More Short Stories: One More Step along the World

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. 

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. 

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. 

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".

On Words and Autism

This poem takes a few words from a well known duet and weaves them into something different. I have always thought of the first few lines "if I had words..." as almost (if seen apart from the song) about autism and the limited nature of language that some autistic people have. The imagery of “crumbs” instead of “bread” evokes scarcity, but also resilience: even fragments nourish. 

It’s a portrait of communication as both struggle and grace, a quiet assertion that meaning can emerge from the smallest utterances. For it is amazing how much they manage to communicate with just those fragmentary words, not structured like you and I speak, but still, miraculously, making their needs known, telling us about the world, and bringing joy to all who hear them.

On Words and Autism

If I had words to make a day for you
I would, but only fragments come
Speech is hard, the words are few
It is not bread but left over crumb

I'd sing you a morning golden and new
And I can sing, remember just so well
Old songs my memory is just so true
New I cannot, but old can always tell

I would make this day last for all time
But time worries me, the days laid out
Each hour, I wait for clock to chime
The pattern sooths, fixed turnabout

I have some words, and precious they
They help me navigate every day

A 1967 Jersey Profile of Three Citizens

JERSEY PROFILE

From 1967, Jersey Life, a Profile of three prominent citizens of Jersey.

CAPTAIN DERECK MORGAN

Captain Dereck Morgan, of Hickling Oak, St. Mary, has been a pilot with the Jersey base of British United for the past seven years, with more than 5,000 flying hours to his credit. Captain Morgan served in the R.A.F. from 1949-1953. He is married with three children, and his hobbies include gardening and home-improvement.

Mr. JOHN AUBREY DAVIES

Mr. Davies has been appointed manager of the St. Helier branch of Barclay's Bank Ltd. as from next month. Born in Aberdare, Glamorganshire, he joined Barclay's in London in 1930. At 54, he is married and has two daughters and a son. He enjoys golfing in his spare time and is a member of several sports and social clubs in the Bournemouth area where he was at one time manager..

Mr. A. J. SCRIVEN (“Jim”)

Jerseyman and Old Victorian, Mr. Striven has for 12 years been in charge of the news desk at the 'Evening Post'. After leaving college he joined the Overseas Trading Corporation Ltd., and for seven years was their travelling representative in the whole of the Mediterranean area with headquarters in Spain. He joined the 'Evening Post' office staff in 1935 and in 1945 became secretary, later Deputy News Editor and took over from Mr. W. Troy in 1955, subsequently being made a director. A founder member and subsequently president of the Sub Aqua Club of Jersey, president of the Jersey Cage Bird Society for 30 years, founder president of the Jersey Sea Cadets Parents' Association, and charter president of the Lions Club of Jersey. Mr. Scriven's chief hobbies are swimming and underwater fishing.

More Short Stories: Morning has Broken: After the Storm

Taken this time juxtaposing Eleanor Farjeon's great hymn to creation's dawn against the backdrop of one the the great storms climate change has unleashed on our world, and drawing on my own memories of the night.

Morning has Broken: After the Storm

Diary Entry — The Night of the Great Storm

“Morning has broken… like the first morning.” I write those words now, though when the storm first rose at dusk, I doubted I would ever see another dawn. For the storm was on.

That Great Storm was upon us as the long night began and increased throughout the night. In the early hours just past midnight, winds reached over 110 miles per hour, a force that felt less like weather and more like a living creature battering the world. The windows shuddered in their frames, each gust a fist against the glass. I could feel the walls vibrating with the gusts of wind. Slates tore from the roof and crashed down like iron hail. The whole building shook, trembling as though it feared what the night might bring. I could imagine colossal speed of the storm as it came bearing down on us.

I lit a single candle. Its flame bent sideways in the draughts, a fragile thing, yet stubborn. “Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,”, I whispered, not as a hymn but as a hope. If morning came, I would praise it indeed.

Hours passed. The storm roared like a creature circling the house, searching for a way in. Sleep was impossible. I sat by the computer, watching the reports unfold in real time. Police warnings. Trees down. Damage to roofs. Fences buckled and broken. Here I could watch, looking at the world being torn apart. The storm colour was an angry red on the weather radar.

I thought of the hymn’s blackbird, singing “like the first bird,” singing at creation’s dawn. Tonight no bird sang. No creature dared. The world belonged only to the wind. This was the uncreation of our world.

Midnight had long gone, and the night wore one. Time had no meaning in the storm’s grip. I felt the hours only as a tightening in my chest, a longing for stillness. The candle guttered low. I feared the roof might lift away entirely. I feared the windows might burst inward. I feared, most of all, that the night would never end. But storms, even great ones, cannot hold the world forever.

Somewhere around four, the wind began to falter. Not stop, just hesitate. The house no longer trembled with every gust. The rain softened from furious sheets to scattered drops. I dared to stand, dared to look out through the warped glass.

A faint grey touched the horizon. The promise of dawn. By five, the storm had spent itself. The sky was bruised and torn, but no longer raging. Dawn crept in shyly, as though afraid to disturb the wreckage. And then, slowly, gently, the first true light broke over the ruined garden, over the fallen trees, over the scattered slates, the broken fencing, as if mighty giants had been trampling through our world, leaving wreckage where their feet trod, and incompleteness where their feet passed.

“Praise for the morning… fresh from the world.” I said it aloud this time. The storm is over. The day has begun. And despite the wreckage, I heard the blackbird start to sing once more. “Praise for the singing, praise for the morning”. We have survived.

