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At the National Poverty Consultation in January 2021, Church Action on Poverty introduced three key values that will drive our work in the coming years: dignity, agency and power.

Church Action on Poverty’s Liam Purcell talked about how these values are rooted in our faith tradition, and invited theologian Philomena Cullen to reflect on them from her own perspective. Here’s an outline of their conversation.

Liam Purcell:

Human dignity is central because all human beings are created in the image and likeness of God – or as Quakers would say, ‘there is that of God in everyone’.  

We’re inspired by traditions like liberation theology and the lead that Pope Francis has taken. In encyclicals like Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti, he has placed human dignity and the human rights of all at the centre of his ministry.

The United Nations agrees that poverty is not only deprivation of economic or material resources but a violation of human dignity too. 

The concept of human dignity is based on a particular pattern of perception: of perceiving humans as beings rather than things. The thing about dignity, and the reason it is a transformational concept, is that it knows no social, economic, gender or ethnic barriers. 

Dignity is not something that can be given, but it is very definitely something that can be taken away. People talked earlier about the importance of being treated with respect, and the impact if you’re not.

This is not just a question for the way the state interacts with its citizens, for employers, the media or society at large, but it is also a question we have to address to ourselves as churches. 

So we’ve been asking in our work over the past couple of years – How can our own actions as churches better affirm the dignity of people at the margins?  

Philomena Cullen:

Firstly, my sincere thanks to Church Action on Poverty for inviting me to share a few thoughts about my own personal reflections to their new strategic words of dignity, agency and power. Like everyone else, I am receiving these words ‘cold’ – I haven’t been part of Church Action on Poverty’s decision making to focus on these terms – although, like Church Action on Poverty, I’m generally, instinctively hopeful of their potential to help Church Action on Poverty move from “a moment, to a movement”, of change. 

I’m also genuinely impressed by the bravery of Church Action on Poverty to use a conference, like this, as a method of meaning discernment – my definition of a conference is usually the confusion of one speaker multiplied by the number of people present!  Anyway, fingers crossed for less conceptual uncertainty by the end of our conversations today…

As a Catholic theologian, I’m aware of the richness of my tradition which affirms the full personhood, dignity, and equality of all human beings in the eyes of God. Pope John Paul II summarizes what this means when he writes that:

For believers, dignity and the rights that stem from it are solidly grounded in the truth of the human being’s creation in the image and likeness of God.” 

So, my starting point in understanding human dignity is essentially the same as Church Action on Poverty’s – namely, the extraordinarily significant belief that each and every human being, created ‘in the image of God’, has intrinsic and incalculable worth, and must live and be treated by others accordingly – i.e. must act responsibly and have a wide range of human rights respected. 

I also love the related idea in CST that the value of the person is not just by number – a person has value – but rather, value is given in that person’s specific and particular personhood: our ‘unique unrepeatable human reality, which keeps intact the image and likeness of God” to quote CST. Human dignity then, doesn’t mean that we are all rendered the same – we each have to fulfill our own created identity as a child of God, knowing that ultimately the dignity of the human person is inherently oriented towards God – our ‘full destiny’.

So far so good. But where I’d want to part company from Church Action on Poverty’s current understanding is in the idea that our human dignity can ever be ‘taken away’.  The seemingly benign idea that human rights are needed for a life of dignity, is actually very worrying, because implicitly it suggests that those who are deprived of all human rights are not truly human. 

Instead, I’m with theologians like Tina Beattie and others, who have argued that precisely because the Christian understanding of human dignity is ontological – an essential, intrinsic part of our being – that means that although our associated human rights may be violated, nonetheless our God given dignity is always intact, however diminished or humiliated, certain bad treatment of us may make us feel. No person or institution like the state has the power to grant or withhold my human dignity. So I’d caution Church Action on Poverty to rethink a bit here.  A Christian understanding of human dignity actually surpasses that of any secular theory of human rights or dignity, because it is not dependent on either citizenship or rights. That why various theologians have suggested that dignity is a better basis of a fruitful dialogue between the Church and the secular world , because it offers a better starting point for discussions of justice than the idea of the rights-bearing human. 

