I Am Angry

I am angry.  Fuming.  Irate.  

I am incensed at the videos released by the Center for Medical Progress, showcasing the dissection of children like frogs in biology class.  I am infuriated that evil profits off the death of babies. 

I am outraged that this is happening – all over the country, right under our noses.  I am angry that my tax dollars pay for it.  I am angry that we who are invested in this battle have known this, and now so many workers are coming late to the vineyard bandwagon. 

I am angry that politicians from every party are more concerned about their own careers and invitations to fancy parties than they are about the slaughter of innocents and the disgusting treatment of their remains. 

I am livid – LIVID – at so-called Christians, especially “pastors” who will argue til the cows come home or Christ returns that this is just fine and dandy. 

I am illogically angry that these women consented to chopping up their babies instead of bringing them to me to hold and love and care for. 

I am furious that this is being done in the name of “women’s rights” and “protecting women”.  I am a woman, and I never asked for this, and I don’t want it.  It makes me nauseated that this is being advocated for in my name. 

I am angry at myself for not being bolder and braver in addressing this with my congregation.  I am angry at those who trained me for not teaching me how to deal with difficult topics. 

I am angry at “doctors” who deal in death, who condemn women with low pain tolerances as “uncooperative”.  I am angry at everyone connected to abortion facilities – from the guy who paints the stripes in the parking lot to the trash service that picks up the garbage each day to the receptionist to the janitor to the volunteer who makes coffee in the waiting room.  I want to grab each of them by the shoulders and scream, “WHY AREN’T YOU STOPPING THIS???????”

I am angry at myself for not bridling my tongue, and being too harsh with those who lack the benefit of an formed moral conscience.  I am angry at myself for not knowing how to balance gentle instruction with a refusal to tolerate evil. 

I am angry that that in this most advanced civilization the world has known, we have reverted to the pagan worship practices of our earliest ancestors. 

I am angry at every single person who hears a child scream as its head is being severed, and TELLS NO ONE.  I am angry that teachers and counselors and pastors and a zillion other people must report the slightest hint of possible child abuse to the same authorities who would willingly inject saline into the hearts of these children.

I am angry that there are no repercussions for those who are neck deep in the worst sort of evil imaginable.  I am angry at myself for wishing harm to come to them.  I am angry that I am the worst of sinners.  I am angry that I have a job where no one ever tells me I am forgiven.  Ever.  For any sin. 

I am angry that the Word of God continually tells me not to be angry, and yet, here I am.  Sinfully, wretchedly angry. 

This whole entire thing makes me sad.  But mostly it makes me angry.  I don’t know what to do with that.  I don’t know how to handle it.  And I am angry that so many are offended by my anger more than they are offended by the first degree murder of infants. 

Psalm 10

Why, Lord, do you stand far off?
    Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?

In his arrogance the wicked man hunts down the weak,
    who are caught in the schemes he devises.
He boasts about the cravings of his heart;
    he blesses the greedy and reviles the Lord.
In his pride the wicked man does not seek him;
    in all his thoughts there is no room for God.
His ways are always prosperous;
    your laws are rejected by him;
    he sneers at all his enemies.
He says to himself, “Nothing will ever shake me.”
    He swears, “No one will ever do me harm.”

His mouth is full of lies and threats;
    trouble and evil are under his tongue.
He lies in wait near the villages;
    from ambush he murders the innocent.
His eyes watch in secret for his victims;
    like a lion in cover he lies in wait.
He lies in wait to catch the helpless;
    he catches the helpless and drags them off in his net.
His victims are crushed, they collapse;
    they fall under his strength.
He says to himself, “God will never notice;
    he covers his face and never sees.”

Arise, Lord! Lift up your hand, O God.
    Do not forget the helpless.
Why does the wicked man revile God?
    Why does he say to himself,
    “He won’t call me to account”?
But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
    you consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to you;
    you are the helper of the fatherless.
Break the arm of the wicked man;
    call the evildoer to account for his wickedness
    that would not otherwise be found out.

The Lord is King for ever and ever;
    the nations will perish from his land.
You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted;
    you encourage them, and you listen to their cry,
defending the fatherless and the oppressed,
    so that mere earthly mortals
    will never again strike terror.