Rooting Bitterness Out of Our Lives

“The devil invites mankind to rebellion and disorder…he sows discord and incites us to pour out our hatred upon each other…”

~Cardinal Sarah~

I have had to work through some things this week.  I have had to work through anger and sadness and repulsion at the meanness of men.

But one thing I have learned in life is that I can not stay in that place of anger.

I have learned that I must allow that anger to move me to the right and proper action and then I must let that anger go.

Because if we don’t let that anger go, it will begin to fester like a thorn just below the surface of the heart.

Anger that is not addressed leads to bitterness, bitterness leads to hatred, hatred leads to despair.

This week reminded me of a story from many years ago.  It involves the first time I stepped foot on Irish soil.

I grew up loving all things Irish. I also grew up well versed on Irish history.

I knew about the way the British landlords literally allowed the peoples of Ireland to starve during the great famines — demanding they send the abundant food they had grown to Britain and beyond — and the British government did nothing to stop it.

I grew up with the realization that the Irish were allowed to die because they were considered less than the British.  I grew up admiring the men and women who fought in the IRA for independence.  

When I set foot on Irish soil in 1993, there was still violence in Northern Ireland and Britain, too. 

The IRA still existed.  Peace still hadn’t been fully established. 

Which brings us to a bus ride I took the very first time I stepped foot on Irish soil.

I had just picked up my friend, Stephanie, who would be joining me on my Irish adventures.

The bus was packed with people, and it seemed a bit strange that there was a ring of empty seats around one guy in the back — we happily climbed in right next to him.

Let’s call him Timmy.  

Well, we began to talk to Timmy.  Timmy was a nice, gregarious guy and we were happy to talk about all things Irish.  

I always was a bit of a germaphobe — but my friend Stephanie even went so far as to begin to share Timmy’s 96 oz bottle of beer with him.  

Things were going swimmingly and we were happily looking forward to our Galway adventures as we rolled down the Irish roads. 

Timmy had burns covering a portion of his face and hands.  He pointed them out and said they happened while fighting for the “Ra” (IRA).

He shared about watching a sibling die at the hands of the British.  I felt so sorry for Timmy and I was 100% on his side.

I couldn’t imagine watching somebody I love die at the hands of another.  I understood where all his anger and frustration was coming from.  

I felt angry too.  I felt the hate well up in me, painting all the British with the same stroke.

But then, something changed.  

A man and his son were looking at us as we talked about the awful British oppression.  They were kind, mild-mannered and entirely agreeable in their manner.

He didn’t say a word, but then Timmy turned to him and said, “Where are you from?”  

“We’re on holiday from England” was the man’s reply.

At this point, the entire bus seemed to grow quiet. Clearly, they knew something that my friend Stephanie and I didn’t know.

Timmy changed on a dime. His face turned from a smile to a glare. There was a look of hatred that flared up in his eyes.

Then he looked straight at this sweet man and his sweet little boy, no older than 9 or 10, and he said, “You’ll be leaving Ireland in a body bag”.

Stephanie didn’t think he was serious. She just took a big swig of his beer and watched the conversation continue.

I saw something in his eyes that told me that Timmy was very, very serious. He was dead serious.

The father knew it too. A look of terror came upon him. The bus was deadly silent.

Timmy smiled, only there was no kindness behind that smile — only a hatred that sent chills down my spine.

Timmy repeated his threat, “Oh no. You won’t be leaving Ireland, except in a body bag. “.

I took one look at that sweet, brown-eyed little boy who was looking at his dad for reassurance and I felt courage rise up within me.

I looked Timmy straight in the eyes and said,”Timmy, right now you are doing the exact same thing that you hate the British for doing to you and your family”.

All of the hatred that I saw burning in they eyes of Timmy was now directed towards me.

Timmy turned to me and said, “Well, Moira, how would you like to feel a bullet in your own back?”

I replied, “I wouldn’t like that at all”. (Not the best response, but I’m not so good on my feet.)

“Well, I’m meeting some friends at the station and they will be only to happy to put a bullet in your back”.

I began to regret my courage at that moment.

At that exact moment, I noticed a little movement, coming down the line of seats.

Somebody handed a small piece of paper to me.

The paper was written on the back of a bus ticket, from a guy named Colin — I’ll always remember that name. Shout out Colin!

It said, “Be very careful. That man you are speaking with is very dangerous. Get away as quickly as you can in Galway. Hope you have a great time in Ireland”.

I became short of breath. This was how I was going to die. How very tragic!

My friend Stephanie hadn’t read the letter, so she had no idea we were indeed in real danger.

I couldn’t relay the message to her because she was sitting right next to Timmy.

So I did the only thing that I could do. I said a prayer. I called on Jesus and my patron Saint, Joan of Arc.

And then we all grew silent, including Timmy. We were just about to pull into the station at Eyre Square in Galway.

I literally was preparing to run for my life. And then something miraculous happened.

Timmy began to throw up violently. His head flew down below his seat and he was unable to lift it up.

It gave Stephanie and I a chance to grab our stuff and push forward and run out of that bus.

When I reached the door, Timmy managed to pull himself up, he looked at me, stretched his hand towards me and screamed my name.

I wasn’t going to stick around to hear what he had to say, but his head flew violently down again and that was the last time I ever saw Timmy.

I grabbed Stephanie and ran the heck out of there and found my way into a super fancy hotel, the Great Southern.

It became a comical moment because Stephanie said to me, “Oh this is where we are staying? This is nice”.

I looked at her and said, “No. We’re staying at a crappy hostel. We’re just trying not to get shot right now.

Needless to say, we survived.

And we ran into so many wonderful people on our trip who were so kind. The Irish are amazing!

I forgave Timmy long ago. Just the other day, I found myself praying for him. I hope he is well. He has suffered so much.

I share this story in the hopes that it will lead us to examine our own hearts, in an age of social media and only half truths getting out there.

Let’s try to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Let’s not vilify somebody just because they voted for a politician we happen to detest — and let’s work hard not to detest politicians and church leaders who do despicable things (heroic effort may be required here).

Let’s pray for our enemies and that their hearts change.

Let’s stop dwelling on stories of the meanness and vileness of others — or anger and bitterness will surely grow in our hearts.

And that bitterness will warp and twist every good impulse in us until the only thing that is left is anger and hatred for everything around us.

If we don’t face that anger and bitterness and try to root it out, we just might wake up one day and find that we have become the very thing we hate.

In the end, the greatest battles are those that happen in our very hearts. They are the battles to forgive those who have trespassed against us.

They are not easy battles, but they are the path back to freedom and love.

So fight the good fight, people! Fight until your heart has no enemies left.

“(God) teaches us to pray for our enemies. He constantly murmurs, ‘The disciples of my beloved Son have no enemies.  Your heart must not have enemies either'”.

~Cardinal Sarah~ The Power of Silence

Sharing over at Kelly’s