Guernsey Gazette 2012

This fast approaching Christmas of 2012 has really got me pondering: When you’re not looking where do a full twelve months just disappear to? Sorry, I’ll rephrase that for the Grammar-guerrillas out there – To where do a full twelve months disappear while you look away? Still doesn’t sound too good. Perhaps… Whence goeth a thorough twelve months wheretofore thou peerest not hither?

Anyhoo, my point being, it just seems like we were enjoying Christmas 2011, we slept and blinked a little and here we are at Christmas 2012. Is this a sign of that dreaded middle-agedness catching us up? Or maybe time is really moving faster in the 21st Century? Whatever the case we’ve skipped straight from last year’s Gazette to this year’s without my having written a blogging jot or a tittle in between. Not that I was exactly regular (so to speak) before of course, it’s just that so much has happened this year in the Le Tocq household that you would have thought Old Father Time would have maybe even chosen to slow down a tad and enjoy the view a little. Instead we’ve had a roller-coaster of a year, ups and downs both of a positive kind, where one might say, to twist the usual analogy somewhat, that the downs were certainly as exhilarating as the ups were hard work, but most certainly there were few dull horizontal planes to coast along — the pace was a constant fast and furious!

Firstly this was most assuredly the Year of the Wedding… (of Lucy & Luke, I mean, Judith & I were spliced a good 26 years ago, fear not!) Let me hunt out a photo or two… or more… (since we have a few)

Whilst the said act of wedlock was not held until September, it’s not an inappropriate place to start our year, for it seemed at some points like the whole of the preceding 8 months were simply about preparing for this grand event. In fact, it was I think rather therapeutic for me to hunt out those photos above since now that it’s all done and dusted I was perhaps subliminally in danger of thinking I’d just dreamt it had all happened and that we might have to start again for real this coming January! [It did happen Jon, the wedding took place, she is married, it all went smoothly, now take your tablets and continue...]

And so Mrs. Luke Vidamour she now is of course. Luke and Lucy have established themselves in a lovely 18C cottage in the distant parish of St Martin’s (a good 20 minutes south from Cobo if you drive slowly). Of course The Event was held on a lovely day — the bright shining sun, helpful friends, gifted minstrels, 11C church and 21C marquee all turned up and out very nicely indeed, which considering we did not have a real Plan B (it’s all right I can tell you now) was just as well to be honest!

Seriously we are so very grateful to hordes of family, friends and various other threatened passers-by before, during and after (yes, especially after!) the event as it certainly would not have been the rip roaring success it was without you. In fact it would have been a dozen of us sharing a pork pie in the church yard to be frank. Judith, our bank manager and I are supremely thankful. With a few hundred packed into St Sampson’s Church for the ceremony, a reception in a marquee for 150 at the old medieval Castel Fair Field (you can still see where the cattle were tied up for market, very apt) followed by an evening bash for double that number, all catered for in-house, so to speak, you can imagine that tensions may have been raised a little in the run up! But an army of church folk and friends made it a beautiful day to remember – weekend in fact, as we especially enjoyed catching up with family and friends from around the world the next day at a Feugré Villa BBQ.

The glamorous Grace graduated in and from London this summer, and managed to fit in a couple of Prom performances before quitting the Big Smoke, including singing Beethoven’s 9th with Daniel Barenboim conducting (don’t feel like you need to be impressed, her Dad was and that’s all that really matters!) Here’s a BBC screen capture to prove it -

Grace singing a little Beethoven in BBC Prom, Royal Albert Hall: she’s the one with the lopsided halo

Grace also managed to scoop up a super job back in Guernsey working for Alter Domus — an upcoming AIFM (Alternative Investment Fund Manager to you and me). She continues to sing in the National Youth Choir, Guernsey choirs, church bands and the shower, and formed part of the jazz entertainment at her elder sister’s Wedding Evening Do, along with her father.

Our baby, Emily (also known as Em, Ems, Emsy, The Hair, etc.) reached an incredible 18 years of age this year. It seems like only yesterday she looked like this -

Little Ems a while back at the beach with long time friend Jojos (he’s the one holding his willy) [Sorry Joel, at least we haven't mentioned your surname - hope you're enjoying London - guess you're back in Rennes for Christmas - love to all the Hayter family!]

and yet now she looks like this –

sorry, I meant this (easy mistake) –

That coming of age was not quite so frightening as her passing her driving test (for her parents at least). Fortunately as expected the glamour soon wore off as she was required not only to drive the little Fiat, but also, shock, horror, fill it with fuel occasionally. In her final year at Grammar VI Form Centre now she’s a happy bunny having just received a pretty much firm offer from Bournemouth for next year. Similar to her eldest sister, she’s heading in the Photography-Arty-Designy direction.

In terms of cars, agas and other sagas, not a lot to report… oh except we’ve added a little Peugeot 107 to the mix — as Judith’s personal car of choice — she loves its nippiness, its ability to easily negotiate the little lanes without having to mount the curb (a Guernsey habit) and most of all the fact that it fits so easily into the free, 10 hr long ‘small car parking spaces’ in St Peter Port. Meanwhile Jon still likes the fact that anyone who gets in the way or even threatens to argue with him and his Volvo(s) while he’s seeking a refuelling station (every 30 minutes) simply gets flattened. The simple options are sometimes best.

