The Gospel of the Wild Goose

Here is

the holy breath —

Ruach,

wind unleashed,

fire unfenced,

birth without borders.

She,

the Wild Goose,

cannot be caged by pulpits,

or penned in by programmes.

She dances in streets,

whispers in prison cells,

weeps at injustice,

comforts mourning,

breaks boardroom silence,

breathes where none expect.

The Wild Spirit

forms us —

church and soul —

into the wild shape

of the crucified King,

cruciform love

carved in flesh and fire.

She rides the storm —

climate collapse,

societal unravelling —

tearing down idols:

consumer gods,

untrained capitalism’s lie.

She teaches us to swim

against the tide,

to bear the cross

and rise

in every fracture.

The Wild Spirit

does not build empires,

she topples them.

She sells no tickets,

tears the veil.

She preserves no comfort,

provokes communion.

Here is the Church,

huddled, locked,

minds fogged,

and suddenly —

the Spirit bursts in:

wind that will not be tamed,

flame that will not be snuffed,

holy unrest that won’t be silenced.

Let the Church be this:

less script,

more surrender.

Less franchise,

more fierce faith.

Here is the street preacher,

untrained, untamed,

ablaze with Gospel fire

that will not hush.

Proclaiming a crucified King —

thousands hear hope’s own language.

Let the Church be this:

many tongues,

not to boast,

but to bless.

Here is Lydia,

business leader,

sanctuary-maker,

her table an altar,

a new community planted

by Spirit’s hand.

Let the Church be this:

hospitable,

resourceful,

courageous

to create new space.

Here are apostles,

chains heavy,

worship loud,

foundations trembling.

Chains fall,

but they stay —

for liberation is not escape,

but presence.

Let the Church be this:

singing in darkness,

speaking truth to beasts,

choosing solidarity

over self-preservation.

Here is a riot,

market raging,

Gospel and greed

cannot share one table.

Yet Spirit moves

through upheaval,

birthing new worlds.

Let the Church be this:

disruptive compassion,

gentle resistance,

fearless hope.

The Spirit is no commodity —

not a thing to own,

but Companion,

leading us into unknown.

Advocate,

Breath of Life,

Mother of the marginalised,

wild as creation’s first cry.

Even now,

she sends.

Even now,

she breathes.

Even now,

she equips the wounded Church

to carry the crucified King,

to embody cruciform love,

to carry the wild Messiah’s fire

into forgotten streets,

to swim upstream

against empire and empty gods.

Let the Church be this:

Spirit-shaped,

fire-tinged,

risk-taking,

margin-walking,

wounded, wild,

and faithful.

Amen,

and amen again.

—

Rev’d Jon Swales

Gospel of the Wild Messiah Collection