The Angel of the North rusted, enormous, stands watch over broken estates. Not protection. A witness. Rev Pam walks the cut towards the...

The church was full. Old hymns sung with cracked voices. A life remembered. The old priest laid to rest. Afterwards, six deacons, six...

The First Word — Heralds Two days before ordination, six wait in cassocks that itch against the skin. They gather in the retreat house...

He was trained in philosophy and systematics, raised on Reformed dogma: the Perfect Being, the God who always gets his way, a...

Redminster bears its wounds— mills rusting, shops boarded, estates sagging under years of neglect. At the bypass sits the Britannia...

Thomas, parish priest, opens the Bishop’s statement on his screen: “We are deeply concerned to hear of the planned ‘Unite the Kingdom’...

Morning Prayer ended. The last “Amen” drifted through the nave. Candles flickered low, the air cool with stone. Charlotte closed the...

The priest from Burnley remembers weekends away, instant coffee, cheap pastries, voices saying the Bible was flawless. Later, at college,...

He left the cottage quietly, wife having a mid morning snooze, the newspaper folded neat. Two weeks by the sea, far from vestry quarrels...

I. Prayer The nave is empty. Candles gone cold. Stone heavy with silence. He kneels, old knees aching. Hands grip the rail. His whisper...

Rain at the window. The fire spitting ash. Two priests, two pints. On retreat, The air thick with weariness. Steve leans forward, voice...

After Morning Prayer, Father Pete lingered. The New Testament reading had been plain enough— a call to live at peace with one another. He...

Fr. Andrew wipes the drizzle from his glasses, cassock frayed at the cuffs, a stole of second-hand brocade— green today, though few would...

I. Scripture and Rubble She read Joshua that morning. Promised land, cities razed, milk and honey, sweet on the page, but with the taste...

They call her Sister Act, Father Ted on an off-day. Once a workman yelled, “You dressin’ up, love?” She laughed, tapped her collar, in...

They say he only works on Sundays, truth is, he works six, and Sunday’s the easiest. Done by noon, maybe even time for a snooze before...

He spoke each night on the radio. Crackling across kitchens and darkened barrios, his voice walked through walls, lingered among the...

East of Eden: The Last Sermon I. Bedside – Gospel She sat by his bedside— hospice light low, steady, the quiet sliced only by distant...

Sometimes, not all the time, he doubts. The phone lights up— war in Iran, slaughter in Gaza, climate breakdown racing like a car with no...

Once, he worshipped an angry God— the kind who answered before you even asked. A system, disguised as certainty. Grudem on the shelf,...