A line from the song “Freedom,” by Rage Against the Machine, tells us that “anger is a gift.” How often do we try to tamp down our anger, like it’s an embarrassing feeling we attempt to avoid or whistle past in the dark knowing it’s lurking behind our tight words. Maybe it’s because anger is so often misunderstood. As an Enneagram 9 (peacemaker), anger scares me — my own anger or other people’s. It seems unpredictable and erratic and unstable. It doesn’t communicate my feelings well and gets lost in all the extra noise it tends to make. But anger is a truth-teller, and under that noise, if I look deep enough, it will tell me something is wrong.

Anger is a gift, but only if we can patiently pause long enough to notice the truth.

The war happening in Gaza right now is horrifying. The images you’ve seen of children’s bodies being ripped apart, whole families dying together from weapons our country has provided makes my blood boil in a mixture of grief and anger. Women raped by Hamas and those who were murdered or kidnapped. Israel’s colonization of land. Hamas’s terrorism. Constant violent threat towards LGBTQ folx. Subjugation of women and brainwashing of children. The apparent genocide of Palestinians in Gaza without any rescue from neighboring countries. The ways religion is used as a dehumanizing bludgeoning tool, excusing hatred and affirming violence.

And, yes, it’s complicated, but aren’t you furious? Aren’t you angry? In my anger I feel such helplessness, powerlessness. I am paralyzed by it all, which tends to feed my anger, and the cycle continues.

Anger is a gift, but only if we can patiently pause long enough to notice the truth.

The problem is the truth keeps getting covered up by blaming the other side, by pointing fingers and saying “they started it,” like it’s all “their” fault and if “they” no longer existed everything would be better. Blame then becomes its own sort of cycle, feeding my anger and justifying my beliefs, justifying the violence and hatred and “self-defense.”

But when I pause long enough for my justifying blame to subside, it’s there I notice the truth: the suffering, objectifying, subjugating, colonizing, abusing and killing of humans is wrong. Full stop.

And, yeah, that’s nice and sentimental but not possible on the grand scale — I know that. But it’s possible in myself and my small community. It’s possible to lean away from the expected retributive justice and towards restorative justice that God desires. It’s possible to allow my anger to tell me the truth of every person’s inherent worth and their belovedness and allow that truth to break my heart wide open.

“I sat with my anger long enough,
until she told me
her real name
was grief.”

-CS Lewis

I’m no politician and can’t solve or heal historical injustices, ancient land rights and historical crimes against humanity. But I can learn about them. I can be angry for every side of every injustice and dehumanizing act. I can weep and groan with the God who weeps and groans. I can fall on my knees and pray.

As a Christian person, I follow Jesus Christ, who was a non-violent pacifist, who silently went before a brutal government that violently occupied his people and homeland, and was tortured and murdered in a humiliating way. Jesus commanded us to pray for our enemies and those who cause us harm and while dying on the cross, prayed out, “Father, forgive my enemies. They don’t understand what they’re doing.”

In a world where we do our best to keep the bad guy/good guy lines clear by making excuses for every action, this war keeps blurring the lines and forcing people to live in that honest but uncomfortable tension. So, yeah, I’m angry and feel helpless, and I want to blame or double down on a side. But really I’m just sad. So sad. Because historically traumatized people are being killed and re-traumatized, both Jews and Palestinians alike. And while we can make a case for who has been more traumatized or attacked over history, the truth is something needs to change so that history stops repeating itself. And I believe that something often looks like a radical change of heart: loving our enemy, rehumanizing those we hate and being angry about every form of injustice, regardless of sides.

Maybe anger really is a gift.