The publication of the Ryan Report and the Murphy Report has thrown a new light on a dark corner of the life of the Church in Ireland. And the fundamental question now being raised is; where do we go from here?
The first steps have been taken. Apologies to victims and their families have been expressed repeatedly. Initiatives to help survivors are being prepared. Policies and procedures for the protection of children are in place. Resignations have been submitted and accepted. Assurances of openness, transparency and accountability have been given and are being effected at diocesan and parish level.
Deeper, more personal issues now call for our attention and reflection. Our confession, at the beginning of Mass, for what we have done and what we have failed to do, has taken on a new meaning in recent times. This failure, to do what we should have done, is a frightening reality not just for bishops but for all of us. It touches the life and soul of almost every human being. It can drown us in a sea of regret and sometimes, unfortunately, of despair. It also brings with it the question; what are you or I failing to do today that may have, unknown to us now, the same consequences for others twenty or thirty years down the line.
Once more the distinction between power and authority has slipped out of focus. Through this crisis we are brought back again to the Gospel where we were told so many times that the teaching of Jesus made its mark on his listeners precisely because he taught them with authority. The authority with which he taught them was the integrity of his own life, where there was no gap between what he said and how he lived.
And in the midst of all these difficulties my mind goes back constantly to the Acts of the Apostles, to the appointment of deacons, which we are told allowed the priests to concentrate on prayer and preaching; on having time for being with God and putting his words and Word on the complexity of human life and the perplexity of our finite existence. Renewal, therefore, begins with us, with deciding what is of the essence of our priestly calling and what is not.
Good Friday is good for many reasons. One of them is that it causes us to focus once more on the face of the crucified. As we look for hope and a sense of direction, I believe that is where we should be looking in the first place. When we do, the Holy Spirit can turn our present grief into future grace if we remember in our lives as well as in our liturgies that the Church is the community of one who died a victim. Holy Week draws our attention to and helps us venerate, not an icon of power or perceived rectitude, but a condemned criminal, who died on a cross; a convict who was betrayed, abused and put to death by the Jews and by Roman soldiers. And our faith makes us different in that it also tells us that we should not victimise the victimisers or violate the violent. The face of the crucified tells us again and again on Good Friday that we who form his community of believers should not live by revenge, retaliation or on the energy of collective disgust, no matter how justified that seems to be just now.
Equally the Last Supper, which we commemorate in a special way this evening, reminds us that betrayal, in the person of Judas, is a part of life and an aspect of the Christian community, which, as always, is a gathering of saints and sinners. And nowadays, when we look at the façade of the Vatican, the face of the crucified reminds us that all of us are followers of Peter, who denied that he knew Christ and became a late convert to courage, honesty, integrity and discipleship. But one also who never lost hope.
Give us hope and give us good news. These are the earnest cries of so many people today. The reality is that we already have them. What we need to do, especially during Holy Week and Easter, is to rediscover them. And they are to be found first of all in the face of the crucified. The last seven words spoken by Jesus on the Cross form the kernel of the Good News and of hope, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”.
Forgiveness is the F word rarely used just now. It brings with it the fear of a cover up for wrongdoing. But, from the Pope down, it is acknowledged that there can be no cover up, that abuse must, as the Pope said in his letter, be answered for “before God and before properly constituted tribunals”. However, unless the forgiveness of Christ on the Cross also begins to take root in our society, there can be no good news and no real hope for the future.
History is the second source of hope and good news. For history tells us, that despite the frailty and limitations of church leaders and church members down through the ages, the Church itself has survived and it has been renewed constantly. The shortcomings, oversights and personal failures of the Church have, over history, always been filled by God with his grace and his support. Therefore, while we suffer in this present moment for the sins of the past, we believe that, as Julien of Norwich wrote, ‘in the end, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well".
Finally, we have the triumph of Easter and the assurance of Christ himself, “I am with you always; yes, even to the end of time”; this same Christ who is the same yesterday, today and forever. And he is still with us, as we can see, in the work and ministry of the vast majority of priests, who are good and faithful servants, in our dedicated religious and supportive lay people; to all of you I pay a special tribute this evening, in these difficult times. In you are Good News and the source of hope. |
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