Rain makes the tarmac gleam like dark glass. Streetlamps haloed in mist. Puddles hold the sky in shards. A seagull shrieks above the...

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

The wild Messiah is not done walking. But now he limps in the Body. Here is the Church— the Body of Christ, broken. She is the Bride—...

Here is a man. Crown of thorns. Robe of mockery. A throne of timber — splinters carving truth into flesh. They called it execution. He...

Here is the holy breath — Ruach, wind unleashed, fire unfenced, birth without borders. She, the Wild Goose, cannot be caged by pulpits,...

Grieve for the thirst we no longer feel, for the hunger numbed by constant feasting. Name the beauty  now hidden from our sight, the...

She came to score, back of the cemetery, where no one watches, where the dead don’t judge, no shoes on her feet, too sore, too blistered...

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...

Eros once lit the stars— a holy ache in the fabric of things, pulling cosmos from chaos, and Adam toward Eve. She moved through gardens...

She was there when the ruach of God stirred the dust, a whisper of desire, a holy ache, woven into the soul. Before the fall, before the...

She fell near Leeds Bus Station. Where the pigeons limp, and the wind smells of chip fat, regret, and last night’s fight. One minute...

You shall love —with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might— but we have learned to think instead. To dissect. To label....

He woke, not with trumpet, but with tremor, a shiver in the soul as the Ruach hovered— not over ancient waters, but deep in the fault...

I saw it— on the road from Reeth to Arkengarthdale: an old petrol pump, abandoned by time, leaning like a tired priest who’d forgotten...

He didn’t leave Leeds for a fresh start. He left because staying meant fear. The flat was chaos — tinfoil graveyard, door kicked in,...

The Gospel of the Wild Messiah He did not come robed in safety. He did not come crowned in gold. He came with dust on his sandals, blood...

From Glastonbury a scream broke through— 'death, death to the IDF'— words, not nice, should have been silenced, but words. Should the...