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Three Sisters: A Way Home II. Goodness We live in a disenchanted age. A secular age where meaning is reduced, mystery explained away, and the world becomes what can be measured, priced, consumed. We forsake the living water and drink from broken cisterns. And wounded, reduced humanity forgets what it is. Not image, but animal. Not neighbour, but stranger. Not beloved, but useful. We stumble east of Eden. Lost. But there remain three sisters. Triplets. Who serve as guides. The

We live in a disenchanted age. A secular age where meaning is reduced, mystery explained away, and the world becomes what can be measured, priced, consumed. We forsake the living water and drink from broken cisterns. And wounded, reduced humanity forgets what it is. Not image, but animal. Not creature, but consumer. Not soul, but matter. We stumble east of Eden, exiled from a home we can barely remember. Lost. And yet— three sisters remain. Triplets, born together, walking am

He wasn’t looking for God. Jerusalem was swollen with pilgrims. Bread baking. Lambs crying. Children weaving between strangers. Roman eyes watching everything. Another Passover. Another year under empire. His wife would be waiting. Alexander, already hungry. Rufus, full of questions. The road home already unfolding in his mind. Then— a hand on his shoulder. Not kindness. Authority. You. Carry it. For a heartbeat he thought about refusing. But Roman hands do not ask twice. So

Words carry weight. Scripture has always known this. Proverbs tells us that “death and life are in the power of the tongue.” James compares the tongue to the rudder of a ship and to a tiny spark capable of setting an entire forest ablaze. Paul urges the Church, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” John goes even further. He begins his Gospel by

Blackstone: Behind the Tune Nicene Creed Series #13 Blackstone Prison was built when people thought stone could keep sin in its place. The walls still stand, black with rain and soot, but what comes through the gates now is rarely wickedness alone. Trauma. Addiction. Voices no one else can hear. Boys who learnt violence before they learnt to shave. Fathers who never had one of their own. Steve has worked here for twenty-three years. He knows which doors stick in damp weather,

York: Foundation Nicene Creed Series #12 “We believe in the Holy Spirit, who proceeds from the Father and the Son.” —- As a boarder at St Peter’s School, every weekday began in chapel. Boys in blazers murmured Morning Prayer, the Psalms, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostles’ Creed. David Mercer stood among them, learning where to stand, when to kneel, when to answer. The words came first. Meaning arrived later. Years passed. University followed, then Anne, then Hannah, and two ye

Recovering the Common Good (Part Three) An Outpost of the Kingdom In my earlier blog posts I suggested that Britain has not simply become more politically divided; it has, in many ways, forgotten the common good. I also argued that if we are to recover the common good, we first need to recover the story we are living in. The Church is called to inhabit the story of God’s Kingdom—a story that forms us into what I described as a fellowship of difference, where the waters of bap

Recovering the Common Good (Part Two) A Fellowship of Difference What story are we living in? —- In the my earlier blog post (see link in comments) I suggested that perhaps one of the deepest problems facing Britain is not simply political division, but the loss of the common good. We have become fluent in the language of rights and identity, but less sure how to speak about responsibility, belonging and the kind of society we hope to become together. That has left me wonderi

Recovering the Common Good (Part One) Whatever Happened to “We”? —— In a previous post I reflected on the demonstrations in Leeds and the polarisation of politics (See comments for the link) . They were simply notes in the margin—an attempt to think aloud rather than offer easy answers. I wasn’t trying to defend one political tribe against another. I was trying to understand why our common life feels so fractured. I’ve found myself returning to that question over the last few

Faslane: Breath “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life.” —- The taxi is already waiting. Marcus’s rucksack leans against the front door. His mum keeps finding little things to straighten— a collar, a loose thread, a sleeve already smooth. The kettle boils. Neither of them has much to say. Last year He had gone to the cinema to watch Spider-Man: No Way Home. Before the trailers, a Royal Navy advert. Travel. Adventure. Learn a trade. His mates Messed about

Heathrow: Lift “He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.” — The alarm sounds at quarter past four. David is fifty-three. He has flown for twenty-nine years. His wife, Emma, turns over without waking. Downstairs, the kettle boils. He drinks one coffee before work. Wednesday is recycling day. He rinses yoghurt pots, folds cardboard flat, washes the jam jar before putting it out. Outside, the hybrid starts. The M25 is alread

Liverpool: Which Door Stays Open? Nicene Creed Series #9 “He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” —- The Liver Birds keep watch above the city. Samuel is thirty-four. He comes from South Sudan. For now, he lives in the Britannia Hotel. One room. One suitcase. His white nursing shoes wait beneath the bed. Inside his Bible lies a folded certificate. Registered Nurse. Sometimes he unfolds it, looks at his name, then slips it back between the Psalm

County Durham: Will Anything Live Again? Matthew is fifty-two. He lives in Blackstone, a village built on coal. Rows of brick terraces. A welfare hall. A Methodist chapel. If you stand at the edge of the fields, the older folk still point and say, “That’s where the pit was.” You cannot see it now. The winding gear came down years ago. The railway was lifted. The earth has grown over what was once the beating heart of the village. Matthew isn’t sure whether that’s healing or

Belfast: What Are the Walls For? Nicene #7 For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried… — The peace wall is covered in messages. Schoolchildren. Tourists. Visitors from places Ryan has never been. People travel halfway around the world to look at a wall built because neighbours were afraid of one another. His son presses a hand against the concrete. “What’s this for?” Ryan looks up. The wall is taller than he remembers. Or perhaps that

Content note: This poem explores themes of pregnancy, childbirth, baby loss, homelessness, grief, and death. Hereford: And Was Incarnate Nicene #6 “And was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” —— Sarah is fifty six and has worked as a hospital chaplain for longer than she cares to remember. Most mornings begin with the same road through the Herefordshire countryside. Mist hanging above fields, blackbirds lifting from hedgerows, the cathedral tow

Ilkley: What Will Save Us? Nicene #5 For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven… —- Peter is seventy-two. He lives alone in the stone house where he and Anne raised their children. The bookshelves are still full: politics, history, economics - the sort of books he once believed might explain the world. Most mornings begin with tea and Radio 4. Sometimes he sits long after breakfast, watching weather move across the moor. The house is quieter now. Not the quiet of a

Content note: This poem contains references to suicide, addiction and allegations of sexual offending. Glasgow: Whose Am I? Nicene #4 —— Michael is forty-three. He lives on the twelfth floor of a block overlooking the M8. Day and night, the traffic keeps moving: lorries, headlights, blue lights flashing somewhere. The city rarely sleeps, and rain freckles the windows. Sometimes he stands at the kitchen sink long after the kettle has boiled, looking out across Glasgow. Tower b

Manchester: A Longing for More Nicene #3 —— Rachel is thirty-six. Every Thursday morning she pushes a buggy through Manchester towards the church hall. She comes for the toddler group. At least that’s what she says. Her daughter loves it: the train set, the toy kitchen, the biscuits. Rachel likes it too— the tea, the conversation, the warmth. The church hall means a few less hours heating the flat. The food bank runs from the building next door. Most weeks she calls in afterw

At the end of Part One, I suggested that the deepest crisis facing us may not be political, economic or ecological. It may be moral and spiritual. We are confronting profound challenges at precisely the moment when we seem least able to agree on what kind of people we ought to be. That raises an obvious question: how should Christians respond? The temptation is either panic or retreat. Panic fills our attention with headlines, outrage and endless speculation about what might