A Tropical Heatwave in London

A Tropical Heatwave in London

The air so hot this summer day
Sleep comes poorly in the night
It is now our own inflicted blight
Changing climate comes this way

Baked in a kiln, our human clay
A fragile pot, in fires so bright
The air so hot this summer day
Sleep comes poorly in the night

The wrath of gods is now to stay
Our poor lands all dry in sight
We are cursèd with this blight
A cooler breeze, I pray, I pray
The air so hot this summer day

1986 - 40 years ago - July - Part 2

 

1986 - 40 years ago - July - Part 2

July 14-20

A YOUNG father is released from prison so that he can travel to the UK to visit his nine month-old baby son who is in hospital with serious burns. Kevin Doublet has his six-week sentence for malicious damage reduced to five weeks and one day by the Appeal Court so that he can make the journey.

Jersey Zoo scores another success when Kishka becomes the first captive-born lowland gorilla in Britain to give birth.

Clearing bank staff working in Jersey call for a four per cent increase in their local allowance to bring it up to 16 per cent.

A 57-year-old man and his 53-year-old wife are given suspended jail sentences and fined £2,000 by a UK Court which hears that they tried to finance a Jersey holiday by smuggling cigarettes. Customs officers in Weymouth found that a car belonging to Robert and Betsy Hanley, of Bolton, was full of secret compartments containing the cigarettes.

St Clement Deputy Tony Perkins is found guilty in the Police Court of committing an act of gross indecency in the Weighbridge toilets. The 42-year-old Deputy says that he will appeal.

A former Constable of Trinity, Mr John Dorey Richardson, dies one day after his 76th birthday.

The Isle of Man government decides to seek the closure of the Sellafield nuclear reactor in Cumbria. French nuclear installations are nearer to Jersey then Sellafield is to the Isle of Man, but the Island's civil emergency controller, Col. Bill Clayden, says that Islanders have nothing to fear.

 July 21-27

THE Education Committee reveals plans to replace Haut de la Garenne children's home with a much smaller establishment on the site of flats on the corner of Bagatelle Road and Bagatelle Lane.

It is suggested that another way in which Jersey could contribute to UK defence spending would be for the States to pay for existing Island skills and facilities to be used to carry out repair contracts for the Ministry of Defence. The suggestion comes from the chairman of Aviation Jersey, Mr Charles Evans.

Two employees of Le Riches Stores are clubbed to the ground in Colomberie by robbers who snatch a night safe bag containing £3,000. The attack occurs just outside the National Westminster Bank on the corner of Little Green Street where Mr Clint Lawrence (24), and Mr Matthew Dent (18), were about to deposit the money.

A 76-year-old woman who received serious injuries when she was struck by a car while crossing the road at Beaumont dies in hospital. Residents and shopkeepers in the Beaumont area press on with the road safety petition they were preparing before Mrs Lucille Egre was knocked down.

Committees are formed on behalf of Victoria College and the Jersey College for Girls to fight the Education Committee's plans to abolish the colleges' sixth forms and create a sixth form college instead.

Mr Geoffrey Hamon, the former Comptroller of Income Tax, is sworn in as a Jurat by the Royal Court. Jurat Hamon fills a vacancy left by the retirement of Jurat Clarrie Dupre.

 July 28—August 3

A REPRESENTATION made in the Royal Court alleges that a miscarriage of justice occurred in the case of Mr John Patrick McLaughlin, who is serving a three-year sentence for robbery. The representation names three of the officers suspended from the States Police — Det. Chief Insp. Charles Quinn, P. Insp. Barry Blenkinsop and Det. Sgt. Brian Follain.

The former head of the Jersey teachers' pay negotiating panel, Mr Mike de Bourcier, is appointed States Employment Relations Manager, a post which carries a salary of around £20,000.

The Island Development Committee publishes Volume 2 of the Island Plan, Jersey's "blueprint for the future". It includes plans for over 2,000 new homes, new traffic schemes and proposals for preserving the countryside.

 The Jersey Electricity Company says that it would like to build a giant coal storage yard at La Collette Power Station. The coal would be used to fire new boilers so that the Island would not be dependent on oil for the generation of electricity.

A decision by the UK Aviation Minister, Mr Michael Spicer, means that air services linking Heathrow and Jersey are to remain. Senator Bernard Binnington, the president of the Harbours and Airport Committee and a senior member of a delegation which met Mr Spicer, says he is delighted by the decision.

Education Committee president Deputy Phil Mourant denies a claim by Miss Isobel Stevenson, the headmistress of the Jersey College for Girls, that the school is being run down with a view to closure.

The Jersey Hotel and Guest House Association plans to spend £25,000 on a survey to find out how the local industry can be improved.

Where has all the lament gone? – Part 2

Where has all the lament gone? – Part 2

Overview

Vineyard, Bethel and charismatic worship songs often intentionally trade traditional verse-chorus structures for circular, chant-like formats, verse, chorus, bridge. This design prioritizes emotional intimacy, spiritual reflection, and prolonged corporate focus over standard musical progression.

This time I am looking a song which while close to those songs, has significance differences. It is Refiner's Fire.

Refiner's Fire

Refiner’s Fire (written by Brian Doerksen in 1990) is arguably the most important archetype of the early Vineyard movement. It acts as a perfect theological bridge between the old and the new hymnody.

Unlike Cornerstone, which is an anthem of personal triumph, Refiner’s Fire goes through suffering to get to victory, in a realistic way. It does not rush to an immediate, easy resurrection victory. In some ways it is a song of Purgatory.

C.S. Lewis, while rejecting the Middle Ages view of purgatory as a place almost of torture, looks upon it as a kind of cleansing, and this links with the ideas in Refiner's Fire:

Our souls demand Purgatory, don’t they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us, ‘It is true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into the joy’? Should we not reply, ‘With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I’d rather be cleaned first.’ ‘It may hurt, you know’ – ‘Even so, sir.’

I assume that the process of purification will normally involve suffering. Partly from tradition; partly because most real good that has been done me in this life has involved it. But I don’t think the suffering is the purpose of the purgation. I can well believe that people neither much worse nor much better than I will suffer less than I or more. . . . The treatment given will be the one required, whether it hurts little or much.

