Rev’d Jon Swales
@revjonswales.bsky.social
CofE Priest, heads up Lighthouse West Yorkshire, climate justice, mission to margins, MBE, M.A, MLitt Bib Studies
Www.cruciformjustice.com
Www.cruciformjustice.com
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...
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...
July 20, 2025 at 8:50 AM
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...
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...
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.
(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.
May 23, 2025 at 5:57 PM
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.
(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.
So when belonging is denied—
through rejection,
exile, or cancellation
—the pain runs deep.
The grief we carry is not a weakness,
but witness:
a testimony to the
sacred truth
that we were made for
communion.
In that ache,
we remember
what it means to be
human.
- Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025
through rejection,
exile, or cancellation
—the pain runs deep.
The grief we carry is not a weakness,
but witness:
a testimony to the
sacred truth
that we were made for
communion.
In that ache,
we remember
what it means to be
human.
- Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025
April 25, 2025 at 3:06 PM
So when belonging is denied—
through rejection,
exile, or cancellation
—the pain runs deep.
The grief we carry is not a weakness,
but witness:
a testimony to the
sacred truth
that we were made for
communion.
In that ache,
we remember
what it means to be
human.
- Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025
through rejection,
exile, or cancellation
—the pain runs deep.
The grief we carry is not a weakness,
but witness:
a testimony to the
sacred truth
that we were made for
communion.
In that ache,
we remember
what it means to be
human.
- Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025
For the streets of Gaza weep,
The streets of Israel wail,
the rivers run with sorrow,
and the earth itself is witness
against those who butcher the innocent.
The streets of Israel wail,
the rivers run with sorrow,
and the earth itself is witness
against those who butcher the innocent.
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
For the streets of Gaza weep,
The streets of Israel wail,
the rivers run with sorrow,
and the earth itself is witness
against those who butcher the innocent.
The streets of Israel wail,
the rivers run with sorrow,
and the earth itself is witness
against those who butcher the innocent.
But O Lord—how long?
Come quickly to the broken,
to the starving, the shattered, the lost.
Bind up the wounds no man will heal.
Speak a word to scatter the warmongers,
and lift the lowly from the ashes.
Come quickly to the broken,
to the starving, the shattered, the lost.
Bind up the wounds no man will heal.
Speak a word to scatter the warmongers,
and lift the lowly from the ashes.
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
But O Lord—how long?
Come quickly to the broken,
to the starving, the shattered, the lost.
Bind up the wounds no man will heal.
Speak a word to scatter the warmongers,
and lift the lowly from the ashes.
Come quickly to the broken,
to the starving, the shattered, the lost.
Bind up the wounds no man will heal.
Speak a word to scatter the warmongers,
and lift the lowly from the ashes.
You who forge war,
who sharpen swords and baptise slaughter,
who bomb the helpless and call it peace,
who twist theology to justify genocide—
your hands are stained,
your power is a lie,
your kingdom is built on graves.
who sharpen swords and baptise slaughter,
who bomb the helpless and call it peace,
who twist theology to justify genocide—
your hands are stained,
your power is a lie,
your kingdom is built on graves.
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
You who forge war,
who sharpen swords and baptise slaughter,
who bomb the helpless and call it peace,
who twist theology to justify genocide—
your hands are stained,
your power is a lie,
your kingdom is built on graves.
who sharpen swords and baptise slaughter,
who bomb the helpless and call it peace,
who twist theology to justify genocide—
your hands are stained,
your power is a lie,
your kingdom is built on graves.
You, who sit in white palaces of polished stone,
who sign the orders and sanction war crimes,
who shake hands with death and call it diplomacy—
in fighting monsters, you have become the beast.
Do you hear the voices beneath your feet?
The bones of the slain cry out.
who sign the orders and sanction war crimes,
who shake hands with death and call it diplomacy—
in fighting monsters, you have become the beast.
Do you hear the voices beneath your feet?
The bones of the slain cry out.
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
You, who sit in white palaces of polished stone,
who sign the orders and sanction war crimes,
who shake hands with death and call it diplomacy—
in fighting monsters, you have become the beast.
Do you hear the voices beneath your feet?
The bones of the slain cry out.
who sign the orders and sanction war crimes,
who shake hands with death and call it diplomacy—
in fighting monsters, you have become the beast.
Do you hear the voices beneath your feet?
The bones of the slain cry out.
The ground is drenched with grief,
the air is thick with mourning,
and the hands that should cradle life
have become become empty with pain.
the air is thick with mourning,
and the hands that should cradle life
have become become empty with pain.
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
The ground is drenched with grief,
the air is thick with mourning,
and the hands that should cradle life
have become become empty with pain.
the air is thick with mourning,
and the hands that should cradle life
have become become empty with pain.
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?
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?
March 21, 2025 at 9:03 AM
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?
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?
‘Bats or Great Crested Newts?’
‘Neither,
because I want growth.’
A Lament
www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6f...
@teamlabouruk.bsky.social
@greenchristian.org.uk
‘Neither,
because I want growth.’
A Lament
www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6f...
@teamlabouruk.bsky.social
@greenchristian.org.uk
January 27, 2025 at 8:33 PM
‘Bats or Great Crested Newts?’
‘Neither,
because I want growth.’
A Lament
www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6f...
@teamlabouruk.bsky.social
@greenchristian.org.uk
‘Neither,
because I want growth.’
A Lament
www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6f...
