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Good morning. Last night, my cathedral, in the centre of Manchester, was alive to the sounds of poetry and prayers, ritual and religious music, drawn from at least half a dozen of the world’s major faiths. That, in itself, is nothing new, but this time we had an extra partner among us - our local health and social care services. We were meeting to mark our contribution and commitment to World Mental Health Day. Just a few days earlier I had been congratulating a colleague on his success in helping our diocese recruit and train a much richer variety of prospective clergy. I believe profoundly that diverse teams deliver better, and am proud that we’ve made visible headway in areas such as gender, ethnicity and sexual identity. “But none of those is the hardest”, he replied. “The real challenge is in things like disability, and especially mental health”. We found ourselves in a conversation about the stigma attached to mental illness; how organisations get trapped into thinking anyone who has had a spell of poor mental health is a risk too far. From politicians like Winston Churchill to the entertainer, Ruby Wax, some of the most notable people to be found are those who have come through serious bouts of mental illness. Many people today face recurrent challenges, yet develop strategies for spotting the warning signs. They take the necessary action and manage their way through to the other side. Sometimes, alongside professional support, they require specific help or understanding from those around them. But no more than the understanding and help most of us would hope to get from friends and colleagues over any other health issue. There is a tradition in Christianity that followers of Jesus are called to be wounded healers. Christ himself bore the marks of the nails from his crucifixion, in his hands and feet, even after God had raised him from the dead. Twenty years ago I took the plunge and referred myself for a talking therapy. For a year I met my psychoanalyst every week. I wasn’t yet in crisis but I had realized I needed to understand and engage with my feelings better. I emerged with a far greater grasp of my personal mental strengths and weaknesses, something I have been able to work with ever since. So last night I sang and spoke and prayed in my Cathedral alongside those of other religious traditions. I find such public shared rituals both strengthen my resolve and remind me that, across the differences of our faith, we are united in working for a society that welcomes the contributions of all our people. I believe it is when we are not afraid to admit and draw on our personal experiences of suffering, including mental illness, and on the scars we continue to bear, that we are both healthier ourselves and better companions for the many whose lives cross ours.