What does it mean to be a child of wrath, anyhow?
There’s a lot going on in this Ephesians passage–there’s a lot going on in Ephesians, as I do this long, deep study on the fly through September–and per the norm on these posts, I pick the first thing that stands out to mull on as the first step in the sermon:
“we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else,” (2:3, NRSV)
I don’t know if I would have seen that a few months ago. (I don’t know if I’d be preaching Ephesians, were things as they were a few months ago anyhow!) But we’ve become so reactionary now, so content in being discontented and so willing to fake or take offense as needed to signal our disagreements, that sometimes, the world seems impossibly screwed.
Full disclosure: I’m reading The Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler right now. It’s very, very good, and so deep I sometimes have to shake back to this slightly better reality.
What if part of our faith is not only curtailing our own wrath, but abandoning it to starve? What if we do not let people who operate in such rage and anger have a seat at the table until they cool down and walk it off, a bit? What happens if we insist they have not earned their seat, they have no right to it (nor do we) but once they accept what God has done and engage it as we have been called to as a community, we might move forward?