did may encourage a faith which
"goes through the motions" without any deep, inner conviction. Such a person may
not "lose" his or her faith in the sense of becoming an atheist but may settle
for a faith which refuses to face life with any real depth or honesty. That is
the risk Kevin took in the way he dealt with his daughter's death.
In the late 1960's, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross discovered
that "nice" people who do not want to admit that a friend or relative is dying
actually hinder that person from going through the five stages of grief (denial,
anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance). Her book On Death and Dying
showed that often dying persons have fewer problems in admitting their condition
than friends or relatives who cling to denial in order to protect their own
feelings. In the final stages of a terminal illness, in fact, a dying person who
has come to acceptance will avoid people whose own need to deny the situation is
stronger than the dying person's need to live honestly with it.








The following story may explain why I fear a faith
which is forever "nice," a faith which prides itself on avoiding any expression
of anger with God. This story may help some readers get in touch with any
unresolved anger with God and to see their faith in a new way.
By the time I was a junior in high school, I had done
my share of complaining that "life isn't fair," but nothing really shook my
faith in God until two nephews were born several months prematurely and died a
few days later. What did I believe about God now? What could I say to my
grieving brother and sister-in-law?
I was away at school, and I remember my father's
letter saying that my nephews had been born, named, and baptized immediately,
and that I should pray for their survival. Up to that time I had prayed for
various people but never for someone literally in a life-or-death situation.
Earlier petitions might have concerned more trivial matters, but this was
big-league praying.
Here was the clearest and most painful case of
innocent suffering I had ever encountered. How could God not hear my prayers and
those of our whole family for those tiny infants? For some reason I felt
confident that they would make it, and therefore I was devastated when I learned
that my nephews had died.
How could a good God let this happen? I asked with
hurt and anger. To say that my nephews died of "natural causes" seemed heartless
and dishonest. Furthermore, I could not believe that their deaths were "God's
will," at least in the sense that that's what God really wanted. Nevertheless,
at that time I thought that "nice" people never get angry at God. Though puzzled
and hurt, they somehow "get over it" and "life goes on."
Besides, the Catholic Church teaches that baptized
infants who die go straight to heaven. Who was I to complain? Slowly my
confusion and anger subsided and life returned to a new kind of normalcy. Two
years later my brother and sister-in-law had a healthy baby girl, and I was
ready to let God off the hook—so to speak. Years later when I read Elisabeth
Kubler-Ross's book and reflected on other experiences of loss, I began to see
the danger of a faith which is more "nice" than honest.
Admitting our anger with God does not destroy faith
but rather forces us to clarify what we believe and why, to move from a child's
faith to an adult's faith. Though refusing to admit anger with God may seem to
protect one's faith, I am convinced that in the long run it does more harm than
good.








In 1986, Sister Suzanne Schrautemyer went to a doctor
because of a lump under her left arm. Tests showed that cancer had spread to her
bone marrow. Earlier, she had undergone a partial mastectomy, a bilateral
mastectomy, radiation treatment and chemotherapy. At this point, Sister Suzanne
(age 39) decided to accept her coming death and discontinue chemotherapy.
She had gone through several months of low-grade anger
and depression, having difficulty talking about this with anyone. "I had to be
assured it's okay to be angry, to doubt, to be broken and down," she said. "I
don't believe now that my faith is insulted by my anger and doubt. I had to move
through it—those real human experiences—before I could let go of it."
When she told the sisters in her community about her
decision to discontinue chemotherapy, they felt angry and depressed. "I told
them I needed them to be real. If they were angry at me for being sick again,
that's okay, I said. If they're angry at God because I might be dying, that's
okay. And it's okay to show that to me. I told them I wanted them—and needed
them—to be real."
Had her faith changed during that two-year ordeal?
"Yes, it's simpler," she told a newspaper reporter. "I used to think some
places, people, times were more sacred than others. My experience of faith now
tells me that everything, every moment is sacred. Everything that happens is a
sacrament, a moment when God becomes tangible and life is real. That's what's
different."
Admitting her anger did not cure Sister Suzanne of her
cancer, but it allowed her to live honestly, to choose how she would deal with
her feelings rather than try to pretend they didn't exist. Such honesty led her
to a more adult faith, to a fuller appreciation of the present moment and of
God's providence. Thus, her initial anger with God led not to denying her faith
or "going through the motions" but to a deeper, richer faith able to put its
arms around all of life—even her coming death.








