Prince Charles's speeches in Ireland this week have been profoundly moving. It seems to me that he did three things.
Firstly, he identified with the suffering of Ireland over centuries and, particularly, more recently. He said simply that the island of Ireland “has had more than its
fair share of turbulence and troubles.” Secondly, he set his own personal suffering in the context of a complex mix of politics, economics, tribalism and
nationalisms. And, thirdly, he recognised the reality of pain and grief – borne by so many – whilst opening up the possibility of what an American theologian calls
“newness after loss”.
The murder of Lord Mountbatten in 1979 struck to the heart of the British establishment, but for those involved in the bereavement, it was always more than a political
matter. As Prince Charles put it: “It seemed as if the foundations of all that we held dear in life had been torn apart irreparably.” He had already spoken of the “
anguish of such deep loss.”
This is the conundrum, isn't it? The political and the global collide with the individual and the private. Which is how grief always works – often biting through the
veneers of self-sufficiency we paint on to the scars of bereavement and helplessness, and awakening the pain of personal loss in the face of a community's need to move
on.
I think what the events of this week suggest is that the only way to tackle grief and the rage of injustice is for us to face those who were a part of it. In the
famous Yad Vashem memorial to the Warsaw Uprising during World War Two one of the bronze reliefs depicts the Nazi guards without faces – apparently because to have
given them faces would have meant humanising them. But, I thought that was actually the point. It was human beings – with faces and stories and families and hopes and
dreams and regrets – who caused unimaginable pain to people who could not defend themselves. It is what we are seeing in Syria and Iraq as IS target innocent people
with extreme violence and inhumane brutality.
What Tuesday's meeting demonstrated – backing up words with handshakes – was that violence and death do not have to have the final word. Realistic forgiveness –
however long it takes and however immense the personal or communal cost – opens the door for all parties to be set free for a future that looked closed. Which is why,
in the Lord's Prayer, any expectation of forgiveness by God is inextricably linked to my forgiving those who have grieved me.
Reconciliation is not easy and is never cost-free. The German martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer cried against notions of what he called “cheap grace”. But, it is in the
cost of looking a person in the eye that freedom is secured – freedom to live again.