My favourite image on this matter comes from the dentist’s chair. I hope that when the tooth of life is drawn and I am ‘coming round’,’ a voice will say, ‘Rinse your mouth out with this.’ This will be Purgatory. The rinsing may take longer than I can now imagine. The taste of this may be more fiery and astringent than my present sensibility could endure. But . . . it will [not] be disgusting and unhallowed.

Refiner’s Fire is a rare exception in charismatic music because it does not rush to an immediate, easy resurrection victory.

The Lyric: "Purify my heart / Let me be as gold and precious silver... My heart's one desire / Is to be holy."

The song acknowledges that closeness to God involves pain and loss (the "refiner's fire" burns away the old self). It frames this particular suffering not as a sign of spiritual defeat or a lack of faith, but as the very location where divine transformation takes place.

The song's core theme is a desperate cry for holiness and cleansing.

The Lyric: "Set apart for You, Lord / I choose to be holy."

The Cappadocian Fathers defined holiness not as legalistic rule-following, but as a total transformation of the human character into the likeness of God (theosis). Refiner’s Fire captures this desire for inner ontological change. It asks God to reshape the believer's actual character, rather than just asking God for material blessings or emotional highs.

Where the song becomes brilliant, and shifts is the final line of the chorus. For the first 90% of the song, the focus is entirely vertical and individual (my heart, my desire, my sin). But the final line shifts the entire purpose of the purification:

The Lyric: "...Ready to do Your will."

This line rescues the song from pure narcissistic escapism. For the only reason to ask God to purify your heart is so that you can leave the church building and fight for justice, feed the hungry, and love your neighbour. The song explicitly states that inner holiness is not the final goal; holiness is fuel for outward action.

Refiner’s Fire sits right on the border. It uses the traditional Vineyard musical structure of intimate, repetitive worship, but its lyrics contain a weightier, more classical theology of suffering and holiness that a traditional theologian can deeply respect—provided that the person singing it actually walks out the door to "do His will" in the real world.

Note: Brian Doerksen wrote this song out of a period of intense personal brokenness and financial collapse. It was born of experience.

More Short Stories: A Chronicle of Lithou Island

"God Moves In A Mysterious Way". I am using the text of this hymn as it appeared in Reginald Heber’s “Hymns Written and Adapted to the Weekly Church Service of the Year” in 1827. This short story is set in the near future in 2034.

A Chronicle of Lithou Island
Written by Abbot Petrus, Year of Our Lord 2034

The world beyond our narrow sea groans like a wounded creature. China’s fleets crowd the Taiwan Strait; Ukraine bleeds into another year; the Middle East burns with a fury that seems older than history; oil convoys vanish; Europe suffocates under a heat so fierce that forests ignite without flame. Men speak of a Third War as though it were already unfolding.

And yet here, on Lithou Island, we have been given a strange peace.

It began six months ago, when our fledgling Order of the Holy Interpreter approached the Government of Guernsey. We had no wealth, no patron, only a conviction that God was calling us to a place of watchfulness. We asked to serve as caretakers of Lithou, this forgotten rock of wind and gulls, with long abandoned the ruins of the Priory of St Mary. I expected a polite refusal.

Instead, after weeks of deliberation, the States agreed. They said the island needed “quiet stewardship” and that our presence might deter vandalism. I believe, though I cannot prove it, that Providence had already prepared their hearts. As the hymn says, His “never‑failing skill” works in deep, hidden places.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His great designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Entry I — Arrival in the Storm

We arrived three days ago, twelve brothers and two sisters, carrying crates of books, tools, and the Rule we wrote together. The tide covered the causeway. The sea was raging. Waves crashed against the rocks as though some vast presence were striding across them. I thought of the hymn’s image of God planting His footsteps in the sea. It felt almost literal.

The priory was half‑ruined, although workmen had been hard at work restoring it for habitation but we gathered there anyway. Rain poured down, beating upon the roof. When we prayed the line about God riding upon the storm, the wind tore at us and the building shook.. Some of the brothers trembled. I felt only awe.

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm!

Entry II — News from the Mainland

The radio crackled with grim tidings this morning: drone incursions over Taiwan; a Ukrainian dam destroyed; riots in Paris as temperatures reached fifty degrees; wildfires in Bavaria; fuel rationing in London. The announcer’s voice broke when he said “continental destabilisation”.

Brother Matthias asked whether we should flee if the Channel Islands become a target. I told him monks do not flee. We stand where we are placed. The hymn reminds us that the clouds we dread are “big with mercy” and may yet break in blessings.

Still, I confess privately: I fear for the nations.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head!

Entry III — Clearing the Chapel

We spent the afternoon hard at work fixing the Priory and Chapel and the new but simple annex for our quarters. As we worked, Sister Helena began humming the verse about fearful saints taking courage. Soon we were all singing. The words felt heavier now, forged by the world’s suffering, yet strangely hopeful. The bud may indeed taste bitter, but the flower will be sweet.

Entry IV — Pilgrims at Low Tide

This evening, as the tide retreated, we saw figures crossing the causeway from Guernsey, pilgrims, perhaps a dozen of them. Word has already spread that a new order has settled here. They came barefoot, walking the wet sand in silence, as though approaching holy ground.

We welcomed them into the half‑repaired chapel. One woman wept as she prayed. Another asked whether the world was ending. I told her gently that God’s purposes ripen fast, even in days like these, and that He hides a smiling face behind the frowning one.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for his grace;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.

Entry V — The Great Silencing

A strange, heavy quiet has fallen over our rock. Yesterday at midnight, the calendar turned, and the strict laws of this island became our own monastic rule. By decree of the States, all heavy work on the Priory must cease until the summer ends. We laid down our hammers, packed away the iron crowbars, and watched the last tractor retreat across the causeway before the tide swallowed the stones. We are now entirely on our own, locked in a pact of silence with the earth.

