The science is clear. We are living in a warming world due to fossil fuel emissions. The world’s most vulnerable are already suffering...

It was Easter Sunday. Dawn had only just begun to lift itself over the city. Somewhere lilies were being carried into church. Somewhere a priest was lifting bread with tired hands. Somewhere someone who had slept rough was waking cold under a thin blanket in a church porch. And on the screens the old empire was speaking again. Open the fuckin’ strait, he says, you crazy bastards. On Easter morning. The day we dare to say that death does not get the final word. The day the wom

'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. He said it was for food—
 but it wasn’t.
 Not really. The city’s full of street kitchens. What he needed
 was the bag of brown
 that quieted the ache
 that never really left.' Extract from Grace May yet Win, Rev' Jon Swales When Hope Shrinks For Ed, hope has become painfully small. Not small in importance, but small in reach. He is not t

Easter Sunday: The Wild Messiah Walks Among the Wounded Night does not leave all at once. It lingers on the streets, in hospital corridors, in the smoke that still hangs over cities at war. The world wakes bruised. Sirens somewhere far off. A helicopter circling above sleeping roofs. A man pulling a thin blanket tighter in the church porch. Empire still stands .Missiles still tear the dark apart. Children still wake to the sound of walls giving way. Mothers still wait for foo