Apart from that, this year has been perhaps rather uneventful. Let’s think what else I can pad this out with… umm… better consult the wife.

[noises off]

[Judith] Oh well, I suppose there was the incidental accident of Jonathan getting elected as a member of our parliament, the States of Guernsey, and now serving as Deputy Chief Minister. But of course that has not affected our lives in the slightest.

The Ministers who in May 2012 formed Guernsey’s “cabinet” or Policy Council to use the official title, or ugly so-and-sos as we are often affectionately called

[Jon continues] Ah yes, how could we forget! In April Guernsey went to the polls in a General Election to elect a new 47 member Assembly and after a 4 year break (I previously served from 2000-08) a suitably sized seat (XL with XXL head room) was vacated for me. It’s been strange, having decided not to stand for office in 2008, to see how our politics has changed in those 4 years; especially given the portfolio I have been given, a large chunk of which is “external relations”, how much we as the Bailiwick of Guernsey (and indeed the Channel Islands as a whole) have to plough our own furrow internationally now (perhaps plot our own course is a better analogy for islands!) I am enjoying the ride so far, and the plotting too… There are huge challenges facing the whole of Europe, but personally my biggest challenge, and the one I love the most, is to seek to be Christ to people in this often Christ-less rudderless domain. Both Judith and I see this as part of our calling and have already begun to make good friends at home and abroad; we look forward to whatever else this new path brings. One of the things I am less happy about is being referred to as Guernsey’s equivalent to Nick Clegg. Say no more.

Judith continues to nurse part time at the Guernsey Medical Specialist Group and has done various courses in strange therapies this year, including wound care and bandaging. This has entailed members of the family volunteering (even if they were seemingly asleep at the time) to be mummified in various ways as preparation for passing tests and exams. Not a pleasant experience I can assure you, although, Emily said she rather liked the sensation of her leg being bandaged. Jon played the man as usual… moaning and groaning about it. Judith has promised to unbandage it for the New Year.

Our involvement with Church on the Rock continues, but in increasingly different ways than in the past. We are still part of the senior leadership team but this year has been so exciting and fulfilling to see others, especially younger twentysomething leaders taking up roles and responsibilities, and new teams emerging coordinated and managed by Paul Chesworth who since September 2011 has been on staff as Executive Pastor. Paul and his lovely wife Liz are such a blessing to us and bring a resilience to the team which is enabling us to be more released to other things internationally.

It is a pleasure to continue to be involved with Newfrontiers, and more specifically now with Dave Holden’s nascent New Ground team as we seek to break new ground internationally and influence  many arenas especially in Europe.

And finally, talking of travel, we have enjoyed a few trips, excursions, short breaks and for Jon political visits to various familiar and unfamiliar climes, including, early on, a visit to a freezing Dinan in Brittany followed by a fun time at CenterParcs in Normandy with our great friends the Hayters; Nîmes, Avignon & Montpelier to visit dear friends who lead churches and Christian mission in the south of France; Herm (to celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee – well, someone’s got to); Paris in the spring; Tenerife for a few nights early summer; Portugal for a short break just the two of us to recuperate post-nuptially; Bournemouth (Ems & her Dad) to check out the Uni and be hosted by our fab friends the Thompsons; Turkey with others from the New Ground team for an international Christian convention; Amsterdam & The Hague a few weeks ago to speak at leadership and church gatherings, as well Edinburgh, Stirling, Dublin and Brussels for political stuff… not to forget Alderney & Jersey – several times for all sorts of reasons. I’m not sure why folk think we get around a lot! Our possessions sometimes stay for a little longer – Jon’s toilet bag is now returned grâce à nos ami Nîmois after deciding to stay in the Med a little longer, and Judith’s purse and Peugeot keys loved Istanbul so much they stayed there a whole two months extra to see the sights we missed in our 48 hours passing through!

That’s plenty enough for this year’s Gazette [says Judith] all that remains is for us to wish you a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! This Guernsey Gazette is published as ever with our love, and our prayers are that you also know the love of God and the peace only Jesus, the prince of the very same, can bring. May grace abound to you in 2013!

Now, for the first time we sign off as…

JJG&E

Guernsey Gazette 2011

Yummy! Just what you've been waiting for...

Hello again! Time to get that clipboard out and begin checking those boxes: Are those chestnuts roasting? Is that fire open? Tree-tops glistening? Children listening? (Yeah, like!) Days: Merry? Bright? Love-light gleaming? (Er… please explain) Snow? Mistletoe? Presents on the tree? (That’s what the lyrics actually say – On the tree. Ours are always under by the way, never tried the ‘on the tree’ idea, Health & Safety Executive might have a few words to say. Or, it’s just occurred to me that maybe they are very little titchy wee presents perhaps. Now there’s an idea.) OK let’s continue with that box ticking: Heart light? Troubles out of sight? Faithful friends dear and near? Yule-tide gay? (Ooer… let’s leave it there shall we!)

