Sooner or later each of us is hurt by other people. Sometimes it is just an accident; there is no cruel or mean intent behind what was said or done. But other times people have intentionally hurt us. Perhaps their motive was greed or jealousy; maybe it was revenge for some perceived wrong. Sometimes plain old meanness or prejudice is behind the words and deeds that have wounded us.

I do not know of anyone who has not, sooner or later, been hurt by other people. It seems to be part of life this side of the Garden of Eden. This being the case, the question is: "How shall we respond when people hurt us?"

There is a danger of becoming spiritually crippled when we have been hurt by others. Our wounds can become infected with the germs of bitterness, resentment, self-pity, and revenge seeking. These do not bring healing; they only cause the wound to fester, so that soul killing poison spreads through our whole being.

When the poet who wrote Psalm 4 had been hurt by other people, what he did was turn to God. Listen to the way the first verse is translated in Today’s English Version: Answer me when I pray, O God, my defender! When I was in trouble, you helped me. Be kind to me now and hear my prayer.

It is evident that the poet’s relationship with God was not merely reserved for troubled times. From the total poem it is obvious that the poet so lived in relationship with God that was natural for him to turn to God when other people hurt him.

Next, the poet did what might at first seem strange. In his prayer to God he began talking to the people who had hurt him. But on second thought, it is not so strange. I know I have prayed: "God, I would sure like to say to those people: ‘How long are you going to keep hurting me? How long are you going to keep living the way you are living?’"

This is not too far from what the poet was wanting to communicate to those who had hurt him. He had enough wisdom and insight to understand that their hurting him was really a by-product of their living apart from God. And so he wrote: How long will you love what is worthless and go after what is false? Remember that the Lord has chosen [those who live in right relationship with him] for his own and [this is why] he hears me when I call to him. Tremble with fear and stop sinning; think deeply about this when you lie in silence on your beds. Offer the right sacrifices to the Lord, and put your trust in him.

The poet who wrote this Psalm wanted something much more than revenge. What he wanted was for the people who had hurt him to repent. He wanted them to change their way of living so that they would live as God intended them to live. Their redemption rather than his revenge is what the poet prayed for.

Praying such a prayer does not imply that it is inappropriate to be angry when others hurt us—especially when the hurt was intended. Remember these words from Ephesians (4:26)? Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger. (N.R.S.V.)

I am convinced anger is a good gift. Anger can be misused and lead to sin, but in and of itself anger is a good gift. Some of you have heard me describe anger with two metaphors. One is that anger is like a smoke alarm. The other is that anger is like a broom.

When a smoke alarm goes off we do not know if the house is on fire or if the toast is burning. It goes off when there is some smoke and heat, but it does not do a very good job of problem identification. So it is with anger. Like a smoke alarm, anger—especially intense anger—can only tell us something is wrong in the relationship, but it cannot accurately identify what is causing the intensity of the anger. Nevertheless anger is a good gift because, like a smoke alarm, anger tells us something is wrong and we had better investigate. Anger is a good gift that is intended to motivate us to do the work of finding out what is really harming the relationship so that we can get started doing the work that is needed for reconciliation.

The other metaphor I have used to describe anger is that of a broom. This came to my mind after many couples had come to me for marriage counseling, and hearing one or the other say: "What he-she did was the last straw." I pictured in my mind an old horse-drawn, wooden farm wagon piled high with hay, and someone dropping one last straw on the pile, and the wagon falling apart under the weight. In those sessions we could quite often deal with that "last straw," but then one or the other would say: "But what about …?" And we would deal with that straw, and maybe two or three other straws, but finally they would reach a point when they could not remember all the straws in the pile; they were only aware of the weight. Anger is the broom God has given us to help keep straw from piling up on our relationship wagons.

Of course we can misuse a broom. We can kill someone with a broom. And when anger is misused it can kill a relationship. I suspect it is our fear of misusing anger that causes many of us not to use it as a broom and to allow the pile of straw to build until the last straw finally breaks the relationship.

God has given us anger as a good gift, to help us know something is wrong in a relationship and to motivate us to figure out what that really is and to do something to correct it.

Because anger is a good gift, Paul wrote that it is okay to be angry, but he also warned us not to allow our anger to lead us into sin. He also cautioned us not to hang on to our anger. We are to do something about it that is constructive, and then we are to let it go. "Do not let the sun go down on your anger," is the R.S.V. way of translating what he wrote.

The poet who wrote Psalm 4 was, I am confident, not only hurt, but also angry. If so, it would have been very appropriate anger. But he did not allow his anger to lead him into sin. On the one hand, he did not commit the sin of omission by trying to ignore his hurt and do nothing. And on the other hand, he did not commit sins of commission by striking out in ways that would make matters worse.