Liam Purcell:

To be truly human means not only being invested with dignity, but also with agency. 

Agency is about people’s ability to act individually or collectively to further their own interests.  Agency is tricky.

People on the right seek to blame people for their own poverty, without understanding the wider forces which come into play on peoples lives to restrict their agency to act.  People on the left can focus so much on structural forces that create poverty and inequality, they risk denying people any agency to change anything.

In our experience, people who struggle against poverty on a daily basis have far greater insight not just into the challenges they face, but a really deep understanding of what needs to change, and some of the best ideas for doing so. But as we heard from people earlier, fear and shame and other barriers prevent people exercising agency.

Coming back to the Church, who decides what the Church has got to do and say about these issues? Who interprets what the gospel has to say to people on the margins? 

Even when churches offer solutions to poverty, they often do it in a way that ignores or denies the agency of people in poverty. We’ve been pleased to see church leaders like Rachel Lampard in the Methodist Church challenging churches to see people in poverty as more than just passive recipients of our charity. 

Our big challenge to the churches is – What would it look like if our reading of the gospel and our mission strategies firstly prioritised poor communities – and even better if they were actually in the hands of those on the margins?

For inspiration we could look to the base communities in Latin America that interpreted and retold the Gospels in their own contexts.

Phil Cullen:

I’d absolutely agree with Liam that the idea of agency is ‘tricky’. In fact, I’d go as far as to suggest it is so problematic, that strategically, its use might be best avoided by Church Action on Poverty. 

Human agency entails the claim that humans do in fact make decisions and enact them on the world, that we are, as CST encourages, the ‘artisans of our own destiny’. But structures (by which a mean a range of practices, behaviours, institutions, social norms etc..) also exist, and have determinant force. So how far the human person has the capacity to act in any given environment remains an unresolved and enduring debate that rages particularly in the worlds of philosophy, law, psychology, sociology and ethics.

Just how far do poor people in the UK, for instance, feel they are in control of their lives? And how far does individual belief or aspiration shape a person’s actual future possibilities or choices? 

In his book on the history of Christian spirituality, The Wound of Knowledge, Rowan Williams describes Augustine’s understanding of human agency. He writes: “Augustine is less concerned than almost any of the Greek Fathers with freedom…. The human subject is indeed a mystery…[Augustine] confronts…the unpalatable truth that… the human subject is a point in a vast structure of forces whose operation is tantalisingly obscure to the reason. Human reality is acted upon at least as much as acting”.

In everyday life, we usually sidestep the many important debates entailed in the idea of human agency, by just assuming some sort of ill-defined, constant interaction between agency and environment – agency determines structure which determines the possibilities for the expression of agency and so on, ad infinitum. We operate by basically accepting the Enlightenment idea that human agency exists within tight constraints but is free within those constraints – or ‘the bounded circle of agency’ as some thinkers term this. It’s an assumption that governs most of our social institutions; so, for example, our criminal law system assumes absolute individual responsibility for actions once constraints of circumstance and environment are imprecisely, and partially, considered.  But having spent enough time in our prisons, this huge over assumption of human agency leaves me feeling very uncomfortable, precisely because of its potential for widespread injustice. 

Furthermore, aside from the problem of the sheer mind-blowing complexity of the term, I’m also concerned that excessive claims to human agency risk losing sight of the more fundamental theological claim, that we are ‘persons-in-relation’. That it is our relationality and human connectedness, rather than our individual autonomy, that would be better emphasised by CAP. So I’d personally prefer the current assertion of agency to be replaced with ‘participation’ or ‘solidarity’ or ‘co-creation’, or any other number of terms that highlight that our lives are lived fundamentally in relation to each other. And the awareness that we first and foremost need always to be orientated back to the centrality of our responsibilities and duties to others and to our planet. 

Liam Purcell:

Folk in the churches often have a problem with the idea of power.  It makes us uneasy.  But I’m reliably told that there are more references to power in the Bible than to prayer.  

When we were involved in community organising, we learned to see power, in Martin Luther King’s words, as  “The ability to achieve a purpose…  It is the strength required to bring about social, political, and economic change.”  

