How Righteous Is My Indignation?

genwordsllc
Aug 8
5 min read

Righteous indignation is a reactive feeling of moral outrage and anger caused by a perceived wrong, injustice, insult, or violation of ethical principles. It combines indignation—anger at something unfair or wrong—with righteous—the belief that our response is morally justified.

Righteous indignation is supposed to come from witnessing injustice, cruelty, dishonesty, harm, or unfair treatment. Unlike anger that is rooted in ego, wounded pride, inconvenience, or personal offense, righteous indignation should be rooted in something bigger than ourselves.

And maybe that is where things get complicated.

Because how do we know when our anger is truly righteous?

For many years, I don't think I understood the full context of righteous indignation as it relates to how God—or Jesus—exhibited it. Moreover, I had not properly broken down the meaning of righteous, let alone the indignation that follows it.

I used to think of being righteous as being the perfect Christian. You know, without sin. A pillar of the community. Someone standing a little higher than everybody else because somehow, they had found a way to be sinless.

But in my studies, I began to understand righteousness differently.

Yes, righteousness involves holy and upright living according to God's standards. But God's character is the source and definition of righteousness. It is a moral concept rooted in who God is.

That means if we are going to call ourselves righteous—or our actions righteous—then our character and actions should somehow reflect the character of God.

And that changes things.

Because human righteousness cannot only be measured by our relationship with God. It must also show up in our relationships with other people.

Our righteous actions should promote peace, love, justice, restoration, and the well-being of others.

I think this is where humankind has the most difficulty.

It can be difficult to move beyond us.

We may be able to promote peace and show love toward others until the "other" hurts us, harms us, disappoints us, betrays us, or inflicts pain upon us.

Then something changes.

Now our anger feels justified.

Now our indignation feels righteous.

I have often used the example of Jesus turning over the tables in the temple as an example of righteous indignation.

In my mind, those money changers pissed Jesus off!

Jesus went in there and showed them who He was. He took the, "You don't want none of this" stance.

They were disrespecting His Father's house! A place that was supposed to be sacred had been turned into a marketplace. A place set aside for worship and prayer had

become filled with buying, selling, noise, and chaos.

Jesus flipped the tables.

And for years, THAT was the part I focused on.

"See! Jesus got angry too!"

That gave me a little justification for my own anger.

But I misunderstood the deeper lesson because I took Jesus' behavior out of context.

I focused on the tables.

But I missed what happened afterward.

Immediately afterward, Jesus remained in the temple. The blind and the lame came to Him, and He healed them.

Now THAT will preach.

His anger did not leave behind residual bitterness.
His anger did not become an excuse to mistreat everybody who came near Him.
He didn't flip the tables and then spend the next three weeks telling everybody what those people had done to Him.
He didn't form an offense and carry it around.
Jesus disrupted what was wrong, but He remained available for what was right.
Healing.
His indignation made room for restoration.

And maybe that is one of the greatest tests of whether our indignation is truly righteous:

What does our anger produce after the tables have been flipped?

This continuous healing journey that I am on forces me to examine my motives, intentions, and the deeper emotions behind my actions.

Recently, as I was processing a situation that occurred between me and someone very close to me, I wanted to understand my responsibility in it. I wanted to examine my reactions and understand why I responded the way that I did.

Not just what they did.

But what happened inside of me because of what they did.

Here is what I came to understand.

Anger often comes from somewhere deeper.
Sometimes anger is simply the fruit of something else that was planted in our garden a long time ago.
Something happens today, but it awakens something from yesterday.
A familiar feeling.
A familiar behavior.
A familiar trauma.
A familiar reaction.

Someone is trying to hurt me, so I must protect myself.

I remember what happened the last time I felt this, so I need to respond quickly and fiercely.

I will bury this so it cannot catch up with me.

I will numb this, so I don't have to feel it.

I will strike first so the arrow never reaches me.

I will not let this overtake me again.

Over time, we create automatic responses designed to shield us from the blow of disappointment, pain, rejection, betrayal, unwelcome spirits, or anything that reminds us of a place we promised ourselves we would never return to again.

And sometimes we call those responses righteous indignation.

But are they?

I understand that my healing journey is not everyone's journey. But I am grateful that God continues to show me me through situations and people.

Because I believe part of healing is giving ourselves permission to look deeper into our responses.

Not to condemn ourselves.

Not to excuse what someone else did.

But to open ourselves completely to God's healing.

This journey is teaching me to have continuous conversations with God.

And it is also teaching me to have conversations with the Valerie deep within.

To ask her the WHYs.

Why did that hurt so deeply?
Why did that make me so angry?
Why did I feel the need to protect myself?
Why did I respond that way?
Why am I still carrying this?

And perhaps most importantly:

God, what are You trying to show me about me?

Because everything that makes me angry is not righteous indignation.

Sometimes I am offended.

Sometimes I am hurt.

Sometimes my pride has been wounded.

Sometimes somebody touched a place in me that I thought had already healed.

Sometimes my response has less to do with what is happening in front of me and more to do with what happened behind me.