Grounding our identities in anything temporal is dangerous precisely because our lives are fleeting. I built my identity around being the lone evangelical in a graduate program that lasted three years. As I age, three years is a shorter and shorter piece of my life. How foolish it was to build my identity on something so temporary.
This is the sin of Cain: grounding his identity in something other than God. When we ground our identity in a label we’ve assumed (or been given), it’s only a matter of time until someone challenges that identity.2 What if he’s a better father? Or she’s a better employee? What if their children are better behaved or more successful? What if I lose my spouse? What if another Christian shows up at grad school? What if God accepts my little brother’s offering, not mine? Suddenly the label that gave us such security and confidence shifts beneath our feet. Though it’s caused by the shifting sands of our ill-advised identity construction projects, we cast the blame outward—onto them, onto the person who challenged our sense of self.
It’s no surprise that we react with anger; our reaction masks our fear of losing what makes us us. But the real problem isn’t threats to our identity. The real problem is that we ground ourselves in what is unstable. It’s not their fault. It’s our fault. We built our identity on sand.
What if we have the Cain story backward? What if God isn’t punishing Cain, but trying to rescue him? “If you do well, will you not be accepted?” (Genesis 4:7).
Cain grounded his identity in being first—firstborn, most important, carrying the weight of his family’s future. God wanted to rescue Cain from this, to challenge him to ground his identity in God, not in his role in the family.
So God rejected Cain’s offering but accepted Abel’s. God forced “most important” to be “the other guy” for a day. God pushed on Cain’s sense of self, and because Cain had grounded his self in sand, his identity shifted. And Cain got angry, like we all do when our identity is challenged.
WARNING LIGHTS
God’s rejection of Cain’s offering was not a rejection of Cain. After the offering, God pleaded with him to do what was right. God pleaded with him not to give in to the sin crouching at his door. God asked, “Why are you angry?” (Genesis 4:6). This makes it easy to assume Cain’s anger was his sin. But anger is not a sin. Anger is a God-given emotion, and it has a place in God’s very good creation.
Counselors call anger a “secondary emotion,” which means it’s always caused by something else. Anger functions to protect our identities. According to forensic psychologist Stephen Diamond, anger is “an assertion of the individual’s most basic right to be an individual.” We view anger as a negative emotion, but Diamond pushes back on that, observing, “Without this capacity for anger or even rage, we would be unable to defend ourselves or those we love when needed. To fight for freedom and what we truly believe in and value. We would be unable to face down evil, leaving us even more vulnerable to it.3”
Anger is like a warning light on a dashboard. When we feel it swell in our chest, it’s a signal letting us know someone or something is challenging our identity. So anger can be a sign that something is desperately wrong. It’s the tightness you feel when someone you love is threatened; it’s the heat that rushes to your face when you hear that human trafficking is happening in your town.
Anger is also irrational, such as the rage that bursts out when someone cuts you off in traffic. Or insults your favorite sports team. Or sends a perfect bento box to school with her kid every day. Or has the gall to choose the same graduate program as you.
Anger won’t tell you what it’s covering up. Is there a righteous cause? Or does it cover a hurt, insecurity, or trauma? Anger doesn’t think; it only protects. It can’t tell whether the identity being challenged is built on solid rock or on shifting sands. It knows only that something’s wrong.
This is why, when we get angry, we need to heed God’s warning to Cain: “You will be accepted if you do what is right. But if you refuse to do what is right, then watch out! Sin is crouching at the door, eager to control you. But you must subdue it and be its master” (Genesis 4:7 NLT).
Watch out! Your identity has been challenged!
Watch out! You’re about to react right now, and your reaction has the potential to bring life. But if you don’t get a handle on this, it will devour you.
Most of us don’t get a handle on our anger. Either we let it burst forth or we bottle it up, tamping it down under shame and fear. Whether we blow up or bottle up, most of us don’t acknowledge our anger. We treat it as a problem to manage rather than an invitation from God.
Anger is an opportunity to stop and uncover what’s underneath the anger. It’s a chance to dig down inside ourselves to look at the foundations and see what we’re built on: rock or sand. God wanted this for Cain. God intervened in his world to invite him to a better life, a larger picture of himself. God wanted him to be free from the burden of being the firstborn, free from the burden of his family’s history and future. God wanted him to be free to be generous rather than selfish. God wanted him to be—literally—a source of life rather than death.
No wonder God pleaded with Cain. And how tragic that Cain chose to cling to his shallow identity rather than let go and embrace the person God called him to be.
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
Cain’s refusal of God’s invitation to stop and consider his anger had awful consequences—not just for him but also for his whole world. The same is true for us. We may not become murderers, but the cost of our anger can still be devastating—both to others in our lives and to us. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warned,
“You have heard that our ancestors were told, ‘You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.’ But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! If you call someone an idiot, you are in danger of being brought before the court. And if you curse someone, you are in danger of the fires of hell.” (Matthew 5:21-22 NLT)
Jesus’ warning sounds a bit extreme. “You’ve always heard murder was bad, but I tell you even being angry with someone is just as bad!” Jesus is certainly using some hyperbole in this part of the sermon, but all the more reason to take his words seriously. How can a reasonable person equate anger and murder?
