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Good morning.

Some years ago I knew a man who was a bank manager. I was a young Curate and he was a senior, much loved member of our Church. A true gentleman. Always polite and, as a friend, generous to a fault.

And he didn’t own anything that had been made in Japan.

Even in the 1970s this was quite an achievement, and required a lot of effort on his part. Which he quietly and politely put into his task – nothing Japanese.

It was today’s anniversary of the capture of Okinawa by Allied forces that reminded me of him, and of his wounds. Not physical – at least not as far as I knew. He’d been a Far Eastern Prisoner of War, he’d worked on the Burma Railway. He could never forget what had been done to his fellow prisoners, and his quiet boycott of Japanese goods was one of his ways of remembering them.

And even as a young Curate who was awfully full of himself, I could never criticize him, even in my own mind. And still don’t. I don’t know what he endured, or what his survival cost him.

And yet I hear Jesus on his cross saying "Father forgive them for they don’t know what they’re doing". I’ve read the psychology textbooks that talk about letting go. I also now know that some mental wounds are as real, and life-changing, as lost limbs. There’s no quick-fix healing. But there is prayer.

Heavenly Father,

your Son suffered at the hands of cruel men.

We offer up to you the pain in our own hearts and minds,

and ask for your healing,

for the grace to let go of memories of hurt, injustice, cruelty.

And we thank you for your love,

that accepts us as we are, and as we could be.

Amen.