"The Hardest Word"

At this time every year, we consider the lessons of Yom Kippur and ask ourselves how they apply to our own lives. This Jewish observance is deep in meaning, never failing to offer another nuance. We’ve explored many of them here over the years, during our Yom Kippur service.

Sometimes we have explored the theme of forgiveness through the effort it takes to forgive another. For it truly is a work of love to go through the darkness of hurt and vulnerability and come out into the light of forgiveness. Lacking an apology or even an explanation from another, all we can do is trust that time and growth in ourselves will heal our wounds. In the end, we decide that we do not want to be people who cannot forgive. We move on, strengthened by love for ourselves, and a desire to be free of our anger.

Other times, it takes courage to listen to another’s apology. We are not always ready to respond with an open mind or an open heart to someone who seeks forgiveness from us. We find we must trust our inner strength and sense of self-worth to forgive one who needs us to do so.

These aspects of Yom Kippur are challenging enough. Yet the children’s story we heard earlier offers yet another difficult task for the season. Sometimes we need to seek forgiveness - to say, “I’m sorry” - whether we want to or not.

In the story, we hear how a mythical bird of great size and clumsiness goes through the world making large and costly mistakes. Some he can fix, like filling a crater he makes one day with water the next. A nice lake is the result. Other mistakes are not so easy to conceal.

When he destroys a children’s vegetable garden, at the synagogue, no less, he realizes that he is in big trouble. He consults God, who gives him the penance - and the Herculean task - of searching for the hardest word. It takes a long time for the bird to realize that the hardest word, especially for him, is “sorry.”

Most of us understand how difficult it is to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s never easy to admit we were wrong. And a sincere apology requires us not only to admit we were wrong, but to believe it as well.

Someone told me recently that there is a Jewish prayer for Yom Kippur that lists every conceivable wrong a person might do. Then the prayer asks forgiveness for every one of them, just in case one may apply. While such an activity may have a certain ritual efficacy, it is not one we would be likely to undertake here.

For the act of seeking forgiveness has as much to do with being honest with oneself as it does with getting a response from another. Blanket apologies may be expedient, in religion as well as in politics and public life, but unless they reflect real soul-searching, they do not mean much. Only the one who says, “I’m sorry” knows what the real intent is. Whichever side of the transaction we may be on, whether we are the ones struggling to forgive or seeking to be forgiven - and we are all on one side or another sometimes - honest intent and soul-searching are necessary.

I have a lot of experience with saying, “I’m sorry.” One of the less well-publicized aspects of ministry and life in a religious community is that we frequently blunder into errors, with sensitive and personal consequences. It is impossible to avoid such mistakes. I’ve tried; I know it to be true.

I have learned what it’s like to have to call someone and say “I’m sorry” and take the consequences. I know what it’s like to have to break through my denial, or worse, to be aghast at my own behavior. That feeling of dread before I pick up the phone is one I particularly dislike. Then there’s the confirmation from the other person that yes, I was the one who was wrong. And then, finally, there comes “I’m sorry.”

In telling you this, I am aware that some of you may still be waiting for that call from me. If I’m late in coming to that realization, it’s not because I’m out of practice. I may apologize frequently, but I still have a lot to learn.

What I find when I apologize is that people are often ready to forgive. If both sides are ready to speak and to listen to each other, resolution comes easily. A spirit of magnanimity surfaces. And with that spirit comes a wonderful feeling of relief. I hope for that whenever I get ready to say, “I’m sorry” yet again.

People want to mend these broken connections. But so much can get in the way of doing so. And all of us know what it is like not to be forgiven, or worse, not to be able to forgive.

In Laurance Wieder’s powerful version of Psalm 62, which he titles “Intent,” he writes of the unspoken word as a serpent biting its tail. This is such a good image for the nullifying quality of the impasse that results when people cannot ask or give forgiveness. It goes nowhere and it consumes itself.

The psalm concludes, “Don’t say, ‘I have done nothing.’” We need to look at what we have done. “To each according to his deeds,” God says, and her deeds too. And we need to speak the hardest word. In the children’s story, the hardest word is “sorry.” It can also be, “I forgive you.” Each can be just as hard as the other. That is what makes the result so powerful and transforming.

And sometimes it doesn’t even take words. Years ago, someone I knew decided that I had done something wrong. I hadn’t hurt her, but she turned against me anyway. So I was hurt as well. For years we simply avoided each other, neither wanting to confront the other nor to apologize.

Fifteen years passed. And then, we happened to find ourselves in the same place. Instead of avoiding each other as usual, she came up to me, happy to see me - and in an instant of joy and relief - we greeted each other with warmth.

I don’t know what happened. Time had passed. The old hurt didn’t matter anymore. We didn’t want to hold on to our anger. And so there we were, hugging each other and saying hello. Neither one of us ever offered an explanation. But it was good.

This small scenario is only a glimmering of what can happen when two people forgive each other. When people forgive each other, we experience the bond that joins humanity together. We feel the power of the bond to heal us and help us change. Lives can turn around.

What makes the Jewish observance of Yom Kippur and the New Year that follows so meaningful is that it reminds us that renewal comes through these human connections. We have the ability to help each other move on to a happier life. What it takes is a couple of those hardest words, spoken or unspoken, offered with sincerity and respect for their power. Knowing that we possess such a gift, we should use it more often.

It’s not easy, but it’s good. It is how we ally ourselves with the power of life to heal us, renew us, and make us whole. Knowing that, may we learn to say the hardest word and to share its gift with one another.

References for this sermon include “Intent,” a poem from Words to God’s Music, by Laurance Wieder (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2003) and The Hardest Word: A Yom Kippur Story, by Jacqueline Jules (Rockville, MD: Kar-Ben Copies, Inc., 2001). Thanks to Judy Schonebaum for many of the ideas and the permission she gave me to use them.