We like to focus more on loving our neighbours, than on wanting to claim or challenge power.  But again, Martin Luther King challenges us to think differently: “Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anaemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”

Transforming unjust structures is core to the mission of the church, as one of the five marks of mission that both the Council for World Mission and the Anglican Communion have adopted. But churches don’t always pay as much attention to this mark of mission as they might. And if we are serious about transforming the unjust structures then we have to be willing not just to speak truth to power, but to enable people to do so for themselves.

So, in what ways are we prepared to enable people on the margins to realise and claim their own collective ability to speak truth to power? That’s been central to our work for a long time – how can the churches do it better too?

Philomena Cullen:

I completely agree with Liam’s sense of the reticence, and even sometimes, downright ‘squeamishness’ that often exists in Church circles in terms of acknowledging the centrality of power. Our operating norms around politeness are generally effective at obscuring the ‘power play’ that is always at work in our shared life together. 

So while we usually have a really complex relationship with the term “power”, not to mention our actual experiences of power, I nonetheless think we should start with a basically neutral definition of power. Power as ‘the ability to influence the behaviour, thoughts, emotions and attitudes of other people”, is not inherently good or bad in nature. Rather, it is how it is used that sometimes makes it destructive and dangerous.

So Church Action on Poverty is absolutely right in my opinion to emphasise power as one of its strategic words. In our unjust economic and social systems, power is most usually exercised, as a negative ‘power over’. We get things done by exerting our power as authority, might, control, force and domination against ‘the other’. People who use ‘power over’, work from the premise that power is finite, and so, it has to be hoarded and protected. And the primary tool used to protect power, is fear. 

By contrast, marginalised groups within the Church, have been active in envisioning very different forms of power. Many feminist theologians for example, have retrieved an understanding of power as ‘power with’, ‘power to’, and ‘power within’. In feminist thought, power is “limitless, infinite, and has nothing to do with competition or control over another”. When power is shared, it actually regenerates and expands. Hence the call for women to bind together to share their power collectively, as the collective helps break us free from powerlessness and subordination. And even God is understood as the eternally creative source of these forms of relational power – Jesus teaches us a new concept of power as service, mutuality and reciprocity in an inclusive community of love. 

So I’m grateful that in choosing to highlight, ‘power’, Church Action on Poverty is in effect calling us all to become more adept at recognising how power is used for good and ill in our church and wider communities. Church Action on Poverty is right that we need to do need to become more ‘power-conscious’ – more alert to the possibility of power manifestations and conflicts which are rarely overt and obvious in our church communities, but which we know do untold harm and damage. So yes, let’s be braver in resisting all our own, and others, exercises of exploitative, manipulative and competitive power. Let’s reach instead for a relational sharing of power, especially with those who are different to ourselves, and know that this is the only way we are ever going to change and redeem our world. 

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Church Action on Poverty in Sheffield would like to invite you to their AGM which will take place on Wednesday 16 December 2020 at 7pm.

Due to the Covid-19 pandemic , it will be held online via Zoom.

Our keynote speaker is Niall Cooper, Director of Church Action on Poverty.

Niall will tell us about ‘Dignity, agency and power: Building a movement to tackle poverty together’ and he will share some of the thinking around Church Action on Poverty’s new vision and strategy.

Please let us know if you would like to join the meeting by emailing the group secretary Briony Broome, using the link below.

Please also let us know if you think you need any help in order to be able to attend via Zoom.

We look forward to seeing you on 16 December.

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In this guest blog, Al Barrett and Ruth Harley talk about their new book 'Being Interrupted', which explores what we would call a theology of 'church on the margins'.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, we have been rediscovering the gift of the doorstep as a place of connection. Food parcels have given an excuse to knock on a door, and a simple “how are you?” has sometimes opened up profound conversations about grief, anxiety, hope, community, and lots more besides. Those conversations, repeated over weeks and months, have in turn created and strengthened relationship which have allowed neighbours to come to together – even while remaining physically apart – in ways which have been transformative.

