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Matt Woodcock, Church of England Pioneer Minister and Mission Supporter in the Diocese of York:

I bumped into an old school friend in a coffee shop queue the other day. Ben Lister. I’d not seen him for years. We were inseparable back in 1989.

We reminisced about old times as we queued for our lattes; the hours we spent in his bedroom playing Operation Wolf on his Commodore 64, strutting through West Bank Park with car signs round our necks like the Beastie Boys, applying vast amounts of hair gel after footy training - convinced it held the key to winning the affections of Louise Latimer.

It never did.

We lamented that he’s now down to the last of his hair - and mine’s turning the colour of talc. I still carry the scars of my friendship with Ben. He accidentally broke my nose with a wild haymaker punch at youth club - retaliation for me hitting him with a table tennis bat.

Losing wasn’t my strong point back then. Reconciliation was swift, though. Our embarrassing but well-meaning parents made sure of that - sitting us down to make the peace over a bowl of tomato soup. Sorting out my broken hooter was less successful, mind you.

I read once that our scars can’t disappear - but we can change the way we see them. Of course that’s easier for some than others. I meet and minister to people whose physical, mental or emotional scars are distressing reminders of bad times or dark episodes.

Yet I’ve also seen how they can become signposts of restoration.

My faith challenges me to transform my inner wounds into healed scars. Always an arduous but liberating process, I find. Prayer helps me. Wise counsel, too.  The ‘scarred healer’ image of Jesus is one I often return to. He is my strength and comforter - because he identifies. By ‘his wounds we are healed’ the Bible says.

I’m also inspired by more earthly healers. People whose compassion and acts of kindness help to mend broken lives. Like my friend sacrificing weekends to be on the Samaritans phone line, or the volunteers at our community cafe offering friendship and Battenberg to the socially isolated.

I think tending to the wounds of others does wonders for the soul. 

As for Ben and I, we’ve promised to meet up again.

Perhaps for a bowl of soup.

Anything but table tennis.