She Came in Swearing

She came in swearing—

trackies on,

a tinnie downed,

tired eyes.

A friend from the pavement,

roll-ups in her pocket,

playfulness in her soul.

She didn’t hide the scars.

Didn’t fake a hallelujah.

Her praise was laughter

that broke decorum—

and a wolf whistle

mid-worship,

when she fancied the singer.

God help us—

we laughed too.

Because kingdom sometimes

sounds like joy unfiltered,

echoing off old wooden pews:

a whistle and the holy wind.

Some called her rough.

We called her real.

Jesus called her friend & sister,

the daughter the Father always wanted.

She found love—

or maybe love found her.

And love found us—

not in the clouds,

but in the crust of broken bread,

in non-alcoholic grape juice

served in a plastic beaker.

She passed it round,

her voice trembling:

“The blood of Christ.”

Communion with Christ—

the sweet embrace of life.

She tried to shake the bottle’s grip—

and for a while, she did.

Mountaintop praise

in far-off Christian communities,

hymns on her lips,

peace in her soul.

But her heart missed the city,

missed the streets,

missed the fam

who met her where she was.

So she came home.

Not all the way healed—

but held.

By arms that didn’t flinch

at vomit,

relapse,

or raw honesty.

Then one night,

the bed became a tomb.

She lay down—

and woke up

on the other side of sorrow.

We gathered to remember—

not with polite grief,

but with tears and belly laughs.

Stories poured out like soup on a winter’s night.

She was brash.

She was brilliant.

She was beloved.

And now—

now we wait.

Not for escape,

but for rising.

A flesh-and-blood kingdom,

where heaven smells like home,

and saints wear trackies,

walking the sweet embrace of love—

with dancing in kitchens,

tears wiped away,

jokes over chips,

and stories shared with Jesus

between bites.

And if—

when the sky splits

and the dead rise—

we hear a wolf whistle

cut through eternity…

Don’t be shocked.

It’s just our sister,

our friend—

the one who gave us bread—

spotting Jesus

and calling it like she sees it.

- Rev’d Jon Swales