Where many might see ‘need’ or ‘deprivation’ we have found a wealth of compassion, connection and creativity

Here in Hodge Hill, we have been heavily influenced by the principles of Asset-Based Community Development, and have long been committed to seeking out and engaging with the gifts of our neighbourhood – the people, the connections, the spaces, the often under-appreciated talents and passions. It is here among our neighbours, as we have tried to approach with open hands and open hearts, that we have discovered abundance. Where many might see ‘need’ or ‘deprivation’ we have found a wealth of compassion, connection and creativity. During lockdown, this has expressed itself in new ways – in neighbours coming together to transform a shared garden, long neglected by the council; in people spontaneously putting tables outside their houses for anyone to donate food and other essentials, and anyone to take what they need.

We, the church, are profoundly shaped – formed and re-formed – by encountering our neighbours, and encountering God in our neighbourhood

In our book, Being Interrupted: re-imagining church from the outside in, we explore an alternative model of mission, which is rooted in our experience of this neighbourhood and the abundance we have encountered here. Rather than the conventional missional approaches of either ‘counting in’ or ‘giving out’, we want to propose an economy of mission which assumes that we, the church, are profoundly shaped – formed and re-formed – by encountering our neighbours, and encountering God in our neighbourhood. We want to ask what happens if we ‘reverse the flow’ and, instead of seeing worship as what equips us to go out and serve our neighbours, we see our encounters with our neighbours – and our experience of God in those encounters – as what equips us to come in and gather together all our experiences, encounters, stories, wonderings, questions and concerns in worship.

We can be tempted to see our neighbours as primarily lacking or needy, and ourselves primarily as useful, as having something to give

This approach relies, primarily, on genuine and equal relationships, which recognise our radical interdependence on our neighbours. Too often in contexts like ours, where there is a high level of material poverty, relationships become distorted. We can be tempted to see our neighbours as primarily lacking or needy, and ourselves primarily as useful, as having something to give. This dynamic we name as the temptation to the ‘power of the provider’, the need to be needed. It can be profoundly distorting of our understanding of both our neighbours and ourselves as fully human and fully – and mutually – interdependent. As we challenge this dynamic, we are seeking instead relationships of mutuality and hospitality, in which the boundaries between guest and host are blurred, and the power dynamics of philanthropic approaches to mission are challenged and dismantled.

Out of the mutuality of relationships which see each other primarily in terms of gifts to be cherished rather than needs to be met, new and sometimes surprising things can grow

The doorstep, we have found, is a powerful place for those encounters. It is – literally – a liminal space. It is a space where neighbours can encounter each other without an agenda. And out of those encounters, out of the mutuality of relationships which see each other primarily in terms of gifts to be cherished rather than needs to be met, new and sometimes surprising things can grow.    

Being Interrupted: Re-imagining the Church’s Mission from the Outside, In, by Al Barrett and Ruth Harley, is published by SCM Press on 30 November.

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Church Action on Poverty supporter Naomi Maynard reflects on how the pandemic is exposing and worsening inequality.

Danny's story
Benjie's story

Last week I received a call from nursery, my son Danny had a temperature, I needed to come collect him. This time last year that phone call would have triggered a dose of Calpol and an early night. This year, 10 minutes after receiving the call I logged onto the government website and booked a drive-through Covid test for two hours’ time. It was on the Wirral, about 20 minutes’ drive away.

The next day my husband and I patiently waited for the results, Danny was much better and tearing around the garden. Our older son James filled his time with a mixture of work sent from school and telly as my husband and I juggled working from home.

Later that night my phone pinged – Danny’s result was negative. He hadn’t had a temperature for over 24 hours so the next morning he went back to nursery and James returned to school.

Later that week I heard a very different story from my friend Natalie.

Natalie’s son Benjie is the same age as Danny, they both attend the same nursery. On Saturday morning Benjie had a persistent cough.

Natalie logged onto the government website to book a test. Natalie doesn’t own a car. The nearest walk-in test centre was in south Liverpool, two bus rides away. There were no home tests available. Natalie refreshed the website throughout the day. By Saturday evening a home test became available, Natalie ordered it.

On Monday evening the test arrived. Natalie returned it in the post first thing Tuesday morning. Benjie’s cough eased.