The law of the land says we must not disturb the nesting oystercatchers and shags that claim these shingles. But for us, this restriction feels less like a government mandate and more like a holy invitation. We have banned all artificial lights after dusk, saving our precious oil and keeping the windows dark so as not to panic the birds. When we gather in the half-roofed chapel, we do not project our voices. We chant the offices in low, rhythmic whispers.

The absolute silence of Lihou is our shield against the madness of the world. We must trust that the same hand guiding the wild birds to their nests is holding the fractured nations together, working His sovereign design in the quiet.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His works in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Entry VI — The Red Sky

At sunset the sky turned crimson, stained by smoke drifting from the fires in Europe. It should have been a sign of doom. Instead, it felt like a veil lifting. Perhaps this island, this lonely, wind‑scoured rock, is one of the bright designs God has treasured up for a new dark age.

Tonight the sea is calm. The lantern burns steadily beside me. And though the world trembles on the brink, I sense a quiet assurance: God is His own Interpreter. He will make it plain. And if it needs be, this place will be a quiet haven of sanctuary against the raging world,. We will keep alive a flickering candle of hope as the lights go out slowly across the world, and mankind tastes the bitterness fruits of war and climate change, and later we will sow the seeds of a new creation amidst the ruins.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Owl Dreams

One from the archive, from 28/04/2005.

This strange poem came about as follows: I helped back then to moderate a Yahoo Group called "Norviscensian Seekers", and one of the members posted a very strange dream about an Owl on the site, and asked for help in interpreting it; after making some suggestions, I was also asked to turn the dream into a poem, and this is the result.

Owl Dreams

I dreamed of night, the coolest air
Fresh breezes, night sounds here
I looked out through the window
Then came rush of air, an inflow
Bring with it a black bag blown
A portent perhaps, for me shown.

I looked inside, bird was flapping
Trying to free itself, so struggling
To get out of the bag. I set it free
An owl, so very beautiful to see
Black and white feathers, eyes
Glowing and yellow, scrutinise.

Out flew the owl, happy but weak
It landed on my desk, as if to seek
A place of rest. Then its back broke
Somehow, and suddenly it spoke
Saying "Thank you", lay quite still
As if a task was finished to fulfil.

The owl lost its feathers, lay bare
I stroked it with pity, held it near
Suddenly it gave a loud cry, died
I saw it broken, bare, and I cried
It passed away within my hands
Departed now to promised lands.

A priest came to my room, he said
That this owl had been sacrificed
And must be offered up, held high
In Holy Mass, the time draws nigh
It must be given up for so many
This was a miracle for all to see.

I dreamed of night, moon so bright
I was on a road, within my sight
Thousands of people on this way
Family and friends too, so to pray
All going to church, a pilgrimage
To see the owl, so wise and sage.

Upon the altar, there was the owl
And ancient peoples wearing cowl
To modern people from the present
All came to see the owl ascendant
On the altar, and we are rejoicing
Then I awoke, and it was morning.

I dreamed this night, owls fleeting
To a parliament of owls meeting
There was praise and adoration
Three owls there were, and one
Feathers white as wool or snow
Renewed, I saw my owl once more
In the opening of dream's door.

1986 - 40 years ago - July - Part 1

1986 - 40 years ago - July - Part 1

June 30—July 6

St Clement Deputy Tony Perkins is arrested and charged with committing an act of indecency at the Weighbridge toilets. Perkins (42), is alleged to have committed the act with James Clarke, a 36-year-old Manchester man. Trinity Centenier Brian Richardson evicts a mother and her baby from a flat at 28 Rouge Bouillon. It is alleged in a Royal Court action that Miss Julie Collins was warned on previous occasions for making too much noise.

A shortage of nurses at the General Hospital results in a review of staffing levels being conducted by the States Personnel Department.

Figures compiled by the Drug Squad show that the number of drug offences committed in Jersey during the first half of 1986 is close to the total for the whole of 1985. The figures support the view of the Police Court Magistrate, Mr Bob Day, who observes during a case that more drugs seem to be getting into the Island.

Prince Edward visits Jersey, arriving at the Airport twice in two days. His first arrival is unscheduled when fog  prevents his landing in Guernsey, but his second marks the beginning of a full programme of events, including visits to youth clubs and a garden party at Government House.

Tourism's chief officer, Mr Leslie Rebindaine, who joined the department in 1948 and has headed it for the past 23 years, retires. He is succeeded by his deputy, Mr John Layzell.

Ian Drew, the Museum employee who tried to set fire to his place of work to cover up the theft of artefacts worth £330,000, begins a six-year jail sentence imposed by the Royal Court.

July 7-13

A joint plan of action is agreed by the Tourism Committee and the Jersey Hotel and Guest House Association to recover some of the declining holiday traffic to the Island. Tourism is to spend £15,000 on the plan, which will include advertising in trade and national newspapers.

An expert from the. National Radiological Protection Board reassures Channel Islanders that the French nuclear installations on the Cotentin Peninsular pose no threat big enough to warrant evacuation. Dr Frances Fry makes the assertion when visiting Jersey to discuss methods of monitoring local radiation methods.

Motorcyclist Mr Anthony Allard (37) is taken to the General Hospital with serious injuries after his machine is in collision with car near the People's Park.

A marine painting by Jersey artist P. J. Ouless is sold at auction by Langlois for £17,000, £5,000 more than it had been expected to fetch.

The Chief Officer of the States Police, Mr David Parkinson, says that the public need to be more conscious of the threat posed by crime. In his annual report he takes the view that many crimes would not occur if ordinary people were more vigilant.

There are signs that Jersey's cattle exporting industry is heading for a boom following a record number of inquiries at the Royal Show at Stoneleigh in the UK. There are doubts, however, that the industry has the stock available to meet demand.

