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Good morning. Sorry, as the old song goes, seems to be the hardest word. It’s a statement that would appear borne out by a news story that has held the headlines over the last few days. A series of leaked WhatsApp messages has demonstrated just how hard it can be to apologise for wrongdoing, especially when saying sorry puts the guilty party’s personal relationships or professional career in jeopardy. Part of the problem with saying sorry is the suspicion that our apology will be weaponised against us. We fear that someone will seek to extract a penalty far beyond what we ourselves, who are admittedly far from unbiased observers, consider proportionate. I can remember when insurers would threaten to void policies should their clients admit to fault, for even the most cut and dried motor accident. No wonder that the time hallowed tactics of deny, deflect and delay are so often the wrongdoer’s preferred path. None of this creates a culture which supports saying sorry. My Christian faith though takes me in a different direction. It encourages me, especially in this season of Lent, to reflect on my failings and apologise to God. That might seem peculiar, since most often God is not the direct victim of my misbehaviour. But confessing my wrongdoing to someone who I am absolutely sure will continue to love me and forgive me, one who will never turn my apology against me, provides a stepping stone towards my saying sorry to those I have directly offended. Three weeks ago I stood in the dungeon of Ghana’s Cape Coast Castle, from where Britain shipped many thousands of slaves westwards. I was there as chair of a church fund whose predecessor invested in the company running the shipping routes that trafficked human beings from Africa to the plantations. I stood alongside friends who are the descendants of slaves, some of whose communities and nations still bear the scars of slavery. The Service of Reconciliation we held allowed those of us who remain beneficiaries of slavery to say, and to be heard saying, sorry to God and our neighbours, and to make concrete commitments about the future; commitments that begin to counter that shameful legacy. The wrongs of the past can’t be undone. Not everyone is able to accept apologies offered – I don’t expect them to. The gap, between what one party can offer and what the other can accept, sometimes proves unbridgeable. Yet the biblical call to love my neighbour compels me, whether I am the aggressor or the aggrieved, to try. Sorry may be the hardest word, both to utter and to hear, but it remains one of the most valuable in any human language.