If anger is a warning light, an indication that someone is challenging my core identity, how I respond matters a great deal. As we saw in Cain’s story, anger ought to be an invitation to pause, to consider exactly what identity is being challenged, and to decide if that identity is worth fighting for. Do you know what triggers your anger? Is it when you’re driving or with a particular coworker or family member? What are the warning signs that you’re getting angry? Do you find yourself tensing or clenching your teeth? Does your voice get an edge? Do you start to withdraw, or do you brace for a fight? Do your eyes turn green and your purple pants get tight?
If we can learn the warning signs of our anger, we can learn to pause, to take a break, to step outside the situation and hear God asking, “Why are you angry?” We can begin to determine whether our anger is righteous or reactionary. Then we need a plan for how to respond to anger. We aren’t good at getting angry, so we need a practice regime. We need to call a time-out. Go for a run. Journal. Blast some loud music.
I’m an external processor, so I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. My tendency is to blow up and lash out. So I’ve learned that when I feel anger settling onto me, I need to remove myself from the situation and give myself some space to think through why I’m angry. I dig down under that anger and figure out what’s got me so worked up. And I make a plan to respond with love, grace, and truth rather than throwing stones.
Cain didn’t pause. He refused to listen to God whispering through his anger. He refused to see his circumstances not as an injustice but as an opportunity. Cain the firstborn, Cain the number one had been reduced to number two. By accepting Abel’s offering rather than Cain’s, God had challenged Cain’s perception of himself.
How wonderful if Cain had paused! Imagine if he had listened to God say, “If you do right, you will be accepted” (Genesis 4:7 NLT). Imagine if Cain had learned that his status had nothing to do with why God welcomed him. Imagine that Cain had seen that Abel’s win didn’t necessarily mean his loss—that God could accept both of them. Imagine if Cain had been able to see that his status as firstborn wasn’t a position to exploit but a privilege to leverage for the good of his family—including Abel. Imagine if Cain had paused to realize that this God didn’t respect position, that this God was the God of younger brothers and slave nations. And since this God—who created the heavens and the earth—is no respecter of persons and positions, Cain was the one who had everything upside down.4
But Cain didn’t pause. He knew he couldn’t attack God, but he wouldn’t settle for being number two. So rather than allow God to change his perception and to reground his identity, Cain lashed out.
There’s more than one way to be number one. God invited Cain to do what was right. Instead Cain killed Abel, making himself number one by default.
Cain embodied Jesus’ warning to us: “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment” (Matthew 5:21-22). When we’re angry, we ought to pause and consider what part of our identity is being challenged. And we ought to consider whether that part is worth fighting for or whether we could instead reground ourselves in God and God alone.
GHOSTS THAT WE KNEW
Tom challenged my “token Christian” identity, and I couldn’t see it. All I felt was my anger. So, like Cain, I didn’t pause and examine the root of my anger. I allowed my immediate dislike to fester. Tom and I were acquaintances, classmates, but not friends.
And my friends were right: Tom was a really nice guy. Over time, as he became part of our circle of grad-school friends, I couldn’t help but like him. He was kind and humble and funny and smart. And to my surprise, his presence didn’t cost me my place among my friends.
Over the next year, we became close—despite my antagonism. Today Tom and his wife, Cassie, are my best friends. Their children are our godchildren. Tom is also a pastor, and for the past decade he has pastored me and has been essential to my spiritual journey. He’s walked with me through some of the most difficult moments in my life, and he stood as my best man at my wedding.
Had it been up to me, I would have missed out on this brotherhood. I cannot imagine my life without Tom. I don’t know what sort of person I would be today, but I’m certain I wouldn’t be the man I am. Yet that was very nearly the cost of my anger.
Jesus said that when we choose to hate rather than to pause, we’re subject to the same judgment as when we murder. That’s because when we respond out of anger, we cut off the other person’s ability to challenge our identity. We allow her to be herself only insofar as that self agrees with us.
That denial of humanity is the sin out of which murder grows. And cutting other people off hurts me as well. If I don’t allow them to challenge me, if I insist on protecting myself from anything that threatens my identity, how can I listen when God challenges me? Allowing anger to turn into hatred wounds my relationship with God, with my neighbors, and with myself.
Beneath the story of Cain is an ugly truth we’re loath to admit: our identity needs to be challenged. We’ve all built our life on labels and identities that are not God’s vision for us. And because God loves us, God pushes on those flimsy selves we’ve built. God challenges us and invites us to leave our crumbling life built on shifting sand.
God invites us as God invited Cain to ground our identities in Jesus, a solid foundation that will not shift, no matter what challenges life brings our way. When we build lives that do not rely on how others perceive us and what others expect from us, we find the freedom God intends for us: the freedom to love others. We also find the freedom to respond with generosity to our friends and our enemies. The freedom to celebrate when we have little or much. The freedom to work for the good of all, not just the good of us.
So the next time anger swells in your chest, remember God’s warning to Cain: Why are you angry? You’ll be accepted if you do right. But if you refuse to do right, watch out! Sin is at the door, eager to control you. You must subdue it and be its master.
