What we conclude about our grief-anger at or with God and how we act upon it is critical to our healing process and, ultimately, our spiritual growth. The effort we give to understanding our grief-anger may well bring a solution for our own good, not only because we may manage our suffering better, but also because we can find our pleasure with God, even though in pain.

Is It Right to be Angry?
As the incensed Jonah watches the wicked Assyrian city of Nineveh repent and turn to God, the Lord asks the prophet, “Is it right for you to be angry?” (Jonah 4:4). When it comes to understanding anger in Scripture—God’s or man’s—the crucial question is what kind of anger?
Angry with God offers guidance specifically for when pain leads to grief that gets stuck in the anger phase. For this review, let’s call it grief-anger. The author explains, “Anger with God is often stunted grief with the loss or destruction of something good” (p. 39). He explains the book’s title and purpose: “This entire book is an invitation and a process for sharing your pain with God as a means of processing what you currently experience as anger at God” (p. 25). Intentionally understanding anger as a part of the grief process can move us forward in our pain and suffering.
Grief-anger can be toxic and pernicious. No one gets angry with God for something small. When we direct our anger toward God, it is because we’ve faced something difficult. Anger is an often-overlooked part of grieving and, as such, is a predictable response to painful experiences. The author aims to demystify pain and suffering as it relates to grief-anger toward God, which he reclassifies as with God. Grief-anger progress is made and measured by “restoring order and hope” (p. 12), which may not come easily.
The Book’s Message
The book offers a framework for viewing and treating grief-anger. Grief must not remain unassimilated. In the book’s first section, “It’s Safe to Talk about Your Anger,” the author focuses on the distinction between the prepositions at and with in our anger toward God. He explains, “Whether our anger is with or at God is largely determined by how we believe God responds to us in moments such as these” (p. 22). It’s okay to respond to pain and suffering in grief-anger. After all, God manifests righteous anger.
You can distance yourself from God in your grief-anger or walk closely with Him. It’s a choice, and it need not remain an unresolved riddle. The second section, “Articulating Your Pain,” reflects on how to view our faith through the lens of emotions. It encourages dislodging stuck grief-anger by articulating it. Biblical lament illustrates God’s patience with us when we wrestle with our pain and suffering through prayer. Talk to God but also talk to people.
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Deuteronomy is concerned with the bond between God and His people. God acted in His gracious condescension, entered into a special relationship with them. He loved His people and redeemed them by His outstretched hand of power (see especially Deut. 7:7–9; Deut. 9:5–6; Deut. 14:2). At Sinai, He entered into this formal relationship with them. He drew near them and promised, “I will be your God, and you shall be My people.” Hence, the covenant was a bond between God and man, sovereignly imposed by God in His grace, whereby He and His people gave expression to their relationship in formal terms.

The book of Deuteronomy is significant in itself, but also because of the number of times it is quoted in the New Testament. The proclamation of Jesus and His disciples drew directly from it. Jesus quoted it in His temptations (Matt. 4:4, 7, 10) and reaffirmed its emphasis on an all-embracing love to God (Matt. 22:37–38). The Apostolic preaching in Acts draws heavily upon it, especially in pointing to the fulfilment of the word concerning the prophetic office in the person of Jesus (Deut. 18:15; Acts 3:22). At least seven New Testament epistles contain quotations from Deuteronomy, perhaps the most significant of these being in Galatians 3:10–14. Here, Paul writes that Christ has redeemed us from the curse of which Deuteronomy speaks (see Deut. 21:23) by becoming a curse for us (Gal. 3:13).
The name of this book in English, Deuteronomy, has come via Latin and Greek and means “the second law,” assuming that the reference in Deuteronomy 17:18 means exactly that. However, what that passage refers to is the king having a copy of the law for himself. The content of the book shows that it is not a second law but a renewal of the covenant made at Mount Sinai (called “Horeb” throughout Deuteronomy, except in Deuteronomy 33:2). It is linked expressly with the gracious promises God gave to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (see, for example, Deut. 6:10–11; Deut. 7:7–9). It also marks the completion of the Pentateuch, with the emphasis on the partial fulfilment of the patriarchal promises just prior to Israel’s entry to the land that God had sworn to give them.
There are three special matters that readers should know about the book of Deuteronomy and its teaching.
1. Deuteronomy is a covenantal document.
As a covenantal document, Deuteronomy is concerned with the bond between God and His people. God acted in His gracious condescension, entered into a special relationship with them. He loved His people and redeemed them by His outstretched hand of power (see especially Deut. 7:7–9; Deut. 9:5–6; Deut. 14:2). At Sinai, He entered into this formal relationship with them. He drew near them and promised, “I will be your God, and you shall be My people.”
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Ambrose is often depicted as the flogger of heretics or the subjugator of rulers. In reality, he was meek and gentle, as his writings show. His treatise on repentance, for example, begins with this advice: “If the highest end of virtue is that which aims at the advancement of most, gentleness is the most lovely of all, which does not hurt even those whom it condemns, and usually renders those whom it condemns worthy of absolution.”

