I'M SORRY
by Galen Guengerich
Yom Kippur
September 24, 2004
Some time ago, an article in The New York Times noted that the English language offers a variety of ways to say one of the commonest of expressions: I'm sorry. The offending party can beg pardon, apologize, offer regrets or voice remorse, after which he or she can confess error, fault or guilt, while promising to atone, repent and/or compensate.
The article went on to describe four general approaches a person can use to express contrition. It turns out that not all ways of saying "I'm sorry" are created equal. The lowest rung on the ladder of contrition is the form of confession made popular by Richard Nixon during the Watergate years. In the wake of serious wrongdoing, Nixon simply acknowledged that, in his words, "mistakes were made." The use of the passive voice—never a good idea—meant that the mistake-makers remained unidentified. This implied that, however regrettable their mistakes may have been, they should not be held individually responsible. Their errors may have been the result of poor judgment or bad luck, but they would never have done what they did on purpose. As a way of saying "I'm sorry," this form of contrition barely makes the ladder at all.
The next rung on the ladder of contrition uses the active voice and thereby personalizes the offense, but in a way that also implicates the person who was wronged. It goes like this: "If what I said offended you, I apologize." The unspoken subtext here is that you shouldn't have been offended in the first place, and therefore I really have nothing to apologize for. But I will apologize anyway—just to show how admirable I am.
The third rung on the ladder is especially popular with children, but also with politicians. Here the wrongdoer admits "I was wrong," but then adds, "So was everybody else." This is the algebraic apology, which suggests that each error be divided up among the number of people who made it, leaving each person barely responsible at all. This approach, like the first and second, trivializes both past action and future opportunity.
To say "I'm sorry," and mean it, requires taking responsibility for the past and taking charge of the future. This brings us to the top rung on the ladder: the full-fledged, no-holds-barred form of contrition known as repentance. Sometimes repentance takes a physical form, as when someone bows their head or bends their knee to assume a posture of humility and penitence. As we gather here this evening, this service on Yom Kippur invites us soberly to take stock of our lives and repent of our shortcomings.
We begin by acknowledging that the past—our past as individuals, our past as a nation—can never be undone. This reality is what makes time and history so decisive; it is what makes the process of repentance at the close of these Days of Awe so difficult. The past can never be undone. In the prophetic words of the faith which we gather here tonight to celebrate, history is not a cycle we can repeat until we get it right. Nor is it an ephemeral charade which is full of sound and fury but signifying nothing in the end.
Our actions have eternal consequences, for good or for ill; they cannot be undone. Harsh words, selfish actions, thoughtless omissions, hateful thoughts: these will endure always. Repentance is the sober process of recognizing this fact, and so of taking our lives and our actions with ultimate seriousness. True repentance comes when I see how my words and actions have caused others to suffer. It comes when I see how my inaction has caused ideals I value to wither. But in its deepest sense, repentance is more about the future than it is about the past.
In the 51st Psalm in the Hebrew Bible, the psalmist demonstrates this move from the past to the future:
I acknowledge my transgressions,
And my sin is always before meÉCreate in me a clean heart, O God,
And renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
And do not take Your Holy Spirit from meÉ
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
And uphold me by your generous SpiritÉFor you do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it;
You do not delight in burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and a contrite heart--
These, O God, You will not despise.The Hebrew faith is exacting, challenging, and daunting. It does not treat life like a movie that can re-edited, or a game that can be played again with different rules, or a trial that can be conducted again with a different jury. The faith of Abraham and Sarah invite us to make our choices in life and, when we choose unwisely, to suffer the consequences—suffer the consequences. As the Psalmist says, "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me." The key to repentance is acknowledging that the consequences of our actions endure.
But the message of Yom Kippur is not one of despair or resignation. It is true that the past cannot be undone. But it is also true that the future always stands open before us. We may not have embodied our values and defended our ideals in the past. But today we have another chance. The Psalmist prays, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." A steadfast spirit—this is what we need in times like these.
Before we close the Book of Life at the end of these Days of Awe, we can write our resolve on its pages. When we are tempted to despair and lose hope, our faith can be renewed by one of the sturdiest of all answers to the profound questions posed by life. Judaism gives confidence to all who wonder about the meaning of time and history. But it also issues a challenge. It sounds a clarion call to redeem the future from the clutches of past transgressions.
So yes, do say "I'm sorry" when your words or actions make an apology necessary. These words are two of the most powerful words in the English language. They are also two of the most demanding. They are your pledge to take responsibility for what was wrong about the past and to take charge of making the future different.