Step beyond the comforts
of romanticised religion,
beyond a hope too soft,
too distant.
Move towards the wounded,
the image-bearers in the shadows,
with soap, soup, and salvation—
a gospel that speaks and serves,
that proclaims and embodies,
that tells of a King
and extends the table wide.
You see,
faith must move forward—
not in haste,
but in the silence
where the heart begins to listen,
towards the deep groan of creation,
where the earth trembles
under unseen burdens.
Do you see her?
The Wild Goose of Love,
not caged within the halls of splendour,
but hovering in the stillness of the forgotten,
where hollowed eyes
search for a touch that lingers.
Grace is the quiet washing,
soap that restores dignity,
cleansing the weary feet
that tread the shadowed roads.
Do you see him?
The one with nail-scarred hands,
not seated in high places,
but walking among the lost,
where love takes root
in the cracks of despair.
Salvation is bread shared,
filling the hollow ache,
a presence that stays
when all else is gone.
Do you see her?
The Church—
the Bride—
radiant,
not in garments of splendour,
but clothed in mercy,
her hands bearing healing,
her feet moving swiftly
to where sorrow lingers.
While praise ascends like incense,
hands must descend—
with soup to nourish,
with love that lingers
where words cannot go.
Faith is no escape.
It is a descent,
a presence in the dark
where light flickers but does not fade.
It is a hand reaching into the depths,
a heart beating with the broken.
It is bread shared,
salvation that meets the eye,
love that remains
when all else slips away—
a beauty that bears the weight of the world,
a presence in which all things
are made new.
Faith moves forward,
wrapped in mystery,
woven into the fabric
of sorrow and joy.
A love that does not turn away,
but lingers in the dust,
listening, healing,
a love revealed in
soup, soap and salvation.
– Swales, 2025
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