This week it is a look at "One More Step along the World". I like the way Sydney Carter views faith as an unpredictable journey. Lines like "Round the corners of the world I turn, / more and more about the world I learn" present the Christian life as an open-ended exploration rather than a finished destination. I wanted to contrast this with Bethel & Vineyard songs which lean into a triumphant note where pain, doubt, and suffering are overwhelmingly defeated by a surge of praise.
One More Step along the World
Thomas had slipped into the back pew hoping to disappear. The church was already humming, hands raised, lights low, the worship band building towards another victorious chorus. He had heard this language all morning: breakthrough, victory, claiming the promises, stepping into destiny. It was confident, exuberant, almost defiant. Yet as he sat there, shoulders drawn in, he felt the distance between the room’s triumph and his own inner landscape widen with every beat of the drum. Like his namesake, he saw faith and doubt interwoven through the messy world in which he lived.
The preacher spoke of conquering fear, of marching forward, of living as “overcomers.” People nodded, murmured assent, some stood to receive prayer for boldness.
One More Step along the World
Thomas had slipped into the back pew hoping to disappear. The church was already humming, hands raised, lights low, the worship band building towards another victorious chorus. He had heard this language all morning: breakthrough, victory, claiming the promises, stepping into destiny. It was confident, exuberant, almost defiant. Yet as he sat there, shoulders drawn in, he felt the distance between the room’s triumph and his own inner landscape widen with every beat of the drum. Like his namesake, he saw faith and doubt interwoven through the messy world in which he lived.
The preacher spoke of conquering fear, of marching forward, of living as “overcomers.” People nodded, murmured assent, some stood to receive prayer for boldness.
Thomas watched, grateful for their sincerity yet unable to join them. His life had not been a march of victories. It had been a slow, uneven walk, through grief, through doubt, through the quiet work of trying to remain faithful when nothing felt simple. His faith was not a blazing fire, but a candle blowing in the wind, yet still a light in the darkness.
He found himself whispering the opening line of “One More Step Along the World I Go”, the hymn he had loved since childhood. He loved the gentle cadence of its first idea, the sense of moving forward not with trumpets but with trust. The hymn’s world was not a battlefield to be won but a road to be walked, hand in hand with a God who travelled beside him rather than pushed him from behind. As the hymn said, “Keep me travelling along with you.”
As the band swelled again, Thomas felt a tightening in his chest. The triumphant approach was beautiful for those who could inhabit it. But he could not. His faith had never been a shout; it had always been a quiet conversation. He did not need to “claim victory.” He needed companionship. He did not need to “step into destiny.” He needed the next small step.
And he realised, sitting there in the back pew, that this difference was not a failure. He thought of the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer writing in Tegel prison in 1944:
People turn to God in God’s own need,
and find God poor, degraded, without roof or bread,
see God devoured by sin, weakness, and death.
Christians stand with God to share God’s pain.
He remembered the hymn’s humility, the way it asked for guidance rather than guaranteed success, the way it trusted God to be present in the unknown rather than to remove it. That was the Christianity he recognised. Not triumphalism, but pilgrimage. Not certainty, but companionship. Not victory, but perseverance.
He found himself whispering the opening line of “One More Step Along the World I Go”, the hymn he had loved since childhood. He loved the gentle cadence of its first idea, the sense of moving forward not with trumpets but with trust. The hymn’s world was not a battlefield to be won but a road to be walked, hand in hand with a God who travelled beside him rather than pushed him from behind. As the hymn said, “Keep me travelling along with you.”
As the band swelled again, Thomas felt a tightening in his chest. The triumphant approach was beautiful for those who could inhabit it. But he could not. His faith had never been a shout; it had always been a quiet conversation. He did not need to “claim victory.” He needed companionship. He did not need to “step into destiny.” He needed the next small step.
And he realised, sitting there in the back pew, that this difference was not a failure. He thought of the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer writing in Tegel prison in 1944:
People turn to God in God’s own need,
and find God poor, degraded, without roof or bread,
see God devoured by sin, weakness, and death.
Christians stand with God to share God’s pain.
He remembered the hymn’s humility, the way it asked for guidance rather than guaranteed success, the way it trusted God to be present in the unknown rather than to remove it. That was the Christianity he recognised. Not triumphalism, but pilgrimage. Not certainty, but companionship. Not victory, but perseverance.
Give me courage when the world is rough,
keep me loving though the world is tough.
The preacher invited the congregation to come forward for prayer and power. This was certainty; this was a known way. But Thomas stayed seated. He felt no judgement, only clarity. This was not his spiritual home. He needed a place where faith was not measured in volume or confidence, where the journey mattered more than the destination, where God was found in the quiet steps rather than the victorious leaps.
He stood slowly, slipping out before the final song began. Outside, the morning was cool, the sky pale with early light. He breathed deeply. The road ahead was still uncertain, but he felt something like peace.
The preacher invited the congregation to come forward for prayer and power. This was certainty; this was a known way. But Thomas stayed seated. He felt no judgement, only clarity. This was not his spiritual home. He needed a place where faith was not measured in volume or confidence, where the journey mattered more than the destination, where God was found in the quiet steps rather than the victorious leaps.
He stood slowly, slipping out before the final song began. Outside, the morning was cool, the sky pale with early light. He breathed deeply. The road ahead was still uncertain, but he felt something like peace.
He thought of the words of King George’s great wartime speech - "Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way".
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