He turned to God and prayed that the people who had hurt him would change. He prayed that they would remember God and that they would realize God really is God. He prayed that they would remember that God has so created this world that consequences are a reality. Sooner or later we do reap what we sow. The poet longed for the people who had hurt him to be aware that destructive behavior brings about destructive consequences. "Tremble with fear," the poet wrote. "Tremble with fear and stop sinning. Think deeply about this."

The poet did not deny the hurt and harm done. The poet did not try to explain away, excuse or rationalize the hurt done. Nor did he go to the other extreme and set his sights on getting even. He probably knew what all of us know when we stop to think about it. Revenge does not solve anything. When we try to get even, the others we attack strike back, saying they are just trying to settle the score.

Only redemption, change, reconciliation really changes anything in a positive, lasting way when people have hurt us.

The poet knew this. This is why he prayed what he prayed. He prayed for the transformation of those who had hurt him. Even in his anger, he prayed for them because he knew his own revenge would settle nothing.

He prayed for them because he knew it would take more than words he could say or deeds he could do to bring about their transformation. If he could have "fixed it" or "fixed them" he would have done it. He was wise enough to know what was beyond his power. And so he prayed. He prayed, and in praying he did not ignore the hurt, but he did not hang on to the hurt either. He turned those who had hurt him over to God.

At this point, the poem shifts gears once again and becomes a declaration of thanksgiving. As was stated at the beginning of the poem, this poet knew from personal experience that God had been there for him, was there for him, and he was confident would be there for him. God had seen him through other times of distress. So now, toward the end of this poem, the poet declared his gratitude.

This poet had lived long enough and been through enough so that he knew that the money and trophies—the stuff we work so hard to accumulate—are not the answer. And this is especially true in the tough times, in the hard times, in the bad times. It is then we especially need something more, something with deeper roots and greater staying power. Then, especially then, we need to have confidence that the grace of God is at work in our lives and at work in life in general.

This kind of faith, this kind of profound trust in the goodness of God even in the worst of times is what enables us to live with hope. And when by faith we live with such hope, then, even in the bad times, the times when others have hurt us, we are able to live with the kind of peace the scriptures talk about.

And so, the poet wrote (in effect): "God, your presence and activity in my life is worth more to me than all the money and trophies others are asking you to give them. Even though others have hurt me, God, because of your love at work in my life, I am at peace with you and with life as you have created it. And because of this peace with you and life, I am at peace with myself. God, thank you for this wonderful gift of peace. My gratitude is so great that even though I am struggling with the wounds others have inflicted, there is a strange joy and gladness in my soul."

Let us pray.

God, you know who has hurt us with their words and deeds. You know our pain and anger. God, save us from the temptation of trying to get even with them. Help us to have confidence in the power of your redeeming grace so that we are able to pray for those who have hurt us and so that we are able to be instruments of your life-changing grace as we deal with them. Amen.

Pastoral Prayer:

God, it is easy for us to forget you are God. In our egotism and self-centeredness it is easy for us to distort the proclamation that you love us into an assumption that you are a sentimental, cosmic parent whose only purpose is to keep us happy. Like spoiled children, we do not see you as one whom we are to obey; we tend to think of you as one who does what we want. We tend to think of you as friendly rather than as holy. God, at times we have so forgotten what it means to call you God, that we have no sense of what holiness is. It is easier for us to be in awe of a star-filled sky than for us to be in awe of you. God, it is easy for us to forget you are God. Forgive us.

When we pause to think, we know better. When we contemplate that you not only created our galaxy that takes many thousands of years traveling at the speed of light to cross, but that you have created billions of galaxies and most of them larger than ours, it boggles our mind and we are awestruck. When we contemplate the delicate, complicated intricacy of all that is, even in the tiniest part of the atoms in the most minute microbe in the world, we are more than amazed. We are in awe. When we contemplate the mystery of your exploding all that is into being, when we contemplate the power of a terrible storm and realize all that power is merely a tiny expression of your power, we are speechless. When we contemplate the billions of years you have been moving the entire universe in some grand design we cannot comprehend, and we compare the vastness of your time to the brevity of our own few decades on earth, we are humbled.

God, forgive us when we forget you are God. Help us move beyond living as if you are merely our cosmic, sentimental parent. Enable us to discover your holiness and in that awareness learn to live in awestruck, humble obedience. In this awestruck, humble awareness of your holiness, enable us truly to pray the prayer Jesus taught us: "Our Father …"