Outraged

Every Thursday I’ll post an article having to do with either relational or emotional matters. Hope it helps.

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Outraged

I am becoming the kind of man I used to laugh at.

In my twenties and thirties, I’d make a mental note of guys whose faces said “I’ve seen too much; I’m mad as you-know-what; the world’s a mess.” Everything about them seemed cynical and bitter, and while I sympathized with whatever hurts brought them to such a point, I also criticized them for becoming such Scrooges. They were outraged about everything, wallowing in contempt and pessimism, and I assured myself I’d never go that direction.

And I haven’t; not really, not yet. But at 57 I’m catching the early signs. I’m angry about practically everything: the direction of my country, social trends, politics in general, politicians in particular. The state of the Church, though, is where my biggest beefs lie, and I’m finding that true of quite a few believers. Lots of Christians are disappointed in lots of Christians, and as one whose been disappointed and has disappointed, I’m left sifting through my beefs and coming to a few tentative conclusions.

First, the beefs. It’s usually one of three things that gets me going: Believers waffling when it comes to clearly revealed truth; Believers engaged in deliberate and ongoing moral compromise; Believers spouting self-righteous judgementalism. I could also throw in the occasional believer who talks behind my back or never returns my phone calls, but these three are the most prominent on my outrage list. Listening to Christian talk shows I find myself growling at authors or pastors whose remarks show such disregard for, or ignorance of, the Bible they’re supposed to know. Reading the papers I roll my eyes at yet another scandal in Christian leadership. Watching Christian television I sneer at any preacher tearing into the rest of us sinners with self- righteous fury. Waffling; compromise; judgementalism. My big three.

So OK; I’m outraged. And I really don’t think anyone could argue that these aren’t legitimate causes for some anger. But why so much anger, and why is it directed at these?

First, let’s be real. I have been and still am to an extent guilty of all three, and when I see my sins on you, they look horrible indeed, calling for my swift and virulent condemnation. On me they’re not so bad, but on you? Unforgiveable. So I’ll have to own my hypocrisy. Much of my outrage vented at others is a misplaced judgment that should be applied to myself. I have definitely waffled on the hot seat, hemming and hawing when asked direct questions about truth, wanting more to be liked than to be honest. And moral compromise? Me pointing the finger at anyone is comical indeed, considering the immorality in my own life which I’ve repented of, am still recovering from, and will always to some extent be marred by. And yes, despite my own failures, I’ve also judged harshly and needlessly. Hate to say it, but it feels so darned good getting into a long chat with other Christians about how awful everybody else is because, by implication at least, aren’t we also thereby congratulating ourselves for not being like others? And was that not the very element of the Pharisee’s prayer that condemned him? (Luke 18:11)

I’m guilty of the very things that outrage me. That, in part, explains the anger.

But hypocrisy notwithstanding, I’m also right, at least somewhat. Many of us in the collective Body of Christ really do have a problem maintaining fidelity to truth, purity and humility, and these three are pretty basic stuff. Or should be, anyway. And that’s cause for legitimate and, hopefully, constructive anger. We should expect our leaders and spokespersons to have a higher regard for sound doctrine than popularity. We should require an upright lifestyle of ourselves and each other. And when we’re infected with self-righteousness we should dunk ourselves seven times in the river as Elisha instructed the leper to do. (II Kings 5:10) There’s a place for anger over each of these sins, provided the anger does more than just talk. Redemptive action should follow righteous outrage.

Yet I’m also, as I write this, aware that my perspective is tiny, limited to my very narrow experience, making me completely unfit to measure the extent the Church is plagued by these problems. How well, after all, do I know the Church in China? In Africa? In the ghettos I avoid, or the metropolitan areas I’ve never seen? I’ve no idea, really, what the spiritual temperature of the other members of Christ’ Body is, and here I see a mistake Elijah made that I often repeat: seeing the worst in my immediate situation, I project it onto the rest of world, assuming that what I see must be true everywhere.

“Everybody else has bowed their knee to Baal, and when it comes to true believers, only I am left,” the prophet wailed (I Kings 19:10) when distressed over Jezebel’s threat of his life, ignorant of the numbers of godly and resilient people he couldn’t see. God’s gentle rebuke (“Relax, I’ve got plenty of true followers”) reminded him, and me, that while outrage may be called for, it may also be overblown, exaggerating a real problem to unreal proportions, and presuming to know much more than the outraged individual thinks he knows.

There’s comfort in that, humbling as it is. Because whatever I’m worried about, angry over, or screaming at, it may be wrong, but dollars to doughnuts it’s not as pervasive as I’m assuming it is. Christ is still the head of His Church; the Head still knows and works with the Body; the Body is alive and well, thank you.

And it doesn’t, praise God, need me to stress over it.

But maybe an occasional nudge?