The Education Committee lodges a report asking the States to extend the Job Opportunity Scheme for a further three years.

Where has all the lament gone? – Part 1

Where has all the lament gone? – Part 1

Overview

Vineyard, Bethel and charismatic worship songs often intentionally trade traditional verse-chorus structures for circular, chant-like formats, verse, chorus, bridge. This design prioritizes emotional intimacy, spiritual reflection, and prolonged corporate focus over standard musical progression. This apparent "lack" of musical structure is a deliberate choice tailored for specific functions:

• The "Intimacy" Motif: Vineyard pioneer John Wimber deliberately moved church music away from "songs about God" to "songs to God," using repetitive, first-person lyrics that allowed worshippers to focus solely on their personal spiritual experience.
• Progressive Flow: Rather than mapping out standard pop structures, Vineyard music often relies on a five-stage "journey" model (Call to Worship, Engagement, Expression, Visitation, Giving of Substance). Songs build gradually, using extended vamps and repetitions to facilitate this immersive experience.
• Simplicity over Complexity: Because the movement emerged organically from the Jesus People Movement, many of these songs were built on simple three-chord progressions. This was designed so that local congregations could learn them easily and not be distracted by complex musicianship.

A Musical and Theological Divide

This music is very different theologically from the songs of John L Bell or Sydney Carter.

The differences between the Vineyard/Charismatic movement and John L. Bell (of the [Iona Community](https://hymnary.org/person/Bell_JohnL)), and Sydney Carter, is that they represent entirely distinct worldviews regarding what a worship song is meant to do.

While Vineyard focuses heavily on an individual's private emotional and spiritual encounter with the divine, Bell and Carter centre their work on the collective, the physical, and the highly political.

1. Vertical vs. Horizontal Orientation

The starkest contrast is the direction of the communication:

Vineyard is purely vertical: The lyrics are overwhelmingly direct addresses to God ("I love You," "Draw me close"). The physical world and its problems disappear so that the individual can experience an intimate, mystical encounter with the Holy Spirit.

Bell and Carter are horizontal: Their music looks outward at the community and the world. For example, John L. Bell’s famous hymn The Summons (Will You Come and Follow Me?) asks thirteen challenging, concrete questions about serving the poor, the prisoner, and the stranger

2. Personal Sanctuary vs. Social Justice

The role of faith in society differs fundamentally across these:

Vineyard provides a refuge: It seeks a temporary escape from the brokenness of the world to sit in the therapeutic peace of God's presence. The focus is on personal healing, peace, and spiritual renewal.

John L. Bell addresses systemic pain: As a voice of the Iona Community, Bell explicitly wrote songs because traditional hymnals lacked music addressing unemployment, homelessness, child abuse, and institutional injustice. His theology states that you cannot worship a holy God while ignoring a broken society.

Sydney Carter targets the institutional church: Carter, coming from a Quaker background, wrote radical folk-hymns that deliberately broke the mould of safe, churchy language. His songs, like When I Needed a Neighbour, equate loving God directly with tangible, material aid to human beings.

3. Absolute Certainty vs. Embracing Doubt

The emotional and psychological posture of the worshipper is treated very differently:

Vineyard demands surrender and victory: The corporate atmosphere relies on affirming God's goodness, power, and immediate presence. There is little room for unresolved tension or existential scepticism in a standard charismatic worship set.

Sydney Carter normalizes doubt: Carter openly stated that he wrote songs from the margins of faith. Songs like Friday Morning (written from the perspective of the thief on the cross) fiercely question divine justice, showcasing a theology where wrestling, anger, and scepticism are valid forms of worship.

4. Escapism vs. Incarnation

How the physical world is viewed shapes the musical delivery:

Vineyard is transcendent: The music works to lift the worshipper out of their everyday reality into a spiritual plane.

Carter and Bell are deeply incarnational: [Sydney Carter’s Lord of the Dance](https://stainer.co.uk/composer/sydney-carter/) uses the visceral, sweaty, earthy metaphor of dance to explain Christ’s ministry. Bell heavily utilizes earthy Scottish folk melodies and global rhythms, anchoring the theology in local culture, physical bodies, and communal singing rather than abstract spiritual states.

I shall now review specific songs in the next blogs on the subject, starting with "Cornerstone" below.

Cornerstone

Hillsong’s Cornerstone is an excellent choice for starting this exercise. It is one of the most widely sung modern worship anthems in the world, explicitly taking the solid theological foundation of Edward Mote’s 1834 traditional hymn, My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less, and filtering it through a contemporary charismatic framework.

Analysing Cornerstone line-by-line reveals a fascinating tension: the song features high-quality historical lyrics but drops into a structure that has several theological failings.

Verse 1: "I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly trust in Jesus’ Name."

The original hymn writer warning against relying on "sweet frames", emotional highs, internal feelings, or favourable life circumstances.

While the words warn against emotionalism, the modern musical architecture of Cornerstone works against it. The slow, ambient pads, standard four-chord swell, and driving crescendo are engineered precisely to produce an intense psychological "sweet frame." The environment encourages the worshipper to mistake a goose bump-inducing musical climax for an encounter with the Holy Spirit, turning the hymn's warning inside out. 

Chorus: "Weak made strong in the Saviour’s love. Through the storm, He is Lord..."

A declaration that human vulnerability is overcome by divine power, establishing Christ as King over any life storm.

In charismatic theology, weakness is a temporary problem to be instantly cured by divine power. If we take Moltmann’s theology of the cross, this argues that God does not simply vaporize weakness with power; God enters into weakness. Christ did not become "strong" on the cross; he died in utter vulnerability. By framing the storm solely as something to be magically conquered ("Through the storm, He is Lord"), the song risks bypassing the holy work of sitting in solidarity with those for whom the storm hasn't stopped.

Verse 2: "When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest on His unchanging grace."

