Still Angry at a Dead Man

I have a sinful amount of anger toward a bad person from my childhood. About fifty years ago. When I was a kid, probably fourth grade, I liked to hang out with my friend down the street. That was actually a great friendship that had lasted for several years. Until one day.

We were playing on a pile of sand that had been dumped in my friend’s backyard. They had a construction project going on. My friend’s dad turned on the garden hose and sprayed both of us. Totally doused us. Then he yelled at us because he did not like the way we were playing in the sand.

I walked home a few houses down the street, soaking wet, confused, embarrassed, and feeling very bad about myself. At the time I thought I must have done something really bad. I was embarrassed walking around all wet like that. I went home and I never went back. That was the end of the friendship. That was the last day I ever interacted with my friend.

That man was a real jerk, and what he did was very wrong. A person should be angry at the sight of injustice. That is appropriate anger. But my anger has gone well past justifiable anger. I would really like to even the score with that guy. I mean I would really like that.

Guess what. It is too late for that. I looked it up. He has been dead for a while. I have seething anger toward a dead man. That puts me in a pretty bad spot. What if God has forgiven his sins against me and has actually allowed that man into heaven? What if God does the same for me? I am pretty sure I would not be filled with joy if I ran into him. I would probably want to find a heavenly garden hose and let him have it. Do you see the problem? Vindictive rage is not compatible with heaven. If we are lucky enough to be there, we will not have to look over our shoulder in fear that somebody we sinned against is about to let us have it.

I know I must recover from the anger I have been stoking for fifty years. Suppressing it does not work. Shoving it below the surface and pretending it is not there only keeps it safe until I am dead. Then it still has to be dealt with before I can go into heaven. That is the whole point of purgatory, in the Church’s teaching: a cleansing that burns the bad stuff out. Regardless of that frame, I have a problem and it has to be dealt with. The only solution is that I have to heal from this and ultimately let the anger go.

In Luke chapter 6, in the story of the blessings and the woes, Jesus talks about two different sides of the same coin. On one side, people are with God and growing in holiness. On the other side, people are rejecting God and living for themselves. On the side where people are with God, they have already let things go. They are content to follow God wherever that leads. On the other side, people are grasping and clutching at life as they desire it.

For the side apart from God, the Gospel speaks of people who are rich, who are filled and not hungry, people who laugh, and people who want to be valued by important people. Those things are not objectively bad. People can be rich. People can laugh. Jesus promises good things for those who stick with him. But he makes a connection between clutching those things and the false prophets. A false prophet knows what they are doing. They speak as though for God, and they know internally they are not. They are grasping. In the end they lose what they clutched.

It is different for those on the other side of the coin. They go through life with an open hand. They are not trading off their connection to God for more wealth, more comfort, more status. That is the whole point of following. He leads. We follow.

In A Christmas Carol, Dickens describes Ebenezer Scrooge as a tight-fisted, squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner. When I think about my anger for this dead man, I am all of those things. Holding onto anger and resentment like this is the same as drinking poison hoping to hurt the other person.

Would my life be any better if I let go of the anger? If I tried to live with an open hand? Of course it would. Jesus is calling us to let go — not only of wealth and approval, but of everything that keeps us from him. That includes the anger we clutch so tightly. We will have to let it go someday. If we do not do it now, the Church says we will have to do it later. If we refuse to do it at all, we risk choosing separation.

If you are still running a decades-old case against someone who humiliated you — even if that someone is gone — start by telling the truth about both things. The original wrong can be real. You do not have to excuse what he did. And the rage you have been stoking is now what you are carrying. Write that down in plain words. I am still angry. I want to even the score. That is cleaner than replaying the scene for the fiftieth year.

Do not start by pretending you have already forgiven him. A first step that does not require a feeling is enough. The step I am taking is the one I named when I preached this: I am adding that man to my daily prayer, and I am asking for the repose of his soul. I am also asking for help I do not fully want yet. “Lord, help me want to let go. Help me begin.” You can pray those sentences even if you still want to get even.

When the old scene starts — the wet clothes, the walk home, the score you never got to settle — do not follow it all the way to the end. Notice you are in it. You are not in that yard. He is dead. Then do the next ordinary thing: wash a dish, make a call you were avoiding, take a walk. The point is not to feel holy. The point is to stop feeding the case for one hour.

If the other person is still alive, this is not telling you to go make peace on their terms, or to stay near someone who is still dangerous. Letting go of rage is not the same as trusting them again. You can refuse contact and still refuse to keep drinking the poison. If they are dead, there is no conversation left that will give you the ending you wanted. Prayer for them is not something they can refuse. It is how you begin to open your hand.

I can keep this anger and let it keep shaping me into someone I do not want to be. Or I can begin — not all at once — to let it go. That is the path I am trying to walk. It is also the only way the case against a dead man stops running my life.

This is a pastoral reflection, not clinical care and not a substitute for it. If you or someone you love is in immediate danger, call 988 or local emergency services.

Drawn from a homily first preached in 2025.