Here we go again then, Christmas eh? Seems like the last one has only just finished! Possibly this is because some shops over here started marketing Christmas ‘crap‘ first week in September (see photo),

Chocolate Santas for sale in September! And what happened to Halloween? No, don't ask!

which was only a couple of months after they had finally got exhausted the January sales of the stuff they didn’t manage to sell last year. This may mean that if global warming conspiracy theorists have their way then we may be entering into a quasi-anti-Narnia era where it’s always Christmas but never winter. Not sure which is worse. Is that what it’s like in Australia and New Zealand anyway? Answers on a post-card… no forget I wrote that… comments below please.

Actually we quite like the changing seasons generally and although being placed in the outflow of the North Atlantic Drift and thus warmed by the waters of the Gulf Stream the Channel Islands maintain a fairly temperate, mild maritime climate – frost is rare, few hibernating animals, plants which are generally annuals in Northern Europe become perennials, palm trees proliferate, high annual sunshine hours – a tax-haven and a veritable subtropical paradise I hear you think…

Summer time at Cobo: 2 min walk from our house

but don’t forget that the word Atlantic is hidden away in North Atlantic Drift!

Cobo Coast road in the winter

So despite the warm ground temperature and blooming flora and fauna nevertheless during the winter months we do get buffeted by incredible thumping, agitating, penetrating, debilitating, tempestuous, progress-defeating winds from the West and Sou-West, like the storm which is upon us now as I write, and which has succeeded in cancelling out ferry sailings to and from the UK for the past three days! Now on a day like today when you get to the top of the hill behind our house and stand (if you can!) and watch that same majestic wind pummeling the sea into shape, seeing great walls of it flung 30ft high and over the coastal defenses, chucking huge 14lb pebbles, along with flotsam and jetsam over the road and onto the roofs and into the gardens of homes on the western seaboard, feeling that same cyclonic blast sweep up the rain to send it horizontally into your face, actually then you can appreciate being alive, and the beauty of the changing the seasons.

Cobo Bay: West coast in the Spring

I love the Spring, the Autumn and the Summer, don’t misunderstand me – from that same vantage point hidden in the little pine copse at the summit of Ruette de la Tour, on a Summer’s day you can see children playing in the sand at Grandes Rocques, fishing boats bobbing for their crab-pots out by Les Grunes, Nor-West of Cobo, picnickers at Port Soif, even hear the smack of leather on willow from the cricketers on La Mare de Carteret – that’s fine and majestic also. But on a day like today you hear nothing but the scream of the wind and your own heartbeat. How wonderful to be alive. Beautiful in every season.

West coast late Autumn

So it was nevertheless a little odd for Guernsey to be gifted with not one but two dollops of snow last winter, just after the time I was writing the GG10. My father said that in his 98 years he had never seen snow before Christmas in the islands. Then in January this year we had some more. Which was entertaining enough in the UK but here in the Channel Islands we just have no real plan for snow; not even 2.5 inches of it (which was about all it amounted to at worst!) So the kids enjoyed snow days, transport came to a standstill on and off the island, everyone stayed indoors and generally one came to the conclusion that just maybe we weren’t living in the 21st Century after all.

2011 was the year we celebrated 25 years of marriage – a quarter-century of coupleness – and fittingly, thanks to the generosity of friends we were able to celebrate this with an out-of-this-world-but-very-much-still-in-it holiday at a resort aptly named Couples in Jamaica. For two weeks. Two weeks?! Just the two of you? What on earth did you do for two weeks? I again hear you think. Well the answer to that is for us to know and for you to guess. Suffice to say we feel suitably qualified to host fulfilled married life seminars for a few more years to come.

We got married in August 1986, but the holiday offer was for February, so that is when we went, which included Valentines Day thrown in, so… Ah! all sweet and nice and romantic, slushy-wushy, nostalgia-isn’t-what-it-used-to-be, and the like. Yes, it was beautiful and for us very timely as the latter months of 2010, over the Christmas period and into January 2011 we had begun to struggle to look after Dad at home. On Christmas Day last year he was feeling pretty weak, but decided to sit up in his chair for lunch, and we gathered around him and his beloved Hammond as a family in the morning to sing a few carols and songs (happily andtearfully!) with Dad lifting up his hands at certain points and crying out “Take me Jesus!” in Guernsey French! Yep! Just a little on the emotional side.

