Ed used to crouch outside Morrisons— not always asking, just hoping someone, tipsy from a night out, might drop a fiver and not ask why....

The Quiet and the Messy Revival They say there is a quiet revival — soft as breath on stained glass, a hush that Spotify, TikTok, and...

‘We all are born into the world looking for someone looking for us, and that we remain in this mode of searching for the rest of our...

It was raining. Sideways rain. Hard, mean, Leeds rain. The kind that says: You’re not welcome anywhere. She stood outside, soaked,...

She doesn’t talk about it much. Not the room, not the silence, not the way her body still remembers what her mind wrapped in thick fog....

It’s January 2014 — cold enough to chew through bone. We meet in the place named for the one who slew the dragon, but the beasts still...

She came in swearing— trackies on, a tinnie downed, tired eyes. A friend from the pavement, roll-ups in her pocket, playfulness in her...

She was alone. Not just lonely— but alone. Mid-fifties, no calls, no candles, just silence and the ache of being forgotten. Her world:...

I hear it— a cry rising like incense from flats without furniture, from doorways where the prophets weep, from rooms where children dream...

He Wrote the Date (for the lad who once lived in the car park opposite Leeds Uni — a true story framed poetically) He slept beneath...

It was spring. The blossom tree stood, quiet, its branches soft with new life. Bluebells dotted the ground, fragile, waiting for...

He Set Himself on Fire (A true story framed poetically) He had ink all over him— names, dates, wounds. But it was the teardrop by his...

He reads it in a doorway, knees hugged to chest, back cold to the brick. Gospel half-torn, creased and smudged, given by Lighthouse,...

A Liturgical Reading by Rev’d Jon Swales MBE This liturgical resource is a prayerful journey through the ancient story — a story that...

Unfettered capitalism has cupiditas— not holy longings, not the ache that births justice or bends the soul in prayer— but the kind that...

They say your past doesn’t define you. Maybe. But it never fully lets go either. The stink of fish, rope-burned hands— that’s where I...

No One Can Snatch Me (John 10:22–30) I never had a dad. Not one who stayed. The care home clock ticked— a cold taskmaster— counting down...

“Your dead shall live, their corpses shall rise. O dwellers in the dust, awake and sing for joy! For your dew is a radiant dew, and the...

Wounds in the House of Love Not all violence comes with swords. Some arrives with silence. With a kiss. With a deal struck in the dark....

Stay with me, he says— but we are weary. Weary of sorrow, weary of waiting, weary of a world that keeps unraveling. Still— he invites....