“I could not believe in a God of infinite love, a God of amipotence, were not God so wrathful—not with the wrath of punishment, but with the wrath of profound sorrow. Wrath is the flip side of pain—love wounded by what could have been and should have been, but was not. And I can only hope that this wrath is not only the flip side of divine pain, but also the beginning of redemption. For God does not give up on us—not on the victims, not on the victimizers. Divine love burns, not to destroy, but to heal.”
The Wrath of God
It is characteristic of many liberally minded Christians to dismiss images of divine wrath as primitive or psychologically projected—leftovers from a fear-based era of religion. “God is love,” they rightly say, and conclude that love excludes wrath. But process theology, especially when read alongside the prophetic wisdom of Abraham Joshua Heschel, offers a deeper and more compassionate vision. Wrath, in this view, is not the opposite of love—it is a saddened face, the fierce edge of divine grief.
Heschel insists that the God of the prophets is not indifferent or distant but deeply moved--a God of pathos. God feels the weight of injustice and the cries of the oppressed. In this light, divine wrath is not a divine tantrum or a demand for vengeance. It is love wounded by betrayal, grief sharpened by moral urgency. It is how God responds when justice is trampled, the vulnerable are ignored, and the world turns its back on what it could have been and should have been.
From an open and relational (process) perspective, divine wrath is not about God’s need to punish—it is about God’s refusal to be indifferent. It is the flip side of divine pain: a response to the suffering of people, animals, and the earth caused by human sin—understood not as breaking rules, but as missing the mark of love. Wrath, in this sense, is not centered on God’s hurt feelings, but on the heartbreak of a world that keeps wounding itself.
And this is where the concept of amipotence—God’s uncontrolling, all-faithful love—enters. Coined by theologian Thomas Jay Oord, amipotence invites us to see divine power not as domination, but as unceasing, persuasive love. From this view, God’s wrath is not coercion but protest. It is God’s sacred no to all that destroys, and God’s anguished yes to the world’s still-possible healing.
Amipotent wrath is not violent. It does not seek to crush. It seeks to awaken. It is not the fire of judgment but the fire of yearning—a fire that says, “You were made for more than this.” It is divine heartbreak that refuses apathy, divine presence that does not turn away.
To appreciate divine wrath is to appreciate the depth of divine care. It is to see that true love is not passive. It does not ignore suffering or excuse injustice. It burns. But it burns not with hatred—it burns with hope. Wrath is not the end of God’s story; it is part of God’s fidelity to the world. It is God’s sorrow made fierce, the wound in divine love that refuses to close while harm remains unhealed. And from every fierce cry of divine grief, new life may yet rise.
This means that the flip side of wrath is not damnation, but the persistent hope of rehabilitation and redemption. For process theology, which sees all of reality as an unfolding journey, this hope does not end with death. Wrath is not final judgment—it is the beginning of moral awakening. And so we must imagine, or at least hope for, a continuing journey after death—for the victims, whose pain cries out for healing, and for the victimizers, whose distortion of love demands transformation. Both require more than closure; they require a future. A future in which divine love continues to work, patiently, tirelessly, through the slow alchemy of grace.
Wrath, then, is not God’s refusal to forgive. It is God’s refusal to give up. Even on us. Even on the world. Even after death.
Heschel insists that the God of the prophets is not indifferent or distant but deeply moved--a God of pathos. God feels the weight of injustice and the cries of the oppressed. In this light, divine wrath is not a divine tantrum or a demand for vengeance. It is love wounded by betrayal, grief sharpened by moral urgency. It is how God responds when justice is trampled, the vulnerable are ignored, and the world turns its back on what it could have been and should have been.
From an open and relational (process) perspective, divine wrath is not about God’s need to punish—it is about God’s refusal to be indifferent. It is the flip side of divine pain: a response to the suffering of people, animals, and the earth caused by human sin—understood not as breaking rules, but as missing the mark of love. Wrath, in this sense, is not centered on God’s hurt feelings, but on the heartbreak of a world that keeps wounding itself.
And this is where the concept of amipotence—God’s uncontrolling, all-faithful love—enters. Coined by theologian Thomas Jay Oord, amipotence invites us to see divine power not as domination, but as unceasing, persuasive love. From this view, God’s wrath is not coercion but protest. It is God’s sacred no to all that destroys, and God’s anguished yes to the world’s still-possible healing.
Amipotent wrath is not violent. It does not seek to crush. It seeks to awaken. It is not the fire of judgment but the fire of yearning—a fire that says, “You were made for more than this.” It is divine heartbreak that refuses apathy, divine presence that does not turn away.
To appreciate divine wrath is to appreciate the depth of divine care. It is to see that true love is not passive. It does not ignore suffering or excuse injustice. It burns. But it burns not with hatred—it burns with hope. Wrath is not the end of God’s story; it is part of God’s fidelity to the world. It is God’s sorrow made fierce, the wound in divine love that refuses to close while harm remains unhealed. And from every fierce cry of divine grief, new life may yet rise.
This means that the flip side of wrath is not damnation, but the persistent hope of rehabilitation and redemption. For process theology, which sees all of reality as an unfolding journey, this hope does not end with death. Wrath is not final judgment—it is the beginning of moral awakening. And so we must imagine, or at least hope for, a continuing journey after death—for the victims, whose pain cries out for healing, and for the victimizers, whose distortion of love demands transformation. Both require more than closure; they require a future. A future in which divine love continues to work, patiently, tirelessly, through the slow alchemy of grace.
Wrath, then, is not God’s refusal to forgive. It is God’s refusal to give up. Even on us. Even on the world. Even after death.
Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart,
three-person'd God
By John Donne
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.