A profound acknowledgment of the "dark night of the soul," where God feels completely absent.

This is the most biblically honest line of the song, yet it highlights what is missing. The song treats darkness as a private, individual emotional problem ("hide His face [from me]"). It completely misses the cosmic, systemic darkness of a world filled with war, poverty, and structural oppression. The solution offered is entirely individualistic: I rest on His grace so that my anchor holds. At no point does the song suggest that when darkness hides God's face, the worshipper might find His face by looking horizontally at the community or serving a broken neighbour.

Verse 3: "Faultless stand before the throne."

A classic eschatological vision of the final judgment, where the believer stands vindicated before God's heavenly throne.

This is a disembodied, escapist eschatology. The song points the worshipper's ultimate gaze completely out of this world, looking forward to a trumpet sound when we leave earth behind to stand before a heavenly throne. Moltmann's Theology of Hope argues that Christian hope is not a vertical escape hatch to heaven; it is the radical belief that God’s kingdom is coming down to renew and heal this physical earth. By aiming the corporate imagination solely at a future, individual celestial rescue, it neutralizes the church’s political and social responsibility to fight for justice in the present.

In conclusion...

Cornerstone is a brilliant piece of modern song writing, but it exemplifies the exact divide noticed earlier. It utilizes a historic, horizontal-capable hymn text but strips out any communal responsibility. It leaves the modern churchgoer in an isolated vertical bubble: my hope, my anchor, my storm, my rescue.

Reverse Engineering Politicians Retirement Bonuses: The Case of Simon Crowcroft

I'm still waiting for an exact breakdown by an FOI of the workings out of the retirement package paid to long serving States Members who just stood down, and has been in the States over 19 years. Here is as far as I can go by back analysis of the figures for Simon Crowcroft.

1. Put all the numbers on the table

Using the current States Member annual remuneration

$$S=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{59,874.72}\Rightarrow m=\frac{S}{12}=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{4,989.56}$$

so one “month of salary” is $m=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{4,989.56}$.

From the Bailiwick Express/JEP lists:

Person	Status	Payment (£)	Multiple of $m$ (approx.)
Simon Crowcroft	Retired	36,694.06	7.35
Geoff Southern	Retired	30,311.58	6.07
Deidre Mezbourian	Retired	25,571.50	5.13
Kevin Lewis	Unsuccessful	25,571.50	5.13
Steve Luce	Unsuccessful	18,087.16	3.62
Sam Mézec	Unsuccessful	15,280.53	3.06
Rob Ward	Unsuccessful	9,979.12	2.00
Mike Jackson	Unsuccessful	9,979.12	2.00
Steve Ahier	Unsuccessful	9,979.12	2.00
David Warr	Unsuccessful	4,989.56	1.00
Raluca Kovacs	Unsuccessful	4,989.56	1.00

So every figure is a multiple of the same monthly salary $m$.

2. The exact mathematical form for Crowcroft

For Crowcroft, the payment is:

$$P_{\text{Crowcroft}}=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{36,694.06}$$

Expressed in terms of the monthly salary:

$$N_{\text{Crowcroft}}=\frac{P_{\text{Crowcroft}}}{m}=\frac{\mathrm{36,694.06}}{\mathrm{4,989.56}}\approx 7.35$$

So the exact calculation is:

$$\boxed{{\displaystyle P_{\text{Crowcroft}}=7.35\times \frac{\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{59,874.72}}{12}\approx \mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{36,694.06}}}$$

The “7.35” is the scheme’s chosen multiplier for his band (long‑serving, retiring Constable with ≥19 years’ continuous service).

3. What band structure can we infer?

3.1. Clear, simple bands

From the one‑term and two‑term casualties:

• One term (Warr, Kovacs):

$$P=1\times m=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{4,989.56}$$

• Two terms (Ward, Jackson, Ahier):

$$P=2\times m=\mathrm{\pounds }\mathrm{9,979.12}$$

These are perfectly integer multiples. That strongly suggests a base rule:

$$\text{Base loss‑of‑office payment}=(\text{number of completed terms})\times m$$

for ordinary Members with one or two consecutive terms.

3.2. Longer service and/or senior roles

For the others, the multiples are non‑integer:

• Mezec (three consecutive terms, former minister):

$$N\approx 3.06$$

• Luce (about 15 years, former minister):

$$N\approx 3.62$$

• Lewis (long service, Deputy then Constable):

$$N\approx 5.13$$

These look like:

$$N\approx (\text{terms})+(\text{extra fraction for senior roles/longer service})$$

i.e. a base “per term” component plus a top‑up for ministerial/Constable service or longer continuous service. The exact fractions (0.06, 0.62, 1.13 months) are too irregular to be simple integers, which points to a bespoke band table in the 2023 determination rather than a single neat formula.

3.3. Retirement bands (≥19 years)

For the three retirees (all ≥19 years’ continuous service):

• Mezbourian: $N\approx 5.13$

• Southern: $N\approx 6.07$

• Crowcroft: $N\approx 7.35$

So there is clearly a separate retirement schedule for long‑serving Members, with higher multipliers than equivalent loss‑of‑office bands, and with Crowcroft at the top—reflecting both length of service and parish role.

In other words, the determination almost certainly contains something like:

• Loss‑of‑office table: bands by number of terms and seniority.

• Retirement table (≥19 years): higher bands, again differentiated by role/length.

But the public articles only show the outputs, not the internal band table.

4. Underlying principles (from the determination and reporting)

From the Remuneration Reviewer’s 2023 determination and the coverage:

• Unit of calculation: All payments are expressed as a multiple of the current monthly salary:

$$\text{Payment}=N\times m$$

• Two distinct schemes:

  • Loss‑of‑office for unsuccessful candidates.

  • Retirement for long‑serving Members (≥19 years’ continuous service in 2026).

