www.cruciformjustice.com/post/sanctam... I would like clean lines. Clear edges. A Church that looks more like me. But catholicity refuses that comfort.

East of Eden: Advent in Hull www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis...

www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis... East of Eden: Advent in Newcastle @durhamdiocese.bsky.social

The Angel of the North rusted, enormous, stands watch over broken estates. Not protection. A witness. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/east-of...

East of Eden: Unite the Kingdom On Sunday he hears both refrains: “We can’t cope — too many migrants, our town is overwhelmed.” And in the same pew: “Welcome the stranger. And anyone who disagrees — far right.” www.cruciformjustice.com/post/east-of...

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 his prayers. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/flowers...

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 in his future, and fire in his bones. Not to keep the peace— but to break it open. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/the-gos...

He didn’t leave Leeds for a fresh start. He left because staying meant fear. The flat was chaos — tinfoil graveyard, door kicked in, violence crouched in every corner. Even the bat he kept by the door got nicked. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/he-s-se...

From Glastonbury a scream broke through— 'death, death to the IDF'— words, not nice, should have been silenced, but words. Should the police investigate? Maybe. Words can stir. But the IDF isn’t a person— it’s a war machine breaking international law like glass under boot.

Daz shows up. Small lad, big grin, tattoos like maps of old chaos. Bit of a charmer, but likes a scrap. Daz having a dig at a world that pushed him down. He asks for prayer — not the polite kind. Not for calm or clarity, but to get off heroin. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/wild-go...

Five Poems about Priests East of Eden www.cruciformjustice.com/post/east-of...

What if the Gerasene demoniac went to a AA/NA style meeting? www.cruciformjustice.com/post/gerasene

"The Quiet & The Messy Revival " at www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis...

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 stars— not the poetic kind, but the cold blink of CCTV, the flicker of a dying lamp in a car park that forgot his name.

The One Where the World Burns On the 22nd of September, 1994, six friends walked into a New York coffee shop and into global cultural history..But while Ross and Rachel were on a break, something else was breaking — the fragile balance of Earth’s climate. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/the-one...

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 eye that stayed with me. Not fresh. Just… there. Like sorrow that no longer needs explaining. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/he-set-...

He reads it in a doorway, knees hugged to chest, back cold to the brick. Gospel half-torn, creased and smudged, given by Lighthouse, tucked in his coat like a ten bag. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/ninety-...

Long ago, many years before the Anthropocene, before the wars of empire and spiral of ecological ruin, the Spirit of the Great King hovered over the waters of the deep. All was silent, for the earth was formless and void. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/from-ed...

Unfettered capitalism has cupidatas— not holy longings, not the ache that births justice or bends the soul in prayer— but the kind that consume. Like a she-wolf that prowls the parched earth, lean with famine, fat with hunger. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/cupidatas @justmoneymvt.bsky.social

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 started. Me, my brother, the nets— working-class lads just trying to make it through.

A Poem www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis...

We are born with a deep longing to belong— to be accepted, embraced, and to find our place within community. This longing is not a flaw but a sign of our humanity.

The one who healed the sick now bleeds from his own wounds. The one who fed the hungry is emptied of life. The one who called the lost home now lies abandoned. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/the-woo... @brianzahnd.bsky.social

They say it is morning. They say the sun has risen. They say the dew is fresh upon the olive leaves, and the birds sing as they always have. But today the light tastes hollow. And the birds— do they not know he is gone? www.cruciformjustice.com/post/holy-sa...

While they plotted with knives, she ministered with myrrh. While they counted silver, she counted it joy to anoint a dead man walking. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/spikena...

The Magnificat is a powerful prayer of divine reversal. This resource invites you to reflect on the radical message of the Magnificat and how it challenges systems of power and privilege. Magnificat: A Group Study www.cruciformjustice.com/post/magnifi...

www.cruciformjustice.com/post/magnifi... Found a Bible in the foodbank queue, someone left it wedged in the radiator. Fell open to Mary’s song— The ‘Magnificat’, they call it. Sounds posh. But it hit different. Like prophetic fire packaged in a lullaby.

Reflections on the Beatitudes www.cruciformjustice.com/post/beatitu... Reading scripture alongside those battered and bruised by the storms of life.

A Lament How long, O Lord? How long will the blood of children cry from the dust? How long will hostages be held and celebrations be made of enemy death? How long will the ruins smoulder, and the wailing of mothers rise like incense to a sky that does not answer?

Find your own Calcutta— a descent, an incarnation that moves towards the dirt, to touch the wounded heart. Take the hand of the image-bearer; here, in the shadows, you may yet glimpse the King. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/find-yo...

www.cruciformjustice.com/post/a-psalm... Yet still, the holy persists— in the kindness of strangers, the hush of the dawn, the echo of old songs, the fragile touch of love. For we are more than the sum of our functions, - lovers and not machines- called beyond ourselves

For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, climate and ecological breakdown are not distant threats lurking on the horizon of the next century. They are here. Now. Unfolding….. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/crucifo... @cclimateaction.bsky.social @greenchristian.org.uk

Oscar Romero: A Saint for A World on Fire www.cruciformjustice.com/post/oscar-r... In a world battered and bruised by injustice, where the cries of the oppressed so often fall on deaf ears, the witness of Oscar Romero still resounds with power. @romerotrust.bsky.social

Forgive us our sins. Not hide them. Not pretend they don’t exist. Not beat ourselves up forever. But bring them into the light — and hear words of pardon spoken over us.

One foot in Eden, where light spills soft through the branches, and the river sings a song without sorrow. Here, the air is thick with presence, and the ground remembers the weight of love. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/one-foo...

Oscar Romero: A Saint for A World on Fire www.cruciformjustice.com/post/oscar-r... In a world battered and bruised by injustice, where the cries of the oppressed so often fall on deaf ears, the witness of Oscar Romero still resounds with power. @romerotrust.bsky.social

The Lord's Prayer @ a Church for Adults with Complex Needs. Spoken by those who’ve walked through hell. Words of hope from those who have seen the worst of earth. www.cruciformjustice.com/post/the-lor...

@teamlabouruk.bsky.social @greenchristian.org.uk @cclimateaction.bsky.social

‘Bats or Great Crested Newts?’ ‘Neither, because I want growth.’ And the earth exhales, a long, low breath, threaded with dust and diesel.

‘Bats or Great Crested Newts?’ ‘Neither, because I want growth.’ A Lament www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6f... @teamlabouruk.bsky.social @greenchristian.org.uk

As the Deer: For a Secular Age A Poem www.cruciformjustice.com/post/as-the-... #charlestaylor #lainMcGilchrist

Soup, Soap & Salvation A Poem www.cruciformjustice.com/post/soup-so... @salvationarmyuk.bsky.social #mission

Drill, Baby, Drill! A Lament www.cruciformjustice.com/post/drill-b... Drill, baby, drill! Again and again, as if the earth will not break, as if the children will not choke, as if tomorrow is promised.

Hope leans forward, tender, listening to the whispers of creation groaning for renewal. It does not turn its face from shadows but gazes through them, finding in the darkness the first faint glimmer of dawn.

Hope: Peering through the Veil A Poem www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis... Hope is not a calculation,   not a tally of gains or losses,   but the ache of a heart   stretched toward the horizon,   a whisper of light   breaking through the veil of the now.

Hope Leans Forward A Poem www.buzzsprout.com/1894040/epis... Hope leans forward, tender, listening to the whispers of creation groaning for renewal.