Papa Le Tocq with his family, Christmas Day 2010

We had the kindly help of a fantastic bunch of Care Attendants and Nurses who would drop by three times a day towards the end (not forgetting Betty who had been Mum and Dad’s Home Help for over 14 years!), but even then when you’re caring for someone near and dear to you, knowing he is finding it difficult to live on another day, emotionally stretched endeavoring to keep him stimulated, comfortable, interested in eating even, being on call via a bell/life-line system, waking sometimes three times in the night for toilet lifts, or to pick him up off the floor because he ‘didn’t want to disturb us again’ and had fallen down trying to do it himself, clearing up after accidents, hosting a regular stream of visitors to see Dad (some with strong if genuinely concerned ‘opinions’ as to how we should be caring for him), as well as looking after a teenage family, doing a fair day’s work both in ‘caring professions’ too… it’s not just the physical tiredness that builds up! Dad could appreciate this too, long gone were the times where we could leave him with a family member and although he did not like hospitals, when the opportunity for two weeks respite care came up he encouraged us to take it. With Dad safely in hospital while we were away, this helped us to find space and time to think, pray and consider how we would face the future. We had checked out a few nursing homes and in direct answer to prayer, on our return the one that was top of our list informed us that Dad could move in within a few days. He spent exactly one month there before slipping peacefully away in his sleep one night in April, and like Mum three and half years earlier, we were happy that we had cared for and nursed him at home with us all those years excepting just a few weeks near the end. It was a great celebration at Church on the Rock, too many happy funny memories to recount, but Lucy and I shared from our perspectives and Grace led the singing of one of Papa’s (and his Mum before him) favourite old French hymns “Christ est ma vie” [Christ is my life].

I share this not so much to air my confession to the world, but because I know that many of you dear folk out there are either going through similar times with loved ones, or will face it sooner or later. We faced it early compared to most because of the peculiarities of my adoption and my parents age and longevity. But it amounts to the same thing. Be encouraged, we felt stretched in every way – you will too – but it’s worth it all, we feel alive, satisfied, fulfilled, and we’ve been able to grieve healthily with no regrets.

Also finally we were able to resolve the tombstone problem which had irked us since we buried Mum in 2007. In digging Mum’s grave they had hit rock and so had informed us that there would not be room for another coffin in the same grave, Dad would probably have to buried alongside when the time came. This unexpected problem was compounded by Dad’s realization that the cost of the masonry, already causing him to be aghast, would now be doubled. So he had insisted that we put one stone, in between the two graves, with engraved arrows pointing the relative direction of the respective deceased, e.g. “Millie, here ->… Will, there <-" As you may imagine, this did not exactly meet with our approval, but never mind how much we tried to persuade him otherwise, he insisted he would not have us waste our money on two headstones. As a result no stone was erected in the last four years. However when the time came this year the sextant informed us that there was in fact room for Dad's coffin after all, and so that is where we laid him, with no need for two stones, nor directional arrows, etc. Phew!

Judith got a permanent job this year (she had been working in two part-time casual positions since returning as a qualified nurse – a few hours per week in Community and a few in a Clinic). She now works for the Medical Specialist Group – the private group of consultants and specialists that are contracted to do the work normally undertaken by NHS at Hospitals in the UK. It involves seeing both private and government-funded (through public insurance) patients. It is not a lot more in terms of hours (20 per week) but now these are contracted hours so we have to plan time off a little more carefully in advance. She's really enjoying it though and she's part of a great team of nurses.

Our boat, Bare Necessities, has not been used so much this year, or should I say Judith has not used our boat so much this year! Read GG10 from last year to discover perhaps one reason for this. However despite the wicked winter we had an incredibly mild Spring and Jon and the girls enjoyed a few excursions on the water, taking friends over to neighbouring islands, and in the Easter holidays even a wonderful evening sunset picnic (lovingly prepared by loving daughters) on a beach on the east coast of Herm overlooking St Peter Port – absolutely delightful!

Sunset picnic in Herm, April.

Judith has however overcome some of her conservative inhibitions and ventured into the Apple Mac world through the acquisition of an iPad – which she loves. Although I am still trying to get her to do a tutorial. It really bugs me when she discovers something simple by accident and exclaims “Oo! Look! It can do this!” Still, this is progress.

This has been a year of shedding pounds, not only if you, like us, hold shares in European equities, but for Judith and me, also shedding weight, real body mass. Without going on a diet! Yes. We have just consumed a bit less, and week by week we have ballooned a bit less. We’re thinking of marketing this incredible technique, so here’s a sneak preview of the opening chapter:

“Eat a little less.”

Revolutionary & remarkable eh? Wonder why no-one’s thought of that before. To be fair we have also been going to talk to someone each week about what we’ve been eating and getting ourselves weighed which brings me to a sneak preview of the second chapter. Here it is:

“Talk to someone about this.”

Oh yes, I can see this book really selling in the millions. I wanted to call it “The Dunce’s Diet” but Judith tells me we’re not really on a diet, and she’s right, I don’t feel like I am. Which is good news indeed. Not much exercise has accompanied this weight reduction experience although Judith did go to a couple of Zumba sessions with Lucy. I did not accompany them, but was sufficiently bemused by the fact that my wife crawled back into the house each time, exhausted, panting, red-faced, sweaty (sorry, glowing) complaining of aches and pains, and yet my daughter’s comment was “Mum, you’re not even trying!”

Emily became a voter this year (in Guernsey Politics) and also has begun driving! “Our baby is driving cars! Arrhhh!” But don’t worry, so far she’s only managed to drive one at a time. And only with supervision. [Interesting word that, supervision. It's not as glamorous as it sounds is it?] But returning to our baby Ems, what happened to all those years? She’s now passed her GSCEs and moved on to Guernsey Grammar’s Sixth Form Centre where she’s studying Art, Photography and Media Studies.