• Service‑based and role‑based bands: More terms and more senior roles (minister, Constable) attract higher $N$.

• Special, one‑off 2026 arrangements: The 2026 band tables are bespoke; from 2030 the Reviewer moves to a simpler rule:

$$\text{Future loss‑of‑office}=(\text{years of service})\times m\text{capped after four years}$$

for unsuccessful candidates with at least two years’ continuous service.

5. How consistent is the reverse‑engineered picture?

• Consistent: Every single payment is a clean multiple of the same $m$, and short‑service Members follow a simple “per term” pattern (1 month for one term, 2 months for two terms).

• Patterned but opaque: Longer‑service and retirement payments clearly follow higher bands, but the exact band thresholds and top‑up rules (e.g. how much extra for being a minister vs a Constable vs simply very long‑serving) are not published in the news reports or on the States site.

• So the best we can do mathematically is:

  • State the exact formula for Crowcroft in terms of $m$.

  • Show that all other payments fit the same structure.

  • Infer that the 2023 determination contains a band table assigning:

$$N_{\text{band}}\in \{1,2,3.06,3.62,5.13,6.07,7.35,\dots \}$$

according to service length and role.

Simon Crowcroft was the longest-serving politician in the States Assembly, serving continuously for 29 years and 6 months (December 1996 to June 2026). [1, 2, 3]

[1] https://www.facebook.com

[2] https://www.itv.com

[3] https://je.linkedin.com

[4] https://www.bailiwickexpress.com

[5] https://www.facebook.com

[6] https://www.bailiwickexpress.com

[7] https://www.bailiwickexpress.com

[8] https://www.bailiwickexpress.com

[9] https://www.bailiwickexpress.com

[10] https://statesassembly.je

[11] https://flow.je

[12] https://www.bbc.com

[13] https://www.itv.com

More Short Stories: The Hermit of Patmos

A short story based around the Book of Revelation, the hymn "Veni Creator Spiritus", and the ancient order of Compline. Following John A.T. Robinson and others, I think there is more evidence for the Neronian persecution than the Domitianic dating.

The Hermit of Patmos

The nights are the hardest.

When the wind claws at the cave mouth and the sea roars like a wounded beast, I feel again the smoke of Rome in my lungs, the screams of the faithful carried off to Nero’s gardens. I see the torches, living torches of Christians, tied to wooden posts, set alight, burning in the emperor’s courtyards. I hear the laughter. I smell the flesh.

Rome burned and temples and porticoes were destroyed in the conflagration. I saw the smoke arising from the fallen city of seven hills like incense of ruin. And the Christians paid the price, a scapegoat for Nero, for we are seen as a pernicious superstition, a disease, spreading into the capitol and across the world.

O God, come to our aid.
O Lord, make haste to help us..

I whisper into the dark, come, Creator Spirit, visit the minds of your people. Visit mine, for it is breaking.

I came to Patmos as a fugitive, but I have become a hermit by necessity. The island is barren, a spine of rock thrust from the sea. I eat little, sleep less, and pray always. Yet prayer is no longer the gentle rhythm it once was. It is a trembling, a fire, a weight. For I have seen what no man should see, the celestial fire.

Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,
and lighten with celestial fire.

It began on a day of thunder. I had been fasting, my body thin as driftwood, when the sky split open with a sound like iron tearing. I fell to the ground, clutching my ears, but the voice entered me like a blade of light: “Fear not.” And then the vision came, bright as the sun, terrible as the storm.

I saw the Son of Man, eyes like flame, hair as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire, feet like burnished bronze. His voice was the voice that stilled the waves of Galilee, yet now it shook the foundations of the world. Around Him seven stars burned, and in His hand was a sword of purest light. I remember crying out, “I am not worthy! I am dust, I am ash!” But He touched me, and strength returned to my bones.

Since that day, the visions have not ceased.

At times I see the throne—high, radiant, encircled by an emerald rainbow. I see the four living creatures crying, “Holy, holy, holy.” I see the elders casting their crowns like sparks before the One who lives forever. And I, a broken man on a forgotten island, tremble at the glory.

Other times I see darker things. Beasts rising from the sea, crowned with blasphemies. A dragon whose tail sweeps the stars from the sky. A woman clothed with the sun, pursued by the ancient serpent. And the smoke of Babylon rising like incense of ruin.

When these visions come, I clutch my cloak and whisper the hymn that has become my anchor: enkindle our senses with light, pour love into our hearts. For without that love, I would be lost. You, O Lord, are in the midst of us and we are called by your name; leave us not, O Lord our God.

Enable with perpetual light
the dullness of our blinded sight.

Tonight, as the moon climbs over the jagged rocks, I feel the weight of the world pressing upon me again. I think of the brothers and sisters who died in Rome, of Peter and Paul, now long dead. I think of the ones still suffering. I think of the Church, small, scattered, hunted, and I wonder how such a fragile flock can endure the wolves. These are savage wolves that have come among us, not sparing our flock.

Then the vision returns, not in thunder this time, but in stillness. A city descends from heaven, radiant as a bride. Its walls gleam with jasper; its gates are pearls; its streets shine like gold refined in fire. And from within it comes a voice like a river: “Behold, I make all things new.”

My tears fall freely. The persecutions, the flames, the exile, the loneliness, none of it is the final word. The final word is glory. The final word is peace. The final word is God. There will be no more night: we will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for God will be our light, in this new world, this new creation, reborn from the ashes of the old.

I rise, steady at last, and whisper into the night: Maranatha, come Lord Jesus, and make this broken world anew.

Enough is Enough

This was heavily influenced in style after re-reading part of Edward Carpenter's "Towards Democracy", and also towards the end by John V Taylor's prophetic book "Enough is Enough".