Waiting for the result, Natalie followed government guidelines, staying indoors with Benjie and his older brother Tom. Their home does not have useable outdoor space. Homeschooling Tom was a challenge as he became increasingly frustrated with being stuck inside. By Friday afternoon Natalie was exhausted. She called the testing helpline to chase Benjie’s result. Benjie’s result arrived late Friday night – six and a half days after his first symptoms. It was negative.

Reflecting on the stark differences between our experiences, the key factor is obvious: I own a car and Natalie doesn’t. But the knock-on effects of this are staggering.

Natalie’s son Tom missed a whole week of school, my son James only missed one day. Repeated over the course of this pandemic, that difference will grow exponentially, potentially impacting Tom for years to come.

In her own words, Natalie explains some of the other knock-on effects:

“It was only six days, but it took a real shot at our mental health. There are only so many rooms and so many toys before kids get bored and destructive. Being the sole person to entertain them and do everything was exhausting. After a couple of days I would wake up already depressed, just knowing I had the whole day to get through. That might sound dramatic, but they are energetic kids who are used to going to the park and for walks every day.”

This is Natalie’s second experience of a Covid home test, during both times she has waited six days for the results.

“I hate to say it, but it has made me think I would probably hesitate next time to get a test, and would probably take more risks. I wouldn’t ignore the symptoms but it would make me pause for a minute and think ‘Can I actually do this again?’”

“The longer it goes on the worse it will be for mental health. And those of us who are taking it seriously and trying to do what is right and follow the rules are making sacrifices, we all are. But the sacrifices made are much higher for those like me on low income or the vulnerable. The government needs us to make these sacrifices, so they need to do their part and make sure it is not as painful and as detrimental as it is currently.”

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Wayne’s story: Why I (and you) must refuse to be invisible

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“When do we riot?” The impact of the cost of living crisis

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The compassion in these neighbourhood pantries is fantastic!

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This poem by Ellis Howard comes from the new anthology 'Same Boat? Poems On Poverty And Lockdown'.

It is Sunday afternoon. Every window is pushed open and usually we can hear the sounds of shouts and tears from Number 46 as they routinely explain to Sarah that the country is in lockdown and why that means she can’t play footie on the field, even if she does Dettol the flies away, but today is quiet. There’s a stillness.

All I can hear is me Mam boiling water in the pan to make minestrone cup-of-soups for me, her and me Grandad. Cup-of-soups are a delicacy in our house but the packed croutons are hastily whipped out because today is the 1966 World Cup Final and me Granddad, sunken into the couch, remnants of wotsits all over his t-shirt, is ready to relive his youth.

I’m not much of a footie fan. The astroturf has been turned into offices and so me Grandad says I didn’t catch the bug young enough. But I still can’t help but feel Martin Peters started the combover revolution five decades before Justin Bieber. Half way through the game, me Grandad is shouting and busting a gut, me Mam looks terrified that his dodgy kidney will flare, but to me it’s hilarious. Before lockdown I’d sit in the library and watch old people kicking off on TikTok and think they were the funniest thing I’d ever seen.

I reckon if I had an iPhone, me Grandad would go viral, we’d be rich and we could eat cup-of-soups and get as many combovers as we wanted.


My text/poetry is mostly concerned with giving a voice to the glorious and complex lives of those who surround me in Liverpool. This piece is an insight into how those living on the breadline have been forced to make do during the pandemic. I am wholly inspired by my family and friends who met COVID-19 and Conservative policy with energy, humour and kindness. This poem is a love letter to those brave souls who history continually tries to undermine, but we don’t let it. X

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This poem by Grace Collins comes from 'Same Boat? Poems On Poverty And Lockdown', an anthology published today by Church Action On Poverty

worry
fear
worry
fear

round and round in my head
can’t sleep
can’t stop thinking

bills
eat
bills
eat

round and round in my head
the voices say, what should I do?

shut up
shut up!

hunger
shame
hunger
shame

round and round in my head
are they judging me?
I can’t ask for help

hope
guilt
hope
guilt

round and round in my head
food boxes
thanks
feed the kids

worry
fear
worry
fear

round and round in my head
every week
nothing changes

joy
understanding
joy
understanding

round and round in my head
a helping hand
no judgement passed

peace
relief
peace
relief!