Grace had a bit of an up and down year at Uni, partly because she was away for a lot of the time her Papa was dying (although she miraculously made it back on the boat in stormy seas to say ‘goodbye’ a few hours before he passed away), but she has now entered into her final year in London and has great prospects of a job with Sovereign Trust, a young up and coming outfit based in Guernsey where she has had a holiday job for the past two years. She seems to have taken an interest in actuarial science. Hmm… suppose someone has to. In the Summer, as part of the National Youth Choir of Great Britain Grace sang in a BBC Prom at the Albert Hall. Now we try never to boast about our kids here so, let me just say that it was Mahler 2 “Resurrection Symphony” and Gustavo ‘The Dude” Dudamel was conducting the Simon Bolivar Orchestra. You can hear the incredible finale here. It is probably my favourite symphony of all time, but the day was made that much more memorable by the fact that Judith and I could not get seats (all tickets went within a few minutes of the box office opening months before!) and so we had to do like all good promenaders do and queue for seven hours or so outside to pay £5 each for a standing-room-only ticket and hope to get in. They turned over a thousand away. Fortunately we did get in. The last time we did this we were students! We were entertained during the long, hot day of standing/sitting/lying in line by happening to be positioned near a stalwart promenader who also happened to be Mahler’s greatest living fan. You can guess the rest.

Lucy, now 22, we are proud to announce… invested in a classic British Mini this year, which means she has enjoyed all the thrills of classic British motor car ownership including uncomfortable driving positions, being nearly impossible to get in and out of, unpredictable suspension, rust, water seepage, breakdowns, expensive repairs, with enough storage capacity for a couple of sandwiches, along with the knowledge that she is driving a car everyone double-takes, admires and coos at, and is privately thankful that they do not own. Seriously, though, we are proud to announce that Lucy has got engaged to her long-standing and only boyfriend Luke Vidamour (of CourageHaveCourage fame – a Guernsey band that played at Reading/Leeds Festivals this year for those of you in the know! Grace’s boyfriend Ollie is also in the band. We’re in the process of considering Emily’s options.) We are absolutely delighted, over-the-moon, and hey-diddle-diddle about them! What a great year! A wedding is being planned for late next summer.

We renovated the flat in the wing of Feugré Villa that we original established for Dad and Mum to move into in 2004, and now we have a useful little one-bedroom unit (with space for a few little’uns if necessary) for friends to use. You read that correctly. Since the summer we have also had a lodger living with us in the rooms above the flat. Luke, an unfortunate choice of name for a Le Tocq lodger (earning him the nicknames Luke No.2, or Luke-the-lesser) is a great bloke who just happens to be a manager at Waitrose too, which, shall we say, comes in handy from time to time.

We paid the regular annual visit to the White House, Herm, on our actual Wedding Anniversary in August, also a family holiday in France, around St Palais-sur-Mer as usual.

Les belles filles, Talmont-sur-Gironde

This was an historic year as we finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia, having read one book in the series virtually every year we have been on our annual French holiday since Emily was old enough to join in. It was of course the Last Battle this year. Laughs were laughed, tears were shed, and there were the usual requests late in the night for “just another chapter, oh pleeeeease!”

Other countries have also featured significantly in our forays this year, especially Romania, to visit our growing gang or friends in Brasov and Iasi – what incredible saints! Also we enjoyed sorties to Portugal, Belgium and the Netherlands for the first time. The Low Countries trip was initiated by our developing friendship with New Wine Europe, and was especially fascinating and encouraging. Brussels, Amsterdam & Eindhoven featured, along with a stop in Den Haag to check out Chris Taylor’s excellent Redeemer International church. All opening up warm new friendships in ministry and mission. We feel very much at one with our brothers and sisters in these nations often facing very similar issues to us. France increasingly features again on the ministry radar as we work with the Newfrontiers churches based there to see more mission, growth, leadership development and church planting in that nation ripe for revival.

One of the factors which has released Jon more outside of the local church this year has been the addition of Paul Chesworth to our staff as executive pastor. Paul and Jon have known each other for over nine years as Paul has been a Methodist minister in Guernsey during that time and worked with Jon in Evangelical Alliance and New Wine environments. Paul and Liz have been an immediate huge asset to the church and we are so grateful that miraculously they have been granted permission to remain here with us.

You may have noticed that there hasn’t been much name-dropping in this GG. I’ve really come to dislike name-droppers, as I was telling the Queen only a couple of weeks ago, I was contacted recently by the media to ask me to comment on why I was the third most followed Guernsey personality on Twitter. Of course that was easy; #1 & #2 aren’t real Guernsey personalities! Jenson Button (#1, with a mere 706, 103 following him – it’ll be over 750k by the time you’ve read this I guess!) is a UK ex-pat who moved here only 12 months ago, and Andy Priaulx (#2, with a meagre 14,432) is just his friend. Priaulx is a French name anyway. I’m only 13,583 behind too. They’re both into motor racing, now where can you do that in Guernsey? So they spend all their time elsewhere. Yes, and there are at least two other Guerns I know who tweet regularly, not counting Judith who is on Twitter but regularly forgets her password so does not. [Don't forget to follow me on Twitter by the way - here!]

