Anger, rage and outrage, disdain, resentment, bitterness. These are all powerful and justifiable reactions we can experience in the face of the many forms of abuse perpetrated by men in holy orders and by men and women in religious vows over decades and probably centuries in the Catholic Church. These reactions are as understandable as they are spontaneous. They are as worthy of expression as they are necessary. They must be given the time, the scope and the means of expression they need. Otherwise, if repressed or denied or, worse, if condemned, such reactions can give rise to an even deeper pathology that would boil and simmer underneath the surface until they overflowed in greater destructiveness.

The laity in the Church are right to expect and to demand apologies, humble and sincere manifestations of sorrow, for the betrayal, the disappointment they feel; and to show unmitigated contempt for the hypocrisy and wantonness of the abusers, of the deniers and of the cover-up on the part of those who did know, or should have known, the crimes and abominations carried out. Here and now, I am by association the face and the voice of all those responsible, and so I once again express to you, this small portion of God’s people, my deepest and heart-broken sorrow for all the crimes and sins of my brothers and sisters in priestly and consecrated life. I am sorry for the deep pain, scandal, disappointment, disillusionment and grief you have experienced and may still be experiencing.

Like Isaiah the prophet, we need to have the sins of the clergy and religious shouted out, as if by a trumpet, denounced and exposed for the despicable treachery that they represent. And it’s no use and no excuse to say that the same was going on in other sectors of society, in the home, the school or in other locations. The Catholic laity rightly expect a higher standard of those consecrated to God, who handle the mysteries of grace, who teach the Gospel of truth and salvation, whose vocation should mean that they are people of integrity, of sincerity, of spiritual and human exemplarity. The sin of a father is no less repugnant because his son sins too.

But for all that this is undeniably true, for all that it gives some sense of exit to our inner turmoil and profound grief, it does not solve anything unless it opens up, first, into deep and suppliant prayer and, then, into action formed and informed by the grace received in prayer. Even were we to be able to unburden all our rage onto a named and present abuser, his or her humiliation might only serve to feed our own self-righteousness. It is to the Lord that we must direct the fury and misery of our souls. That is at least partly the reason why we are here today. Crushing the perpetrator of abuse underfoot will lead to nothing good. Only the surrender of our trouble and pain to God will bring peace and the light to see and the courage to do what must be done.

And most certainly, that will include justice, a justice rooted in the truth. We must know the truth, all of it, uncoated, unedited, undiluted. Half-truths and condescending attempts to shield people from the ugliness of what has actually happened can only frustrate the search for truth, for justice and ultimately for healing, as well as insult the intelligence of God’s people. But our reading of that truth must be done with objectivity, with dispassionate discernment, with equity and compassion when these are required. We cannot let our rage become an excuse for madness, or a thirst for vengeance become a criterion of judgment. Truth, if it is truth, is objective. Justice, if it is justice, is blind. We must act from reason, not passion, otherwise we risk becoming abusers ourselves, of another kind.

But where do truth and justice meet? What is their perfect expression? How do they reach that perfect synthesis which saves them from falling into partiality?

There is and can be only one answer to that. It is an answer which puts our angers and rages in crisis, on the dock. It is an answer which frustrates our urge for quick and easy solutions to suit our narrow perceptions of the reality of abuse, and of any reality for that matter. And that answer is the Cross. The Cross, pure and simple. On the Cross, the One who called Himself the Truth and whom St. Paul called the Justice of God, absorbed all our abuse. Yes, of course, the abuse we painfully recall today. But not only that abuse, however perverted and cynical it may be. For the truth is that any and all abuse, of whatever dimension or kind, to whomsoever we attribute it, all landed on the meek and innocent Lamb of God. Clerical sexual abuse in particular is akin not only to the piercing of the side of Christ, but the twisting of the sword. But every abuse starts with the smallest sin, and not one of us here today or anywhere on any day can say that he or she has not landed the Lamb of God with a gratuitous blow.

And so, what is the endgame of all and any abuse, all and any rage and outrage, all and any revelation of truth, all and any administration of justice? It is the mercy of the Crucified. By his wounds, we are healed. ALL of us. It is a healing already given, already available, even if it is one which eludes us due to the nature and wretchedness of our state in this mortal life. And lest I be misunderstood. I am not saying that the Cross means that the abuse doesn’t matter. It absolutely does matter because it crucifies its victims as surely as the Romans crucified Christ. Nor am I saying that our anger does not matter or that any of the other issues I have mentioned don’t matter. It is because they do matter that Christ was crucified. And it is because Christ was crucified that the full import of what they entail can be seen. The mercy of the Cross doesn’t make everything alright as if nothing mattered. Rather, it is because everything does matter that the mercy of the Cross was necessary.

As Church, we cannot properly deal with the scandal of abuse without the Cross. Yes, we need all the help we can get from the human sciences, from our safeguarding ministry, from the wisdom of the law and of justice. But we must, all of us, come before the Cross if we are to be redeemed as Church from this diabolical scourge and curse. From Christ flows the blood and water of definitive healing for the victims; from his dying lips flows mercy for the repentant abuser. In Christ, abuse and death became eternal healing and life. So, we adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your Holy Cross, you have redeemed the world – and you will redeem your cherished Bride, the Church, from the horror, the scandal, the outrage of abuse.