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Though the world would have us forget it, wrath is like love in at least one way—grammatically, it requires an object. Both wrath and love must be directed at something.
But wrath (as well as love) demands an object not only grammatically but morally. Our multi-cultural culture spews all manner of venom, or wrath, at those who are guilty of “hate.” People hate hate, and so they are hoisted on their own petard, because we cannot hate hate unless the hate we hate is misdirected. Wrath only draws the wrath of God when it is directed at something other than that which draws God’s own wrath.
It is not, however, always safe to cheer on and join in God’s wrath. There are things against which God is wrathful that we must not yet be wrathful against. It may well be that nothing draws His wrath more surely than when our wrath is consistent with His but inconsistent with ourselves. God’s wrath burns hot against hypocrites.
In Romans 1, Paul explains the universal indictment of God against the Gentiles. All those outside God’s covenant are by nature idolators, God haters, guilty of all manner of perversion. If any of the Judaizer crowd were present in the church at Rome, no doubt they shouted the loudest “amens” as Paul convicted the Gentiles. But those amens began to be silenced as Paul headed into chapter 2. There, his attention shifts from Gentile to Jew, and the turnabout is not pretty. “And do you think this, O man, you who judge those practicing such things, and doing the same, that you will escape the judgment of God?” (Rom. 2:3).
We love the wrath of God when it is poured out on our enemies. And they, no doubt, love to see it poured out on us. Our problem is that we tend to see things from our own perspective. Our enemies become our enemies because they do us wrong, not because they have affronted God. We then leap to the conclusion that God’s wrath is directed toward our enemies because our enemies have wronged us. And when His wrath is turned toward us, we too often conclude not that we also must repent, but that God has gone mad.
In turn, we believe that the delay in God’s wrath toward us is a function of our own righteousness. We haven’t gotten it yet because, we think, we don’t deserve it. And so we spit on His grace; we “despise the riches of His goodness, forbearance, and longsuffering, not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance” (v. 4). But we have not escaped the wrath of God because we do not deserve it. Rather, it is that we might have the opportunity to repent, in order that we might escape from divine wrath not merely in the here and now, but forever.
Jesus said as much in Luke 13: “Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans, because they suffered such things? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, do you think that they were worse sinners than all other men who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish” (vv. 2–5). The great question was not “Why these 18?” but “Why not all Jerusalem?” Our response to the judgment of God upon our enemies must include repentance and the fear of God. For we, too, are sinners.
As I write this, the United States is a nation in mourning. We have witnessed the fall of towers that killed thousands, not tens. And already we are praying for the wrath of God to be revealed against this ungodliness, through His appointed means of the sword. It is good and proper to wish for such, and I pray that such justice will have been served by the time you read these words. But we are skipping a step. While we cry out to God for justice, we must also cry out to Him for mercy, lest we likewise perish. For in ourselves, we are no more righteous than those who perished in the attacks—and no more righteous than those who attacked. Repentance is our response to tragedy.
Having repented, we men must turn not to righteous wrath but to righteous joy. For while we may yet suffer an agonizing death, while we may experience the chastening hand of our Father, His wrath toward those who repent and believe is gone. It fell not two days ago but two thousand years ago. Our treasury of wrath was poured out for us on Calvary. We come in repentance knowing that our covenant God has promised: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). In Christ, we have a high tower that never will be felled, a security that cannot be taken away. In Christ, we have the end of the wrath of the Father.
Like the Jews to whom Paul wrote, we have been given much. God has been forbearing and longsuffering toward us. And He has been so that we might be a people of repentance. If we are like the Jews to whom Paul wrote, thinking ourselves safe from His wrath even as we fail to repent, we can rest assured that His wrath will fall on us, as well. He will render to each person according to his deeds—to the wicked, wrath, and to those in Christ, the blessings of glory, honor, and everlasting life.