So that’s it for this year folks! Drink up that mulled wine now and get back to some proper work. Your country needs you. And even if not, the EU does.

Much love to all of you this Christmas – May the God of all grace grant that you defy the current economic logic of the prophets of doom and let Peace and Prosperity be yours in the New Year!

JJLGE

(We’re still here)

Is Revival Sufficient?

Don't they look, er... young! Do you recognize any faces?

I recently came across an article which awakened old passions. Have you ever had that experience?

It was like a fragrance, or an old melody which has the powerful effect of taking you back not just mentally but emotionally to sensations, affections and desires which you once knew and experienced keenly for the first time.

I have not blogged here at all for a few months, since the new year in fact, during which time my dear old Dad of 98 who has been living with us for the last 7 years was deteriorating slowly, as I have mentioned before. But latterly his condition requiring more and more of our energies as we sought to care for him and make his final weeks as comfortable as possible.

Death is never easy, even for those who’s one remaining hope is to make it through over that threshold which my Mum beat him to three years ago; our poor bodies still demonstrate the degrading effects of sin, even when our souls are healed and our spirits safe in Christ Jesus. Dad graduated to glory last month and we have been remembering, laughing, weeping, rejoicing and generally coming to terms with his absence, grateful for the assurance that he’s so much better off now. So whilst I haven’t felt able to continue with the blog as frequently as I would have liked, I have continued to journal as always (which I find so personally beneficial to my devotional life) and I have also come across some fascinating old memories as we’ve been gradually sorting through Dad’s books, papers and music. It was an old tattered copy of All Hail King Jesus (one of the first Bible Week Songbooks I remember using after being baptized in the Holy Spirit in the early 1980s) along with some notes and cuttings stuffed inside it whilst alerted me to this article.

Entitled Is revival sufficient? it was written by Bryn Jones, one of the founding fathers of the move of God which began in the early 1970s, largely in the UK, and which resulted in what has been variously termed the British New Church (or House Church) Movement, Restorationism, Neo-Pentecostalism, et al. Bryn had a Welsh non-conformist background and could preach up a storm, but he was also a brilliant story teller, a communicator from the heart and had a wide following especially across the north of Britain as well as North America, where he lived for a while. Sadly he died less than a decade ago in his early sixties, a relatively young age. He left a legacy through Covenant Ministries International (CMI), various training colleges, several spin-off networks of churches led by previous team members, recordings and writings, including books and magazines (I think I still have nearly 50% of the total editions of Restoration magazines ever published! It was one of those reads, in my late teens and early 2os, which I picked up from Church each quarter – if I remember correctly – and read from cover to cover before sunset that night! Every article seemed like gold-dust. You can read some fascinating excerpts here)  The article I read was evidently written in Bryn’s latter years. I didn’t ever adhere or appreciate everything Bryn and other CMI leaders stood for, I preferred the same vision but accompanied with a more relational, fatherly apostolic stance of Terry Virgo which is why you find our church in Newfrontiers Today. But in this article Bryn touches upon some of the themes which originally enlivened my hopes and dreams for a united New Testament fashioned church, not yet perfect (for the fullness of the Kingdom will not come till Jesus returns) but set free from the dividing walls of denominationalism, not just seeing masses saved as in revival times of old – which is great and ever needed – but together in any one given locality working to be salt and light, to bring the Kingdom power into every nook and cranny of villages, towns and cities; to see city-wide and island-wide overseers & elderships emerge where the people of God, whether gathered in homes, chapels, schools, cathedrals or concert halls, would know themselves as of one vision “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.” [Ephesians 4:12-16]

See what you think! Here’s the article:

“The word revival means different things to different people. In North America it could mean an evangelistic crusade, or then again, it could be a visitation of God in a single church in a city, as in recent times in Brownsville, Pensacola or Toronto, Canada. For many Christians it refers to a very widespread visitation of God on a locality or nation, such as the Great Awakening in the 18th century with Jonathan Edwards or in our more recent history, the Welsh Revival and the Hebridean Awakening, when the whole vicinity was marked by the sense of the presence of God.

Unfortunately, many Christians view ‘revival’ through rose coloured spectacles. They believe it to be a panacea for all that is wrong with the church, and the answer to every crisis in our world. History shows that this is not the case. The purpose of God is hastened and advanced by Spiritual visitation, but the goal of His purpose cannot be achieved simply by revival.

There are other vital factors to consider. My earliest memories as a Christian are those of listening to stirring accounts of the great Welsh Revival of 1904, related by a white-headed, wrinkled-faced, bright-eyed old man. I would sit for hours listening incredulously to stories of pubs being emptied as chapels filled up; how the miners would go down into coal-pits singing the praises of God; homes and families were transformed, and in some towns crime dropped to an almost non-existent level. I seemed to hear singing in the heavens and to see the cloud of God’s presence hovering over the hills, so caught up was I in the fervour of his stories. I began reading avidly about the Great Awakening, and decided one day to make a pilgrimage to the places referred to in the various accounts. It was this journey that brought me to a cold, rude awakening.

