I read a news article about a mother who discovered her boyfriend was sexually abusing her children — and did nothing. For an entire year, she let it continue.
That’s shocking. Because we expect a mother to fight for her children. We expect Mama Bear. When she doesn’t show up, we question whether she ever really loved them. She went to prison for doing nothing.
Most people who come to my anger management classes expect me to tell them that anger is wrong. But anger itself isn’t the problem. I may challenge what’s triggering one’s anger, or how one’s anger is expressed. But anger, expressed appropriately, often drives justice. Without anger, we’d still be under British rule. We’d still have racial segregation. Women still wouldn’t be able to vote. Love and anger aren’t opposites. As a society, we know that love demands anger at injustice.
So why do we struggle with the idea of an angry God?
We want a God of love. But we flinch at the idea of a God of wrath. We wonder: How can a loving God punish people?
Here’s the thing — a God who never gets angry is a God who doesn’t love. When our loved ones are being harmed, we get angry because we love, not in spite of it. The same is true for God.
The Bible is clear: God loves everything and everyone he created. It’s also clear that sin is destructive. Every sin hurts someone or something God loves. And God loves us more deeply than we can comprehend — which means his anger over sin and evil is far beyond what we can grasp.
That’s exactly why Jesus came.
His primary mission was to absorb all of God’s wrath in our place, so we’d never have to face it ourselves. In Mark 14:33, just before his arrest, Jesus was described as “deeply distressed and troubled.” That’s not fear — it’s horror. The disorienting, nauseating horror of confronting something almost too enormous to face. You may have experienced it. I have. It’s not fear. It’s the sudden realization of unimaginable loss or separation. I believe Jesus was catching his first full glimpse of the weight and impact of God’s anger he was about to carry for us.
Right after that, he prayed: “Abba Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not my will, but yours.”
What cup?
At the Last Supper, Jesus had been leading his disciples through the Passover Meal — the great Jewish celebration of God freeing his people from Egypt. The meal includes four cups, each representing a part of that story. The fourth cup represents the moment God poured his wrath on Egypt, causing Pharaoh to finally let his people go.
There’s no record of Jesus drinking the fourth cup at that meal. He left it unfinished.
Now, in the garden, facing the cross, he’s referring to that fourth cup — the Cup of God’s Wrath. It’s the cup that must be poured out to free God’s people. He’s saying: if it’s me or them, let it be me. There was no third option. A loving God cannot be an apathetic God.
The next day, hanging on the cross, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” The soldiers lifted a sponge soaked in wine vinegar to his lips. When he received it, he said, “It is finished” — and took his last breath.
What was finished? The fourth cup. Jesus had accepted all of God’s wrath for every sin ever committed by every person who simply believes he is who he said he is, and that he did what he said he did. In that moment, all of it was forgiven. Jesus accepted the wrath for our sin.
Because of what Jesus did, we don’t have to be defined by the worst things we’ve ever done. We don’t have to live in fear of our secrets, or agonize over what the Bible says about a particular sin. His payment is enough. The only thing that would leave us still worrying is pride — or a refusal to believe.
Roman soldiers confirmed Jesus’ death. His body was prepared, placed in a sealed tomb, and guarded.
But Jesus had said, in Mark 8, 9, and 10: “I will rise on the third day.”
On the third day, he kept his word.
That’s the message of Easter. That’s the truth of the resurrection. The greatest story ever told.
God’s wrath is the anger of a loving God who watched those he loves be abused and mistreated. His love pressed for justice. Jesus took all of it. He paid the highest price ever paid — and in doing so, he declared our worth.
When he rose and took his seat in heaven, he secured our judgment. There’s no debt left for anyone else to evaluate. Jesus, the one who paid our debt, will be judge and jury. He will simply ask one question: Do you believe? That’s it. No other charges. No outstanding balance. His payment covers everything.
Thank you, Jesus.
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