Christianity Today: Why (and When) It’s Okay for Christians to Get Angry, by Hannah Miller King (Author, Feasting on Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness (2026)):

Anger isn’t always a sin, and suppressing anger isn’t always a virtue. …

In 2025, Oxford University Press’s word of the year was rage bait. People often build platforms on anger (their own and others’) because in our attention economy, big emotions get clicks.

Christians tend to engage this dynamic in one of two ways. Either we embrace the vitriol of the public square, insulting and degrading our ideological enemies in the name of truth, or we suppress our anger about real problems in the name of charity. Some Christians define their public witness through displays of outrage, dunking on—or even trolling— those with whom they disagree. Others, seeking to avoid immature internet spats or exploitative rage bait, tend to disengage from conversations that do matter.

The result is that Christians are often seen as either too nasty or too nice.

As a woman raised in the South, I have tended toward suppression of anger. But in recent years, I’ve been convicted by Jesus’ careful, prayerful expression of this powerful emotion. When he cleansed the temple … Jesus was not afraid to make a scene in response to wrongdoing. However, he did not act in a thoughtless rage. John’s Gospel says Jesus made a whip of cords after coming upon the money changers and sellers (2:14–15). This may not have taken him an entire afternoon, but it would have at least slowed him down enough to reflect and pray before using it. It’s the difference between sending an angry, unfiltered tweet or email and waiting to speak a difficult word after prayerful reflection.

Jesus had unique authority to overturn tables in the temple, for it was uniquely his Father’s house (v. 16). And our ability to experience completely righteous anger is severely tarnished by sin. But Jesus’ earthly life remains an example to follow.

As the true human, he shows us anger has a place when rightly submitted to God. Whether Jesus was responding to economic injustice, racial prejudice, or impoverished worship, Jesus’ concern was clearly born of love for God and his people. His example can inspire us to welcome the right kind of anger in the right way. Zeal for God energizes us to protect the purity of our worship and its accessibility to all people. It teaches us to fight corruption in our lives and in our world.

But we can’t do this fight merely for show or social recognition. When Jesus cleansed the temple, he wasn’t virtue signaling; he was initiating an action he was prepared to sustain at great cost to himself. When the disciples reflected on this moment later, they “remembered that it is written: ‘Zeal for your house will consume me’” (v. 17). Jesus’ cleansing of the temple ultimately took the shape of his own sacrificial death.

In my experience of righteous anger, I’ve noticed a willingness to stick my neck out up to a point. I might sign a petition or write a letter or have a hard conversation with someone, but ultimately I’m reluctant to ruffle too many feathers. I sometimes dress this up in the language of strategy: To retain a voice in a given situation, I opt to move slowly and press gently. Sometimes this is how God calls us to act. When Esther went before King Xerxes to advocate for her people, she did so slowly and strategically.

But in our discernment of God’s will, we must never confuse the way of Christ with “how to win friends and influence people.” The gospel is not strategic. It is upside-down to this world. It confounds and infuriates and disenfranchises and can lead to our destruction. Even Esther, in her carefully planned plea to the king, knew she was putting her life on the line to save her people. Righteous anger stands apart from the rage of the world because it is cruciform: Compelled to do more than point a finger at injustice, we learn to stand in the gap. …

Righteous anger will look different for each person and community. We can’t sustain prayerful sacrifice in every situation that calls for it—another way internet rage exploits us is by implying we can and should own every cause—and we can’t discern our specific callings apart from the Holy Spirit. He has embedded each of us in a particular story and context, with particular limits.

Hannah Miller King, Feasting on Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness (2026):

How can we live as people of hope in the midst of unmet longings, unanswered prayers, and seemingly unresolvable pain?

Through sharing her personal story of deep loss, Hannah Miller King reflects on how the ancient Christian practice of Communion can reframe our grief by embedding it in a larger picture of gospel hope. Each chapter presents a way in which the Lord’s Supper makes the hope of the gospel tangible, reminding us of God’s present faithfulness and promise of future renewal. With its inviting tone and thoughtful reflections, Feasting on Hope provides solace for those seeking hope amid a world that is not yet restored.

In Feasting on Hope, you’ll find

• Rich biblical insights made approachable for all readers
• A hopeful exploration of how we participate in Christ’s triumph
• An invitation to see yourself as a wanted guest of God’s hospitality
• Reflection questions for individuals and groups to foster thoughtful engagement

Whether you are grappling with what seems like an endless search for peace, wrestling with unmet desires, or simply longing for a deeper connectionwith God and others, this book meets you with tender realism and abundant grace.

Feasting on Hope invites you to the Communion table, where God’s people are formed into a family that is strong enough to hold sorrow inside of hope. Areyou ready to take your place at the table?

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