As we examine the history of those times, we quickly see that it is impossible to divorce that great spiritual awakening in Wales with what the Spirit of God was doing around the world, for at the turn of the 20th century God was pouring His Spirit out in many countries.

Although Evan Roberts was the most prominent of the many revivalists in the Awakening in Wales (there were many others, such as Dan Roberts, Hank and Seth Joshua, Sydney Evans, Mary Davies, Anne Davies and Priscilla Watkins), such was the power released in this sovereign act of God’s visitation that thousands of people moved into the Kingdom without any special preacher being present at all.

A Growing Hunger

After the first great wave of spiritual awakening had subsided, euphoria and enthusiasm gave way to a deep hunger in the hearts of God’s people. Thousands began meeting in earnest prayer in cottage meetings. Their desire was to know God more intimately and to experience an even deeper life in the Holy Spirit. Young men began calling on God to restore His spiritual authority and leadership in the Church. Through reading the scriptures, they became convinced of the necessity of God’s ministries of apostle and prophet being restored. Among such men were Daniel Powell Williams and Thomas Jones, who became early pioneers of what is now known as the Apostolic Church of Wales.

Denominational Reaction

Whereas the initial wave of revival power had been received with joy, the further demonstration of God’s presence in the Church that of the spiritual gifts of tongues, prophecy, healings and miracles, was met with widespread resistance. By and large, ‘speaking in tongues’ was viewed as ‘extremism’ or an expression of fleshly behaviour. Many denominations spoke out strongly against these things as ‘works of the devil’. Thousands of believers were forced into leaving their churches.

The subtleties of Satan continued to assault those who were baptised with the Spirit, dividing them over church government, the exercising of spiritual gifts and various different shades of doctrine until within a short time the word ‘Pentecostal’, which had been associated with this outpouring, covered a very wide spectrum of new denominational and non-denominational independent allegiances.

The Harsh Reality

It was while on pilgrimage to the various places that had figured so prominently in that early move of God at the turn of the century that the harsh reality dawned on me. Those great empty chapels, whose rafters had heard the singing of a thousand hearts, whose floors had been washed by the tears of the repentant, were today merely lifeless monuments to a glorious past like extinct volcanoes dotting the Welsh landscape. In many places of worship I saw a mere handful of people, mainly elderly, totally devoid of fervour or enthusiasm, occupying pews near the back of a hall. Sometimes I would stand in the emptiness, tears rolling down my cheeks, not feeling the overwhelming presence of God but rather the sorrowing heart of my Lord. It was difficult to conceive that these were the same places that, in the first two months of the Awakening, had seen some 70,000 converts swept into the Kingdom of God. ‘Ichabod’ (‘glory is departed’) was no longer some obscure Hebrew word but a dreadful reality in the stale and musty air of these chapels. God’s absence was more real than His presence. I began to question deeply the reality and significance of what I had heard and of the reports I had read. If revival had happened, what had gone wrong? What was the purpose of such a mighty visitation of God which ended like this? Within one generation almost all trace of spiritual awakening in Wales had disappeared.

Salutary Lessons of the Time

Although one does not profess to be able to give all the factors involved, some things emerge clearly from a study of that period. Firstly, the revival had been a time of great visitation in saving of souls, sweeping thousands into the Kingdom and filling the churches with a praising people. However, it had not severed the root of self-interest, private agendas, jealousy or denominational and sectarian differences. There are many accounts of ministers of various denominations in the same town burying their differences, shaking hands before the crowds of people and joining together in great services of praise, however, because the axe was not laid to the root, the differences re-emerged as the wave of visitation subsided. Any awakening that does not deal with the root of independence; individualism, sectarianism and denominationalism will be deficient.

Executive bodies, committees and councils began to emerge. The pattern shows all the hallmarks of the subtlety, ingenuity and deception of spiritual forces. Having spoken to many who remember the emergence of these things, I am convinced that it was not the intention of their hearts at that time but a gradual slide which has produced the paralysis of church life existent in much of our country today.

Restoration the Answer

There are prophets of gloom and doom who would say that this is inevitable; that this will always occur. We cannot subscribe to that view. There is, within our hearts, a faith that declares: the Church of God will emerge in unity, in power and in glory at the end time, just as God says it will.

‘In the last days the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established as chief among the mountains; it will be raised above the hills, and all nations will stream to it.’ (Isaiah 2:2).

The Church will be seen as a bride adorned for His appearing

‘I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.’ (Revelation 21:2).

This conviction leads us now to pray with greater understanding concerning the next Awakening. For we now know that a revival that will merely sweep thousands into the Kingdom, filling our chapels and churches is insufficient in itself. Spiritual awakening must restore in the hearts of God’s people a unity that is based, not upon common denominational allegiance, but upon our common relationship through Jesus Christ.

