The Sacred Fire of Anger
I have been angry this week.
Angry that Charlie Kirk was shot. Angry that violence has once again shattered a community, leaving people in fear and grief. Angry that we live in a country where political violence is becoming so common it risks numbing us.
And at the very same time, angry about the hate speech he perpetuated. I am angry that he used his platform to fan the flames of division, to normalize cruelty, to dismiss lives lost to gun violence as “worth it” for the sake of the Second Amendment. Angry that he used the name of Jesus to spew this hatred. I am angry that rhetoric like his makes this culture more combustible, not less.
This is a complicated anger—an anger with layers, contradictions, and sharp edges. I grieve the loss of life, and I rage at the choices he made with his. I rage at the system that allows endless mass shootings while politicians and influencers call it freedom. I rage at the way violence begets violence, words become weapons, and ideology justifies harm.
And I refuse to push this anger away.
Because this kind of anger is not just about one man, one moment, one shooting. It’s about the deep sickness in our country: our refusal to reckon with guns, with white nationalism, with hate speech dressed up as Christianity and patriotism. Anger tells me this sickness is intolerable. Anger says: pay attention. Do not look away. Something must change.
This is where anger is holy. It does not let us settle for numbness. It insists on truth. It carries the weight of grief and still insists on naming injustice.
So yes, I am angry. And I will not apologize for it. My anger is not about vengeance. It is about love—love for life, for safety, for the possibility of a world where our children don’t have to practice active shooter drills and where political disagreement doesn’t end in gunfire.
Anger is the fire that tells me:this is not okay.And I intend to listen.
Anger can feel overwhelming, even shameful. Many of us grew up being punished for expressing it, or told that “good people don’t get mad.” In religious and family systems, anger was often labeled sinful, disrespectful, or evidence of a lack of self-control. As adults, this conditioning lingers. We swallow our rage, plaster on a smile, or retreat into silence.
The cost? That suppressed anger doesn’t disappear—it burrows into our bodies as chronic stress, pain, anxiety, and depression. It leaks out sideways in sarcasm, bitterness, or explosive outbursts. When anger isn’t given space, it becomes poison.
The Wisdom of Anger
Anger itself is not toxic. In fact, it is a signal of vitality. Anger rises when a boundary has been crossed, when dignity is denied, or when injustice is tolerated. It is our inner alarm system reminding us: this is not okay.
Biologically, anger floods the body with energy—heart rate rises, blood surges, adrenaline mobilizes. That heat is not meant for endless rumination; it is designed to power movement, protection, and change. To cut ourselves off from anger is to cut ourselves off from a core part of our survival intelligence.
Anger is also relational—it points us toward what matters most. If we are enraged when someone lies to us, it is because we value honesty. If we bristle when our child is mistreated, it is because love and protection are central to our being. Anger reveals our deepest commitments; it is the guard dog of our values.
The danger comes not from feeling anger, but from what we do with it. When it is ignored, it curdles into resentment. When it is silenced, it often turns inward as shame, depression, or physical illness. And when it is unleashed without reflection, it can become destructive. But when anger is acknowledged, respected, and harnessed, it becomes a compass—it directs us toward repair, justice, and truth.
In this way, anger is not a flaw to eradicate but a teacher to befriend. It invites us to listen: What is being violated here? What is my body asking me to protect? What needs to change so life can flourish again?
Embracing Anger Without Being Consumed
To embrace anger doesn’t mean unleashing it recklessly or hurting others. It means learning to feel it fully, listen to what it’s trying to tell us, and channel its energy with clarity.
Pause and notice.Where is the fire in your body—your chest, stomach, throat?
Name the boundary.What crossed the line? What value feels violated?
Discern the direction. Is this anger asking for action, a conversation, or simply acknowledgment?
Create.Anger has birthed revolutions, poetry, art, and movements for justice. When embraced, it can fuel creation, not destruction.
Anger as Sacred Fire
Think of anger not as a destructive blaze, but as a sacred fire. It can burn down what is false, but it can also warm, illuminate, and protect. Feminist and trauma theorists have long reframed anger as a vital tool for survival and collective transformation. It is a compass pointing us back to dignity and truth.
When we embrace anger, we reclaim our full humanity. We say: my feelings matter, my boundaries matter, my life matters. Anger is the fire that clears space for healing.
So the next time you feel the heat rise, resist the urge to push it away. Instead, breathe into it, listen, and let it guide you. Your anger is not your enemy. It is your ally, your teacher, and your spark.