When the food box arrived during the first week of lockdown, the feeling was of such relief. It was embarrassing to admit we needed help, but for us as a family, it was the inability to be able to book a delivery slot, and get hold of the essentials. As a carer I felt the weight of responsibly fell completely on my shoulders and it was such a relief to have that shared.

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A short film written by Ellis Howard and directed by Brody Salmon, inspired by the stories of those with lived experience of poverty during lockdown.

The film was made as a result of creative workshops run by Church Action on Poverty during summer 2020, and launched during the first Challenge Poverty Week England and Wales.

To find out more about the writer and film-maker, you can follow them on Twitter:

Ellis Howard

Brody Salmon

Poems collated as a result of creative workshops run by Church Action on Poverty's Poet in Digital Residence Matt Sowerby during summer 2020

Untitled #1 – a poem from ‘Same Boat?’

Same Boat film

Same Boat? Poems on poverty and lockdown

This poem by Brody Salmon comes from 'Same Boat? Poems on poverty and lockdown', an anthology to be published by Church Action on Poverty on 15 October 2020.

Sometimes I squash flies and align them on the windowsill like fingernails. I cough
on park gates as well, see, it isn’t hard to socially distance when I’m socially distant.
This fish bowl is flooded with make believe people, trudging like moths to make
|believe places. You just can’t see it, can you? That’s why I started letting the toast burn,
the baked beans n all! Letting the phone ring and the odours of animal honesty
reek out the house. The neighbour’s cat has been missing a week now.

Nothing says freedom like pausing the prisons, unfolding
prisms, ripping neckties, exchanging white ironed shirts
for pyjamas and slippers. I climb into the old suitcase
that we used to take to the seaside. I climb inside and pull
the zip, leave just enough room for a fingertip, and imagine
seagulls swooping, squawking for fish and chips.

Dad once hit the back of my hand.
I hear arcade machines and pennies
dropping. I miss you dad, but the gulls
won’t go away because they don’t
believe me when I say (scream)
there’s no food in here at all. Truth is,

I’m just too clever
for my own good.


I wrote the poem because there’s something lovable about a freak like my narrator. There’s something intriguing and disturbingly honest about his cynicism that everybody can sort of relate to. This is somebody whose madness is crippling them now that social norms and practice have been stripped from them. This is somebody relishing the isolation of lockdown, and in fact enjoying being locked away from the world, in a time where everybody seems to want to be seen, my character wants to disappear.

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This poem by Matt Sowerby and Penny Walters comes from 'Same Boat? Poems on poverty and lockdown', an anthology to be published by Church Action on Poverty on 15 October 2020.

We look out for one another, or some of us do.
The older community that has been here since here began,
when the Victorians slums were ripped out,
and the people in them. Faces change – Russian, Zimbabwean,
they keep themselves to themselves mostly.
Here, we have our own microclimate. 
The jobs have been gone so long that unemployment
is almost part of the culture. These are people who spit
the name of Mike Ashley but would kill for a season ticket.
There is something wrong about the children. 
And then there are others. Those same ones you saw
collecting on matchday. Doing deliveries
from the grangermarket, working down the pantry,
Vinny’s, pay what you feel, love. Gobshites with a cause.
Mamma P, who should be home but is shopping for her neighbours.
These people are splitting deliveries between
houses.They don’t shout about it.

In the background, Erskine’s wall rises up,
a limping promise, a tropical bird on the roadside.


this poem is based on real experiences of living on the Byker Estate. The estate is instantly recognisable from its brightly coloured early 1970s buildings, which replaced Victorian slums which had been condemned unfit for human habitation almost three decades before. Byker Wall was designed by the socialist architect Ralph Erskine, based on consultations with the area’s residence. However, following completion, fewer than 20% of original residents were housed at Byker Wall. Like many inner-city urban housing areas, Byker experiences high levels of poverty. This poem is a tribute to the residents of Byker who were working to support their neighbours long before lockdown began.

MPs praise the Pantry approach – but they must do so much more

“We can make a change. That’s why we’re here.”

How YOUR church can build community & save people £21 a week

Annual review 2021-22

Speaking Truth to Power: A Reflection on the Dignity for All Conference