@teamlabouruk.bsky.social
@greenchristian.org.uk
Hope,
a gift,
a call to action,
a quiet confidence that moves towards the pain—
not alone,
but with hands outstretched,
pulling the darkness of this world
towards the light of Christ.
a gift,
a call to action,
a quiet confidence that moves towards the pain—
not alone,
but with hands outstretched,
pulling the darkness of this world
towards the light of Christ.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
Hope,
a gift,
a call to action,
a quiet confidence that moves towards the pain—
not alone,
but with hands outstretched,
pulling the darkness of this world
towards the light of Christ.
a gift,
a call to action,
a quiet confidence that moves towards the pain—
not alone,
but with hands outstretched,
pulling the darkness of this world
towards the light of Christ.
Hope knows the wounds of this world,
but counters fear
with holy persistence, &
holy resistance,
declaring that there is not a hurt
he will not heal.
but counters fear
with holy persistence, &
holy resistance,
declaring that there is not a hurt
he will not heal.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
Hope knows the wounds of this world,
but counters fear
with holy persistence, &
holy resistance,
declaring that there is not a hurt
he will not heal.
but counters fear
with holy persistence, &
holy resistance,
declaring that there is not a hurt
he will not heal.
Hope is a spring,
a foretaste,
an existential refreshing
a momentary liberation
that lifts us from despair.
a foretaste,
an existential refreshing
a momentary liberation
that lifts us from despair.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
Hope is a spring,
a foretaste,
an existential refreshing
a momentary liberation
that lifts us from despair.
a foretaste,
an existential refreshing
a momentary liberation
that lifts us from despair.
It does not retreat,
nor stumble
beneath the solemn,
world-weary weight.
It moves with sacred purpose,
a searching grace,
a steady faith.
nor stumble
beneath the solemn,
world-weary weight.
It moves with sacred purpose,
a searching grace,
a steady faith.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
It does not retreat,
nor stumble
beneath the solemn,
world-weary weight.
It moves with sacred purpose,
a searching grace,
a steady faith.
nor stumble
beneath the solemn,
world-weary weight.
It moves with sacred purpose,
a searching grace,
a steady faith.
Hope speaks where
fear falters,
narrating a kingdom ,
telling a story
where the scattered are gathered,
where the weary find rest &
the exile a home.
fear falters,
narrating a kingdom ,
telling a story
where the scattered are gathered,
where the weary find rest &
the exile a home.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
Hope speaks where
fear falters,
narrating a kingdom ,
telling a story
where the scattered are gathered,
where the weary find rest &
the exile a home.
fear falters,
narrating a kingdom ,
telling a story
where the scattered are gathered,
where the weary find rest &
the exile a home.
There is a holy audacity in hope—
a quiet trust and boldness,
knowing the story is held
in hands not our own,
nail scarred hands that invite us
to weave and work with them
a future of beauty and grace.
a quiet trust and boldness,
knowing the story is held
in hands not our own,
nail scarred hands that invite us
to weave and work with them
a future of beauty and grace.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
There is a holy audacity in hope—
a quiet trust and boldness,
knowing the story is held
in hands not our own,
nail scarred hands that invite us
to weave and work with them
a future of beauty and grace.
a quiet trust and boldness,
knowing the story is held
in hands not our own,
nail scarred hands that invite us
to weave and work with them
a future of beauty and grace.
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.
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.
January 17, 2025 at 8:41 AM
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.
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.
For,
The world is charged with grandeur,
with mystery,
with meaning.
We approach it with one eye open,
Seeing only its surface,
Missing its depths, its beauty,
The truth that lies beyond physicality.
The world is charged with grandeur,
with mystery,
with meaning.
We approach it with one eye open,
Seeing only its surface,
Missing its depths, its beauty,
The truth that lies beyond physicality.
December 8, 2024 at 9:22 AM
For,
The world is charged with grandeur,
with mystery,
with meaning.
We approach it with one eye open,
Seeing only its surface,
Missing its depths, its beauty,
The truth that lies beyond physicality.
The world is charged with grandeur,
with mystery,
with meaning.
We approach it with one eye open,
Seeing only its surface,
Missing its depths, its beauty,
The truth that lies beyond physicality.
In this disenchanted age,
The hearts of the young grow restless—
Adrift on a sea of meaninglessness,
Grasping for purpose, for direction.
But this experience is a falsehood.
The hearts of the young grow restless—
Adrift on a sea of meaninglessness,
Grasping for purpose, for direction.
But this experience is a falsehood.
December 8, 2024 at 9:22 AM
In this disenchanted age,
The hearts of the young grow restless—
Adrift on a sea of meaninglessness,
Grasping for purpose, for direction.
But this experience is a falsehood.
The hearts of the young grow restless—
Adrift on a sea of meaninglessness,
Grasping for purpose, for direction.
But this experience is a falsehood.
The world is not what we think it is.
We have been told a lie: that it is mere physicality,
A random assembly of atoms,
A cosmos devoid of purpose,
meaning, or direction.
We have been told a lie: that it is mere physicality,
A random assembly of atoms,
A cosmos devoid of purpose,
meaning, or direction.
December 8, 2024 at 9:22 AM
The world is not what we think it is.
We have been told a lie: that it is mere physicality,
A random assembly of atoms,
A cosmos devoid of purpose,
meaning, or direction.
We have been told a lie: that it is mere physicality,
A random assembly of atoms,
A cosmos devoid of purpose,
meaning, or direction.