Bishop Nick is delighted to announce the reappointment of the Rev Kirstin Freeman as Makar of the Diocese of Glasgow and Galloway. Building on the previous four years in this role, Kirstin will continue to mark significant diocesan events with poetry and art that invite reflection and deepen our journey of faith. This reappointment affirms the importance of creativity within the Diocese, inviting us, through Kirstin’s artistry, to glimpse the Holy Spirit moving among us and keeping us engaged with the issues facing our Church and society today.

Marking Glasgow’s Pride March 2025, a recreation of Kirstin’s Pride Chair project is exhibited at the Diocesan Centre. You are welcome to visit and pray for those oppressed for their sexuality and gender identity worldwide.

To celebrate this year’s 850th anniversary of Glasgow gaining Burgh status in 1175, Kirstin wrote a poem retelling the story and spirit of the City.

Weegies

God’s blessings dripping through time:
mingling the hopes we hold this day
with those dreams from yesteryears.
Future, present, past, building a people
in a place, this place, marked long ago,
by staff and prayer.
Dreams of the old, visions of the young;
living, growing, flourishing;
in the dear green place.
Counting 850 years,
in turn built upon
yet more years before;
hamlet, town, royal borough,
proclaiming The Word,
worshipping The Lord
flourishing people recognised
a city, this city, is born.

Smiles better, the salt of the earth.
Fishers, weavers, miners.
Blood, sweat, tears;
Tirelessly they worked.
Faithfully they worshipped.
Seasons of life marked by The Bell,
bidding all the remembrance,
God in all, with all, unity the call.
Steeple upon steeple rising higher
proclaiming God; constant presence.
Blessing, healing, holding the tension of
new ideas, new dreams, new hopes
in God’s eternal vision.

Away from street upon street
of soot-stained closes, their
outside cludgies, paper on a string.
Away from the chattering steamies
life marked, tested and shared;
the unspeakable joys, the heavy sorrows.
Away from the never silent shipyards;
mills, factories, refineries and countless docks.
Stands the sandstone villas of,
baccy barons and sweetie lairds,
sore history, tainted wealth, yet …
the Spirit’s whisper, became a roar,
eyes were opened, freedom wrought.

Year upon year, the city grew,
Its inventions swirling round the globe,
its learning calling many to its gate.
The ‘lands around swallowed up
the ‘touns, the ‘tons and the rest.
East and West, North and South,
Gathered round the mighty Clyde
the city’s beating heart,
echoing the rhythm of God’s.
The growing pains, bit deep,
welped sar, scaring families
and communities for generations.
Scars marked and shared,
healed, ripped open once more,
beside fresher lacerations.
Such is any city’s tale,
the city cycle, death rebirth,
building up and pulling down,
a time for everything under the sun,
change as constant as the craic_
God more constant yet.

Through it all, beside it all,
open doors and open hearts,
Room for one more
… ding, ding … come on in.
For 850 years it’s been;
A dear place, a green place.
A place where all can rest or roam.
A place that God calls home,
within Weegies’ skin.
All are Beloved,
like the one who picked this spot,
this dear green spot.
It be kent, and God be kent,
then and before,
now and into God’s future.

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