3
Delilah and Samson
[Delilah] let [Samson] fall asleep on her lap; and she called a man, and had him shave off the seven locks of his head.
JUDGES 16:19
BEAST
The monster slept, quiet as a baby, in Delilah’s lap. Her slave slipped silently into the room, bearing her iron shears, blades freshly sharpened, then retreated just as silently. Carefully Delilah began to cut through the first lock.
It was not only that Samson was Hebrew. True, they were a backward people—a nation of shepherds, their pottery crude, their metal soft, their tales not even a millennium old. But they were a hospitable people, and Delilah had gained some wealth trading with them the fine Greek dishes she made. Besides, Delilah’s own grandfather had been a shepherd.
The Hebrews may have been barbaric, but they followed the way of their god. Samson didn’t fit even among the Hebrews. He kept none of their laws—eating from corpses, lying with foreign women. Samson was neither Philistine nor Hebrew. He belonged to a different age, one when the lines between things were blurred. Perhaps what the people whispered was true. Perhaps he was a demigod—Heracles himself stepped out of legend.
Delilah grimaced in disgust at the stench of Samson, earthy and unwashed. If he was half anything, most likely he was half beast. Men were creatures of reason, of thought and planning. This brute was a slave to his desires. He could do nothing but what his body demanded of him from moment to moment. It was fitting she sheared him as she would a beast. How fortunate he proved easy to domesticate.
Delilah tossed the first lock gently aside, then lifted the second.
IRON
Samson stirred. Delilah went still, not breathing, but he only turned and settled back into her lap. Delilah exhaled slowly. Her strongest wine had dragged Samson deeper into slumber.
The shears were sturdy iron, the blades honed to a keen edge. Despite their age, they were free of rust. Delilah kept the blades well oiled; they were all she had of her grandfather, of her childhood. She remembered the day they’d left Mycenae, the few animals that remained of her grandfather’s once numerous flocks sold off to pay for their passage. But he had refused to sell the shears. Her grandfather had always boasted they were the first shepherds to use iron shears in their region.
But iron had not saved them from poverty. Delilah was in her seventh year when they came to Canaan. Her grandfather had not survived the journey, and her father had found the grapes growing in the Sorek valley. It turned out a Greek shepherd knew enough about winemaking to offer a vintage far superior to the native Hebrew fare. By the time Delilah became a woman, her father was wealthier than they had been in Mycenae.
Delilah had taken to their new vocation. She preferred the slaves who trod the winepress to the leering shepherds who had been in her grandfather’s employ. She was happy to learn her father’s business, happy to take it over after he followed his father into death. Wealth, she had found, outweighed womanhood in many matters, including wine.
Her lip curled into a sneer as she thought, Wealth reveals what fools men are. Take it away, or have your own, and see them revealed for the petty, foolish creatures they could be. Wear no veil. Let them see a bit of your flesh and imagine your curves, and they can think of nothing else. You may take all you wish, and they will thank you for it. Rob them blind, and they will boast to their friends that they have the famous wine of Delilah’s vineyard. Let them drink from beautiful Greek cups, and they will hate the crude mugs their wives and mothers made. They will insist you sell them cups too, and you will grow yet more wea
lthy, more powerful, by selling civilization to barbarians.
Delilah regarded the iron shears again. Wine that doesn’t taste like vinegar they can have. Well-fired cups adorned with larks and storks they can have. But the secret of iron the Hebrews must not learn. Some among them are fearsome warriors—even those without the strength of gods. If they had iron swords and shields, my people might be chased out of our new home more swiftly than we fled Greece.
WEDDING
Even as a child, Delilah had heard of Samson. His village was no more than a morning’s walk from her father’s vineyards, and tales of his great strength circulated even then. He made a reputation as a brute—loud, selfish, thoughtless. He stole bread and sometimes vandalized a Philistine home. It was said he once carried off four sheep and held a feast for his friends. The lords of Philistia called him a troublemaker, though Delilah heard he troubled his own people as often as he did hers. He was a local legend, yet a minor, if irritating, annoyance.
But that was before his wedding.
Samson met his wife, Kala, on a journey to Timnah, the Philistine village closest to Hebrew territory. Her father owned the oldest vineyard in the valley. He had helped Delilah’s father begin making wine, giving a gift of some of his own grapes. Both men made excellent wine and had developed something of a rivalry. Take as proof that their relationship remained friendly the fact that Samson had invited Delilah’s father to provide some of the wine for Kala’s wedding.
Delilah had grown up with Kala. Unlike Delilah, Kala had no nose for business; she hoped only to wed—perhaps one of the fine sons of the lords of nearby Ekron. When Delilah heard that Kala had met Samson, she could scarce believe it. Even less could she believe Kala’s father would agree to the marriage. It was not as though he needed more Hebrew buyers for his wine. And surely he knew they detested the mixed marriage as much as his own people did. Could he be impressed with Samson? Delilah wondered. She had heard nothing of Samson’s wit—only of his great strength. Only at the wedding did it occur to her that he must have agreed out of fear.
Empathy for the Devil Page 3
