By Andrew Hamilton
Eureka Street
July 8, 2010
http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=22305
Last weekend Melbourne Archbishop Denis Hart published a letter of apology for sexual abuse by Catholic priests in the Melbourne Catholic Church. It was read aloud in most local churches. It followed similar letters by bishops in other Catholic churches around the world.
The letter, which was both a personal response and an outline of what the Melbourne Church was doing, drew a variety of responses. I found it quite moving. Some Catholics expressed gratitude for it; others thought it came too late or omitted points they thought central; representatives of victims groups considered it inadequate.
The letter and the responses to it invite broader reflection on the place of letters by leaders of churches, and particularly of letters of apology. In the churches, pastoral letters go back a long way. So does scepticism about the value of carefully prepared words.
Paul's letters to the churches he had worked in are still read weekly in Christian churches. But in a passage of rhetorical virtuosity Paul also warned of the mismatch between rhetorical eloquence and the Christian message. Jesus too advised his followers not to prepare the words they will speak if prosecuted for their faith. In a world where survival often depended on rhetorical skill, that was a startling piece of advice. James later writes eloquently about the dangers of the human tongue. He wanted good actions.
Given this history, one can understand the ambivalence about letters and the inclination to avoid reading them. But letters from bishops to their churches are powerful symbols, particularly when written in response to particular crises. Letters require their writers to take a position. Their signatures require them to stand to the position they have taken. And having letters read to the members of their church is an act of both strength and vulnerability. They associate their readers in what they have written. But they also hand themselves over to their readers for response and judgment and must wait on the unforeseen consequences of their letters.
That is why pastoral letters, although symbolic, can be extraordinarily effective. A letter of the Philippine bishops, drafted by Bishop Cisco Claver who died last week, was instrumental in the peaceful popular uprising against the Marcos regime. People power stared down the army. But to appreciate the vulnerability of the Bishops in subscribing to the letter, we need only recognise that they must have considered the possibility that the Government and army would respond as the Chinese Government later did in Tiananmen Square.
Letters of apology leave their writers particularly vulnerable. They invest themselves in the letters, but it is open for their readers to dismiss their apology as inadequate, dishonest, perfunctory or uninteresting. I would argue, though, that even if they come late and are awkwardly written such letters are still important.
Letters of apology by the leaders of a community commit it to recognise that something wrong has been done in its name, that this is a matter of shame for the community, and that the leaders of the community accept the responsibility to do something about it. In the Catholic Church such an apology is a public act of confession, which includes the commitment to seek reconciliation, to make reparation where possible, and not to sin again. The symbol presupposes that the Church is more than a collection of individuals, that its members are accountable to one another, and that that the Bishop has the responsibility to act on its behalf.
Such letters are helpful symbols. But they are also limited. Like the Prime Minister's apology to the Stolen Generations they cannot remedy the consequences of the crimes and attitudes for which they apologise. Regardless of apologies, the destructive consequences in the human lives of survivors continue and touch more and more people.
However much we might want it, no symbol nor letter of apology can write the slate clean. A letter of apology is neither an ending nor a new beginning. The temptation to forget what is unpleasant in our history is strong. So apologies will need to be made, renewed and extended frequently. A bishop's letter is a significant step, but it is part of a mosaic.
Finally, words alone can do so much. Those of us who live by words are always tempted to imagine that if we get our words right we will change things. We hanker after the great speeches of yesterday. Good words can help change a situation, but only if they are translated into practical actions of reaching out to those who have been abused in our name, listening to them again and again, and changing the culture and the patterns of governance that allowed their abuse.
Words are powerful symbols, but the hungry and the injured do not live by words alone.
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