At the turn of the twentieth century, historians unearthed a trove of letters by Abraham Lincoln that certified one of the best-known character traits of the sixteenth President—his remarkable ability to contain his anger, his refusal to permit bitterness to take a foothold, and his ability to practice forgiveness for the greater good.

Lincoln lived his adult life as simultaneously one of America’s most famous and most ridiculed public figures. He had plenty of enemies who were not shy about voicing their enmity toward him, and while serving as Commander-in-chief, he had ample cause to be infuriated at his subordinates. But rather than lash out or take actions he might later regret, he had a unique way of venting. He wrote a letter.

He would sit down and fire off what he called a “hot” letter, venting his wrath with swaths of ink, penning an angry diatribe. And then he would fold it up, seal it, and stack it with others like it in a drawer. And that’s how historians found the stash of letters, along with his notation, “never sent and never signed.”

In her excellent book Leadership in Turbulent Times, Doris Kearns Godwin reports that this method of releasing his anger proved so effective for Lincoln that he recommended it to his associates. For example, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton stormed into Lincoln’s office one evening, furious at one of the generals in the field. “I would love to tell him what I think of him!” Stanton roared. “Do it,” Lincoln suggested, and handed him pen and paper.

For two days Stanton scrawled and scribbled and vented, and then returned to Lincoln’s office and read his missive aloud, ready to seal it up and send it off. But Lincoln said, “throw it in the waste-paper basket.” Stanton protested. Why take two days to write it if he wasn’t going to send it? Because, Lincoln explained from experience, “it did you ever so much good. You feel better now. That is all that is necessary. Just throw it in the basket.”

Don’t even keep it. Don’t mull over it, don’t nurture your anger, don’t aggravate the situation, and don’t destroy the relationship. Vent, sure. Get it off your chest, absolutely. And then throw it away.

My experience has been that Christians nearly universally follow the world’s advice when we get angry. We ignore nearly every admonition in the Bible about how we should treat our siblings in Christ, and we argue, we criticize, and we cultivate bitterness. All of which the Bible explicitly tells us not to do. And social media has given us a platform for our cutting remarks, so we say things in public and from a distance that we might not ever say in person.

And there are few times like the present when we should be aware of this. Why? Because

alongside all of the usual hurt we cause, another tragedy is lurking on the horizon. You know all those people you are griping about on Facebook or Twitter? All those Christian friends you disagreed with and argued with about politics, masks, the pandemic, and the vaccine? When the virus subsides and we can regather, you’ll likely be back together again in your local church. Now, won’t that be awkward.

So remember—the issue is not whether you get angry, or disagree, or have differing opinions. As always, the issue is how you handle it. It’s what you do next that matters. See, being angry is not a sin. But how you express it can very well lead to sin.

The lesson to draw from Lincoln is not to ignore slights or insults or offense, but to learn to control your response. And in the case of Christians, to respond biblically. Here are a few biblical truths to help you handle conflict with your siblings in Christ that will, in turn, help you avoid doing irreparable damage to your relationships:

  • Practice patience.

Patience in relationships provides grace. It comes from a realistic attitude. People are just people, and given time, they change and grow. Just as the Lord is patient with you when you offend Him, you are to be with other people. The good news is that He enables you to do that (Gal. 5:22, Eph. 4:2, 1 Cor. 13:4).

  • Practice self-control.

Are you prone to anger, to retaliation, or stomping and storming when you are mad?

Remember that the Bible advocates the practice of self-control, given with God’s help, and that outbursts of anger are always a sin (Gal. 5:23, Prov. 15:18).

The core reason to practice self-control is so you do not say something you will regret (James 1:19) and perhaps damage that relationship beyond repair.

  • Practice faith.

That is, trust God to know what has happened, and ask Him to help you know what to say or do. This especially applies to retaliatory anger. When you trust Him, you always keep the big picture in mind. He knows that relationship, and He loves that person you are so angry with (Rom. 12:19).

  • Practice forgiveness.

When you grouse and gripe, you let that anger fester. But when you get it off your chest in a way that does not harm the relationship or the other person, you find that you will cultivate a surprising capacity to forgive. And that matters to Christians. Our standard for forgiveness is not the inch-deep type we find in the world, where no one forgives unless there is something in it for them.

It’s the bottomless kind, where we do for one another what God did for us (Col. 3:13, Matt. 18:21-22).

Maybe the reason that Edwin Stanton was willing to follow Lincoln’s advice on anger management is that he had himself been the object of Lincoln’s ability to forgive.

Stanton and Lincoln were both lawyers and had been on the opposite side of some testy cases in the past, and one in particular made Stanton bitter and hateful toward Lincoln. He had referred to Lincoln as ape-like and ridiculed his courtroom attire.

But Lincoln shook it off and became a better lawyer because of it. And then, years later, he appointed Stanton to his cabinet. By the end of Lincoln’s life, Stanton was not only one of Lincoln’s staunchest supporters but also one of his dearest friends.

So it’s no surprise, is it, that Edwin Stanton learned to forgive from the one who had first forgiven him?

Remember, it’s what you do next that matters.