If you visit downtown Milan, Italy, besides viewing the most popular monuments, such as the Duomo and the Sforza Castle, you may want to walk a mile out of the way to explore an older church named after a fourth-century bishop, Ambrose. You’ll see a mosaic depicting him as a small, unassuming man dressed in drab colors–quite a contrast with the altar of gold built a few centuries later in his honor. And yet, it was this seemingly unassertive man who resisted the orders of an empress and caused an emperor to walk in penitence through the city’s streets.
Ambrose’s Early Life
Ambrose was born in Trier, in today’s Germany, around the year 339, to a Christian family from Rome. His full name was Aurelius Ambrosius.
Being a prefect of Rome in Gaul, Ambrose’s father directed his son toward a political career. Ambrose’s studies in Trier and Rome allowed him to become first a lawyer, then a magistrate. Valentinian I, who was emperor at that time, was so impressed by Ambrose’s abilities as a mediator that in 370 he made him governor of the Roman provinces in northern Italy, with a seat in Milan (the capital of the western empire). Ambrose was only 24 years old.
Milan a large city, second only to Rome in the western Roman Empire. As it was typical after Constantine’s edict of 313, its population professed to be Christian. But their views of Christianity differed sharply. On one side, there were those who adhered to the Nicene Creed as it was expounded, in its early form, at the 325 Council of Nicea. On the other side were the followers of Arius, the priest who advanced the idea that Jesus was not fully God.
The bishop of Milan, Auxentius, stood with the Arians. Born in Cappadocia (in today’s Turkey), he alienated much of the population by refusing to speak Latin, the local language, and by arriving at the bishopric with the backing of the Arian emperor Constantius. At his death in 374, the Nicene Christians saw an opportunity to replace him with a man who would abide by the decisions of the Council of Nicea.
Ambrose’s early biographer, Paulinus, tells us that both factions were arguing inside a church when Ambrose walked in to bring peace. As he was used to do, he encouraged a peaceful discussion. Suddenly a child shouted, “Ambrose for bishop!” The majority – including Arians – joined in this petition.
Being bishop was the furthest thing from Ambrose’s mind. He wasn’t even baptized, let alone ordained to any office in the church. (This was not for lack of faith, but because, at that time, many postponed baptism as long as possible). He pleaded with the emperor to dissuade the people, but Valentinian was happy to have a bishop he trusted. He even made an unsuccessful attempt to leave Milan.
Hurried through baptism and a succession of ordinations, Ambrose had to be catechized while called to teach. This seemed like a recipe for disaster, but Ambrose proved to be not only a good bishop, but a wise theologian. Faithful to the Council of Nicea, he defended the orthodox position in his sermons, writings, and songs.
His tutor was Simplicianus, a man who was also instrumental in Augustine of Hippo’s conversion. In his Confessions, Augustine gives us a glimpse of Ambrose fixed to his studies, whenever he could get away from his many duties, while “his eyes glanced over the pages, and his heart searched out the sense.”[1] Well-learned in Greek, he could read the Greek Scriptures as well as all the church fathers.
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