Enough is Enough

The heat death of the universe, one day:
But not now, now is the day that we pray
For an end to exhausting, oppressive heat;
The Lord Ra sits angry upon his Regal seat,
And looks down with scorn upon all men;
Praises move him not, not pleas, no amen
Can touch his implacable majesty, his face
Turned grim and angry at all lesser beasts;
And the sun, at his command, is like yeast
Rising, yeast within the oven, yeast so hot:
A thousand years of civilisation come to rot,
As dung heaps when he stretches his hand,
As hot as iron in the furnace, desert sand,
And uncaring, those priests of Egypt in vain
Call upon him, but he is deaf, and would fain
Destroy within the noonday sun, Ra now rises,
And buildings are no refuge to a curse devises
Fallen upon mankind. The air heats and takes
Strength from even the strong,and it makes
A folly of those who deny their action, their part
In a catastrophe from the very industrial heart
Of man, from the burning, the oil underground:
Ancient forests exhumed and made to sound
A revolution in machines, that comes to unmake,
The world. What can we do, for can we forsake
The bright baubles of excess, of consumer greed,
And return to our Shalom, of what we just need;
So that Ra may be dethroned, we hear a word,
Softly spoken, but heed it, let it be heard
To say the true amen that enough is enough,
And however hard, how difficult or tough,
This is the word to touch us through the strife,
And to challenge us: choose not death but life.

The Islander: New Bishop Inducts New Dean in 1985

New Bishop Inducts New Dean in 1985

On the 18th of this month two men with new positions vis-à-vis Jersey will come together in a tradition that is hundreds of years old. One will be Bishop Colin James, recently enthroned in Winchester Cathedral, and the other Basil Arthur O'Ferrall. The Venerable Basil O'Ferrall will be sworn in as Jersey's new Dean at the Royal Court in the morning and installed and inducted by the new Bishop as Dean and Rector of St Helier in the evening.

Why should the Bishop of Winchester be involved in such an ancient ceremony? Only because in 1496, when all Channel Islands ties with Normandy had finally been broken, it was no longer considered appropriate for the Islands to be in the French Diocese of Coutances. Henry VII bribed the Pope of that time to give permission for the Channel Isles to be transferred to Salisbury. Another petition by Henry to the Pope, three years later, and a final transference was made to the Diocese of Winchester.

Habits die hard, however, and quite ignoring the Pope's Bulls, the Bishops of Coutances continued to confirm, ordain and induct in the Channel Islands. Moreover, Winchester, being even further away, seemed in no hurry to exert its proper authority. As late as 1564, we find the Bishop of Coutances, in England as French Ambassador, asking to be paid for the services he had rendered to the Channel Islands.

250 years wait

Finally, though, the Church of England decided that this Diocesan Controversy had to be resolved. In 1568 it ordered the Channel Isles to be "separated for ever from the Diocese of Coutances and perpetually united to Winchester". Did the Bishop of Winchester then set sail forthwith to fulfil his duties? Not a bit of it! Jersey men had to wait over 250 years for the first visit of their Bishop.

As Jersey had always been separated, even in the Coutances days, from its Bishop, it felt the need, soon after their Duke of Normandy conquered England, of having someone on the spot to be responsible for ecclesiastical affairs in the islands. So one Robert Merlin is mentioned as Dean of Jersey as early as 1180. But Jersey's Dean is not the same as on the mainland. His full title is "Dean of a Peculiar of the Crown" by which he is appointed. As well as being Dean, he is also Rector of a Parish — for the last 132 years of St Helier — and Judge of the Ecclesiastical Court.

In fact, so close is a Dean of Jersey's authority to that of a Bishop, that since the 14th century he has been entitled to display a crozier or crook on his official seal, just as a Bishop or Abbot would have. Today, his duties are as diverse as sitting with the St Helier Churchwardens on the Parish Wel-fare Board, and opening the proceedings of the Ecclesiastical Court, the States and Parish Assemblies with the traditional prayers in French. More importantly, as head of the Anglican Church in Jersey, his main and difficult task is to guard its traditions while, at the same time, making them relevant to the congregations of today.

Basil O'Ferrall will be the 32nd Dean of Jersey, but he has examples before him of quite "un-Deanish" behaviour — which he would be wise not to emulate. Imagine a 20th century Dean being labelled an outlaw, a traitor or a rebel leader!

In the 14th century Dean Pierre Falayse was outlawed because he dared to usurp the power of the Crown, and his successor, Geoffroi de Carteret, was forever being involved in lawsuits. Later, there was

Dean Bandinel was Jersey's version of the Vicar of Bray. As Rector of St Brelade in 1601, he was a Calvanist, but twelve years later, as Dean, he had to re-establish Anglicanism in the Island. In the Civil War he became leader of the Parliamentarians, though still continuing to pray for the King. When there was a swing in favour of the Royalists, however, his old enemy, the Royalist de Carteret, had him thrown into prison.

Fearful of the fate that awaited him and his son in Gorey Castle, he decided to try to escape to England. So one stormy night saw Dean Bandinel and his son dangling from a rope attached to a small window at the top of the Castle. As the rope was too short the Dean's son fell on to the rocks below, injuring himself severely. As the rope was not strong enough, when the Dean started to climb down it broke and he too was hurled on to the rocks, sustaining frightful and fatal injuries.

At the end of the 18th century Dean Dupre's girth was attributed to the number of turkeys he had eaten — bought by selling the Communion Wine! For getting the Privy Council to reverse the Royal Court's decision concerning an unsavoury character (the Rev. Edward Le Vavasseur dit Durell) Dean Hue was so venomously attacked by the newspapers of the time, that he openly declared his regret at ever having decided to come to Jersey in the first place!

Many, however, will be the good wishes of the Island that, after the Venerable Basil O'Ferrall has been installed and inducted by Winchester's new Bishop, the Island's new Dean will thoroughly enjoy and relish his term of office in Jersey and not regret that he came here.

(Compiled from research by Leslie Sinel).