By Pamela Nelson

Anger is a normal part of being human, especially when we bump into people we disagree with. It can happen with a family member who sees the world differently, a leader whose choices feel harmful, or a public figure whose words ignite frustration. And if we’re honest, anger often narrows our vision. It compresses our emotional world into one small picture of the person in front of us: the part we don’t like, the part that frustrates us, the part that feels beyond hope.

But anger is rarely the full truth. It’s a signal, an invitation to pause and reconnect with compassion, both for ourselves and for the person standing on the other side of our disagreement.

In my work with leaders, families, and churches, I’ve learned that compassion doesn’t erase anger. It simply expands the frame enough for the Spirit of God to speak into it. When anger rises, it’s easy to forget the humanity of the person who triggered it. We zoom in on their worst qualities or their most frustrating behavior. We assume they’re fixed, rigid, unwilling to grow. It’s the story our pain tells: “They’ll never change. They’re the problem.”

Whenever my mind begins to narrow like that, compassion gently widens the lens again.

For me, that begins by remembering that every person carries burdens I cannot see. Scripture reminds us that we are all image-bearers; broken, yes, but formed by God with the capacity for goodness, kindness, redemption, and transformation. Even when someone is unkind, it usually means kindness is hard for them. When someone is self-protective or dismissive, fear is often loud inside them. There is always a story underneath behavior, even when that behavior is hurtful. Recognizing this truth doesn’t make their actions acceptable. It makes them understandable. And understanding softens the hard edges of anger.

When I pause long enough to consider their humanity - their struggles, their blind spots, their wounds - I can feel the tightness inside me begin to ease. I may still disagree with them. I may still need to set a boundary. But compassion prevents me from reducing them to a single moment or a single issue. It keeps me from declaring them permanently wrong or beyond hope, language Jesus never used for anyone.

This is what it means to believe people can change. It means we refuse to write someone off because of today’s version of them. God hasn’t finished writing their story yet. And, God hasn't finished writing mine. I am still a work in process!

Even the people history views as villains loved something or someone. There is always a seed of goodness because there is always the imprint of the One who made them. This truth anchors me when anger tempts me to flatten someone into a caricature of their worst day.

Compassion is not permission, it is strength. 

Compassion does not say, “It’s fine, keep harming people.” 

Compassion says, “I see the pain beneath your behavior, and I will still say no to it.”

Jesus modeled this relentlessly, holding truth and grace in the same breath, refusing to dehumanize while still naming what was harmful. Compassion is what allows us to stand firm without becoming hard. Without compassion, anger calcifies. With compassion, anger becomes clarified. It becomes information, not identity.

When anger rises, I’ve learned to tend to my own reaction first. I notice where my chest tightens, where my breath shortens, where my shoulders rise. I tend to the anger in me the way I would tend to the hurt in a friend...with gentleness, honesty, and curiosity. Only then can I turn toward the other person without projecting my pain onto them.

Eventually it grows into something bigger, a recognition that suffering is universal, and every one of us is doing the best we can with the level of healing we’ve reached so far. When that truth sinks in, something loosens inside us. We become more grounded, not less strong. We gain clarity, not chaos. And often, we discover solutions that were invisible to us in our anger.

I’ve never made my best decisions in a reactionary moment.
So when anger rises, I pause.
I breathe.
I let the Spirit settle my body and expand my perspective.

Then, when the time is right, I respond - not from reactivity, but from compassion. 

Not from defensiveness, but from wisdom. 

Not from fear, but from love.

Because the goal isn’t to avoid disagreement. The goal is to show up like Jesus within it: calm, clear, compassionate, rooted, and willing to believe that even the people we struggle with are still being shaped by a God who refuses to give up on them, just as He refuses to give up on me.

1. When anger rises in me, what physical signals does my body give me that it’s time to pause and pay attention?
2. Who is one person I tend to view through a narrow or negative lens, and what unseen burdens might they be carrying?
3. What boundary or truth do I need to hold, but in a more grounded, compassionate way...not reactive, but rooted?
4. How might remembering someone’s potential for redemption shift the way I pray for or interact with them?
5. Where do I sense the Spirit inviting me to widen my lens and soften my heart without abandoning wisdom?