Rowan Williams, the archbishop of Canterbury, marked the beginning of Advent by writing to his fellow primates, focusing most of his words on the recommendations of the Windsor Report. Williams offered challenges to all his brother primates, but I was most struck by these words: “Because there has been much talk of apology in the light of the report, it has been all too easy to miss the centrality of God’s call to repentance. Apology is the currency of the world. … An apology may amount only to someone saying, ‘I’m sorry you feel like that;' and that doesn’t go deep enough.”

Several paragraphs later, Williams added this: “Do not forget the good things we have shared as a communion. Do not think that repentance is always something others are called to, but acknowledge the failings we all share, sinful and struggling disciples as we are.”

The archbishop’s words struck home because, in the weeks leading up to the primates’ next gathering in February, my temptation is to speculate on what they might do -- or, better still, to offer my free advice on what they should do. But having spent the past few months grousing about how various bishops’ expressions of regret have seemed inadequate -- too much like “I’m sorry you feel like that” or “I’m sorry you were hurt by what I did” -- I want to take the archbishop’s challenge to heart. On the same evening that I’ve first read Williams’ letter, I’m able to identify some patterns of sin in my life as an Episcopalian. I’d like to preface each with three of the sweetest words I know: “Please forgive me.” (Though these three words are sweeter still: “I forgive you.”)

Please forgive me, bishops of the Anglican Communion, for expecting you to create a top-down solution to the church’s sexuality debate. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve begun a thought with “If only the bishops would …” I believe it’s both biblical and reasonable to expect that bishops lead their flocks and guard against heresy, but too often I’ve assumed that one pronouncement from bishops can restore the church’s good order. I have ascribed to you more power and responsibility that what your office confers.

Please forgive me, gay members of the Episcopal Church, for my default setting of apathy about heterosexual sins. I know, from conversations with you, that you feel like scapegoats when conservatives bemoan crumbling commitments to the demands of Christian marriage. I’ve rarely had anything to say about no-fault divorce, serial monogamy, Internet porn or fornication. I’ve assumed that these behaviors are self-evidently sinful and, absent any serious proposals to grant them official church approval, that the more destructive fires were elsewhere. You are justified in protesting that this feels like heterosexuals caring only about sexual sins other than those we could be tempted to commit.

Please forgive me, Anglicans of the Global South, for treating you in a utilitarian manner. Too often I have expected bishops from Africa or Asia to be as focused as I am on the sexual debate within the Episcopal Church. Too often I have thought only of how you might help conservative Episcopalians make our best case for restraint, rather than how we might help you serve Christ in hostile settings. I have treated you as an abstraction and presumed to speak for you rather than trying to hear your voice directly.

Please forgive me, any Episcopalian who ever has felt the sting of the word “revisionist” by my editorial hand. I haven’t used this term in years, but I certainly did my part in making it more popular. I raise this point last because I have long struggled for the best way to describe the two primary voices in our church’s debate.

I have written here before about the pejorative tone of “fundamentalist,” and I recognize that “revisionist” is the theological right’s version of that insult. I want to invite readers’ suggestions for how left and right might describe each other. Some might argue that we should stick to “brothers and sisters in Christ,” and that’s certainly the ideal, but I’m honestly asking about those instances when we must describe how we differ with each other. I’ve often favored “orthodox” and “progressive,” as neither easily becomes an insult.

Whatever happens next in the global drama of Anglicanism, we need better ways to speak of each other than a sardonic “those brothers and sisters over there.”

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