In dealing with tragedies such as Kevin, Brenda and
Sister Suzanne faced—or the ones we have suffered or observed very
closely—religious men and women often describe them as "God's will."
Unfortunately, people who readily speak of "God's will" in such circumstances
are frequently the same people who acknowledge only their "nice" feelings. Thus,
because "nice" people never get angry with God, the suffering person may feel
that he or she can "keep" the faith only by denying that anger, as Kevin did
when his daughter died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Or the person may
express that anger and thereby "lose" his or her faith.
People who refuse to admit any anger with God and who
immediately describe a tragedy as "God's will" may have the best of intentions.
Experience, however, shows us that people most often speak about suffering as
"God's will" when they are talking about someone else's suffering.
In a three-panel cartoon, an old and bearded God is
shown as sitting on a cloud, thinking. Then he picks a number from a rotating
device similar to the kind used by people calling bingo numbers. The final panel
shows part of a balcony falling on a man walking on the sidewalk. When many
people use the term "God's will," they are not saying that God sends suffering
to people whose number comes up. But that is often the message which the
suffering person hears: "My number has come up. 'Nice' people, however, never
get angry."
We can describe any suffering as "God's will" in the
sense that God has not intervened to prevent that suffering from striking some
individual. Or God "allows" the laws of nature to follow their normal course.
But that is very different from "God's will" as described in the cartoon above
in such a misleading way.
Doesn't it make more sense to describe "God's will" as
"what we know God wants"—that each person share in the divine life and reflect
the image of God in which he or she was created? God wants people to be healthy
and fully alive. The famous parable of the Good Samaritan certainly expresses
"God's will" for our suffering brothers and sisters—that we be ready to
inconvenience ourselves as we try to relieve human suffering. Glib talk about
"God's will" for other people can easily excuse us from the works of compassion
and mercy which Jesus praised.
God has made a world where men and women can use their
freedom constructively or in destructive ways. But tragedies such as Kevin,
Brenda and Sister Suzanne faced are not anyone's "fault" in the sense that they
result from the abuse of human freedom. Their tragedies, plus others resulting
from floods, earthquakes and cancer, strike saints and sinners alike. Sweetly
telling bereaved people that they will he united with their loved ones in the
next life may only end up shaming grieving brothers and sisters into denying the
deep pain they feel right now. "You shouldn't feel that way" could be the worst
thing we can say under such circumstances. Standing by them in their grief and
helping them see their options for expressing their sorrow is probably the most
faith-filled response we can make.








Because most people think that prayer should always be
a peaceful, serene experience, they have trouble imagining that an angry person
could really pray. Better to wait until he or she has "cooled down" before
praying. Unfortunately, grieving people who accept that message frequently try
to pray (communicate with God) without ever mentioning the most important things
or feelings which need to be communicated. Such an attitude leads either to
superficial prayers ("being nice" at all costs) or abandoning prayer as
dishonest. People who pray honestly in anger can grow into a faith which is
perhaps not as "nice" as before but is obviously more honest. Moreover, these
are the people who are most ready to understand and assist others who are
bandaging up life's physical or emotional wounds.
If I can face an emotion like anger with God, see my
own freedom in responding to that emotion, pray honestly if not elegantly, then
I might be able to help a suffering person put his or her life back together.
But if I refuse to recognize "bad" feelings in myself, or believe that genuine
prayer is always serene, I will certainly become an obstacle to someone else's
faith. Moreover, I may unintentionally indicate a path which leads not to deeper
faith in God but to rejection of God or "going through the motions" of belief
because that seems easier.
Praying amid my own anger or encouraging someone else
to pray honestly in his or her anger may feel awkward and not much like any
prayer I've ever known. From such soil, however, God may nurture a faith unlike
the one I had—or the other person had—when everything went very smoothly and
there was no reason to pray in anger.







We become angry when we suffer a loss such as Brenda
or Kevin experienced—or a smaller loss. If we try to deny the anger, we choose,
in effect, to be forever manipulated by it. Admitting the anger, on the other
hand, does not entitle us to "special handling" for the rest of our lives.
People frozen in anger can become as callous as people who prefer "being nice"
at all costs. Dealing with anger—our own or someone else's—can lead to growth,
to deeper compassion, to a deeper faith in God. Dealing with anger will not
erase Kevin's or Brenda's sorrow, but it will enable them to live honestly and
to help others who have experienced great loss. If anger becomes a permanent
condition, however, the person stops long before the journey is complete.
Our goal is an adult faith in God—however much that
may resemble or differ from the faith in God we had as children. Adults ready to
grow in faith can face their anger, recognize their God-given freedom in the
face of it and encourage others to do the same. Kevin could deal with his anger
and thus discover a more adult faith; Brenda may yet discover that God wants to
help her transform her anger into compassion.






Pat McCloskey, O.F.M., is the author of
When
You Are Angry With God (Paulist Press).