What Am I...

On the last Sunday after the Epiphany I offered the congregation two pieces of paper, one with the question, "This Lent I hope to cultivate..." and the other with the question, "This Lent I hope to let go of...". Then after the service we folded the papers into origami butterflies. I then wrapped each butterfly in tissue paper and hung them on our dried branches as cocoons. We'll open the cocoons for Easter and rehang the butterflies. On Pentecost we'll let them go, perhaps burning them and sending them up into the air? 

I didn't read what people wrote, but as I folded some of the paper squares into butterflies I did see some of the responses, it was interesting to note how many said they hope to let go of "anger" in this season of Lent. 

Anger.

Anger was not my response, but I understand the desire to let go of anger. We live in an angry world today, so much anger all around us. 

How do I let go of anger? Will I let go of let go of anger if I walk away from a situation? Will I let go of anger if I cut off others and never speak to them? Will I let go of anger if I engage in conflict with others? Will I let go of anger if I never talk about it? Will I let go of anger if I find someone to blame and make them the problem so that my anger has a focal point? Will anything help?

Some say that depression is sometimes the result of anger that has not been recognized and resolved. So clearly finding a way to manage anger and work through anger and come to a better place inside of one's self is a worth while endeavor. But how?

I am learning through my work with Faithwalking how to more effectively recognize the ways I have made meaning out of painful life experiences, anger producing, wounding and depression causing experiences of my life, and how the meaning I have made has left me with unconscious, knee-jerk, autopilot reactivity and defensiveness that only fuels more anger and depression. It fuels it because I tell myself things about me and my woundedness that is not fully true and which goes against how God sees me. This has led to a "false self" - to not living a fully alive, whole life, to not living as God desires of me. If you worked through Faithwalking, I expect you'd come to similar understandings of yourself, too. 

Letting go of anger is a process of looking deep into one's self. 

In my homily on Ash Wednesday I reflected on the words in the passage from Joel "rend open your heart and not your clothes." I suggested that this was key to the Book of Common Prayer invitation to observing a Holy Lent. Letting go of anger won't happen if all I do is rip open the external, superficial parts of my self. To let go of anger I need to rend open my heart so that I can do a scan of my soul and see what is really going on inside. Being ripped open, raw and vulnerable, will expose the areas I need to work on, to turn and return to God, to make reparations of my soul, to be transformed into new life at Easter. 

None of this is easy. It helps to have a guide or a coach to walk with me, to remind me to be gentle with myself even as I am ripping open those old wounds and taking a look inside. Even as I am learning that it's not as painful to look inside as it is to try and hide them away. 

There's more to anger than just what is going inside of me, or you. Our country, our world, is filled with anger. We are afraid of the changes coming, the dominant culture shifts that are happening, the loss of security "we" felt in a world run by white men. At least some people are. Others are stuck trying to adapt. How do I adapt to shifting paradigms? Race? Gender? Religion? 

I have always thought of myself as an openminded, progressive, who was not racist, not homophobic, not xenophobic. And in many ways this is true of me. But I have come to understand that there is systemic stuff in me, bred by this culture I've been raised in, that lurks unconscious. I don't know what I don't know. Until I take the time to recognize that stuff must be there, and I begin the work to look inside and unravel it. 

Mostly this means that I listen more than I speak. I try to listen to others who are different from me without the need to prove myself as open minded, progressive, one of them. I have tended to minimize differences, thinking that that was a sign of my open mindedness. But I am learning that it is even more helpful if I listen too and recognize the differences between me and people of color, between me and people who are LGBTQIA+, between me and people of different religions. And, not only recognize the differences, but celebrate them as part of God's creation. This is not easy to do, because anger. So much anger. I have to be able to tolerate the anger of others, of those who are angry with me because I represent the very thing that scares them, change. 

I am working at letting others be who they are. It is not my job to judge or to change or to convince others that I am right. Nor do I need to be convinced that they are right. The truth is we are all right. I can embrace the other for being who they are, love them as they are, let them be who they are, without needing to change them. And I can also love me for being who I am. We are both good in the eyes of God. You are you. I am me. I can hear you, I do not need to debate you, or convince you of my goodness or my open mindedness, I only need to be me. And I only need to let you be you.

In family systems thinking this is called "self-differentiation." It's a process of moving toward more maturing in one's life. Living from one's values, beliefs, and principles. Being comfortable in my own skin and letting you be who you are in yours. 

So, letting go of anger is a journey of rending open one's heart, looking inside, noticing the wounds and the meaning I made of it. Then working to try and see myself as God sees me, more honest, less reactive, more conscious, less unconscious knee-jerk reactivity. To deconstruct the hurt and transform it into a more whole self. And to remind myself that every day I show up and do my best. Some days I make a mess of things, and then try to fix them. Some days I do better. But, every day I do my best.

That is not an excuse to act out, stay angry, or treat others badly. It's just a reminder that as I try to grow more aware and more mature and more whole, even when I mess up. I am trying. I really am doing the best I can.

And I believe that you do too. Every day we are all doing the best we can.