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Good morning. Right at the end of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells a powerful story. The nations are pictured coming before a throne, to be divided as by a shepherd separating sheep and goats. To those on the right hand - that’s the sheep not the goats - the king will say, so we are told – ‘come, you that are blessed by my father . . . for I was hungry and you gave me food, . . . thirsty and you gave me drink, . . . a stranger and you welcomed me, sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to me.’ This passage came to my mind yesterday, and particularly the word stranger, as I listened to the reporting of the G8 summit devoted to dementia, just because one of the most painful aspects of that disease, both for those who are afflicted by it and for those who care for them, is that in dementia we can become strangers to those who have known us and even to ourselves. Amidst all the striking facts, figures, numbers and forecasts about the global challenge of dementia, it was the personal stories which really brought home to me what this disease means. In one such story, a grandson told of his grandmother visiting her GP and not being able to recognise herself in a mirror. But not only could she not recognise herself. Others couldn’t recognise her either. As dementia progresses, people change – sometimes dramatically. ‘Nobody could say a bad word about her’ said that grandson – ‘but Alzheimer’s took away those lovely characteristics’. If you think about it, there are really four things we can do, or hope to do, in relation to dementia. In principle, I suppose, we might learn how to prevent it altogether; as a second best, we might find a way to cure it; we could become good at managing and mitigating the symptoms and slowing the disease down; and we could, let’s hope, get better at caring for those with the disease. All of these are good things to do – and we probably should and will try to act on all fronts at once. But I think the least glamorous of these challenges, and by far and away the most difficult, will be learning not just as individuals if we need to, but also as a society, to care for the stranger in our midst, that patient with dementia. The Greek word for stranger in Jesus’s story is the very word which features in our word ‘xenophobia’, which names our tendency to be suspicious or fearful of strangers. And yesterday’s stories told of the stigma, loneliness and discrimination suffered by those who are experiencing dementia, and of course and in addition, of the burdens and loneliness of those who care for them. In due time Nobel prizes, knighthoods and great wealth will probably come to those who make the great breakthroughs in diagnosing, alleviating or best of all, curing or preventing dementia. Roll on the day. But meanwhile, we surely need to become better at recognising, honouring and supporting those who show us what it is to care well for the strangers that their nearest and dearest have become.