I once visited the Western Wall in the holy city where notes are stuffed into the cracks, the in-box of God. Imagine, the standing ruins of Roman Jerusalem, and a procession of unique wordsmiths each hand-delivering the edited essence of their ultimate skinny.
In that crumbling courtyard, under protective eye of Uzi-packing soldiers and who-knows-what-else, I remember scribbling my note, eyeing my spot. Can’t remember what I put on paper. Nor do I recall whether my missive was responded to or not, time just washed it away.
In civic society the vein is more personal and practical, and the agency to field such messages is not a deity, it’s members of a board. If this elected group receives a letter addressing serious matters, it should merit response. That’s the least we can do to know the system is civil.
In the end, don't we want to believe - even the most atheistic - we too live in the holy city, where our words count, and the days of our lives are lived in the bright light.