It must be a revival that will restore us to being a people whose sole constitution is the Word of God. We will not look to committees, councils and executive bodies to govern us, nor will democracy be the norm for the churches, but it will be a move of God that will restore apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers to function fully in the Body of Christ. These ministries will, in all humility and godly fear, seek His face corporately in every city to lead the church of God forward as a Kingdom of Priests to today’s world. God’s people will recognise and joyfully receive those whom God has set over them in the faith. Our cities will be filled, not with competitive churches, but with a united community of God’s redeemed people, embracing each other as those whom God has accepted. For many this may prove to be an unachievable dream, but for a growing number of others this is a driving objective to their ministry of Restoration. Anything short of this is short of the heart of God.

‘Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.’ (Isaiah 58:12).

Present Pointers

We can view the last fifty years of charismatic outpouring around the world in the light of some of the salutary lessons above. Today the Holy Spirit has brought an acceptance of spiritual gifts and miracle healings throughout the Body of Christ and there is no denomination that has remained entirely untouched. Revival is not enough if it does not restore to us the purity of sanctified life, the blessing of spiritual anointing and gifts, the humility of heart to acknowledge God’s government, and the submission of our lives to those God sets over us in His Church. Revival is not enough if it does not axe through the roots of our denominational differences, independent attitudes or self centred living.

Revival is not enough as far as the heart of God and the needs of our generation are concerned. Revival must give rise to related community life; ecclesiastical appointments must give way to apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers working together. Any spiritual awakening that does not ultimately bring these dimensions into the life of the Church will be shallow experience and will inevitably follow the well-trodden path of decline back into the slough of spiritual paralysis and sectarian strife.

So it is that across the world enlightened people are praying and working for nothing less than a great ‘Restoration’ that will return the Church of God to its spiritual foundation – God’s spiritual government and Heaven’s divine power. Revival must lead on to Restoration!

‘Awake, awake, O Zion, clothe yourself with strength. Put on your garments of splendour, O Jerusalem, the holy city. The uncircumcised and defiled will not enter you again. Shake off your dust; rise up, sit enthroned, O Jerusalem. Free yourself from the chains on your neck, O captive Daughter of Zion.’ [Isaiah 52:1-2].

‘Listen! Your watchmen lift up their voices; together they shout for joy. When the Lord returns to Zion, they will see it with their own eyes. Burst into songs of joy together, you ruins of Jerusalem, for the Lord has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. The Lord will lay bare his holy arm in the sight of all the nations, and all the ends of the earth will see the salvation of our God.’ [Isaiah 52:8-10].

‘Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.’ [Isaiah 58:12]“

Pronunciaʃən, Melbən & the Renəhans

Claire and Judith in Melbourne

The only way to have a friend is to be one.
–Ralph Waldo Emerson

So… let’s return to my journal and our travels. Where were we? Ah  yes! Down Under of course. Before I headed off for the next part of my travels which would see us parting in easterly and westerly directions around the globe – me, for nearly a month in the USA, and Judith heading back home, and nearing the end of our enlightening and enriching time in Sydney, we had planned in a few days a little further south, in Melbourne to be precise, and to visit some really great friends whom sadly we rarely see. What a refreshing blessing this turned out to be!

We found ourselves regularly ridiculed for pronouncing the place Mel-boor-ne. How were we to know? Looks like Sittingbourne, Bournemouth, the Bourne Trilogy, yunno. But apparently only a Pom would say it that way. To an Ozzie it’s Mel’bən, which for those of you who don’t understand what an ə means in phonetics, basically, it’s that nondescript excuse-for-a-vowel ‘uh‘ sound you get in so many languages. So for a Brit you pronounce Melbourne like it rhymes assonantly with Selsden. But thankfully that’s where any similarity ends.

Damien (should that be Damiən?) and Claire Renehan (perhaps Renəhan?) – looks so chic with the e inverted don’t you think? – live in a leafy suburb of the city called Kew (pronounced Queue, but you knew that eh? All British readers are currently thinking “How else could you pronounce it?”) with their four hale and healthy children.

Claire with her 4 loveys - Lucy, Pru, Oliver & Phoebe... (Judith & I are hiding in there too somewhere)

This wonderfully warm family are our good friends because way back in the weighty-eighties Claire was in the same class as Judith at University College Hospital, London when they were both Student Nurses. Claire also started attending church with us, Southfields Baptist Church, where we were involved with student ministry and worship in particular. Then eventually a few years later Claire rented a room in a church property where Judith also lived for a while before we were married.

Southfields Grid near Wimbledon Park London SW19

Known initially as the Singles’ House, the typical terraced abode on what is still affectionately called the Grid (distinguishing it from the similarly creatively designed Toast-rack in Wandsworth) was in effect a manse rented out to a few of the growing number of students and singles in the church who needed to find accommodation nearby; the name sort of advertised the fact that the occupants were somehow unattached (although Judith was actually engaged to me at the time!) Fortuitously very soon the property became nick-named Clonmore after the street it was situated in, to the relief of all its occupants who preferred not to advertise their potential conjugal prospects.

We had many laughs and adventures at Clonmore! I used to drop in regularly to get a decent meal; I was based in college halls of residence just down the road where the concept of edible let alone haute cuisine was foreign to the catering staff, most of whom were also foreign, but sadly not from nations like France or Italy, which might have helped matters. I think their culinary training was undertaken mainly in Siberia or Nazi Germany perhaps.

So a once-a-week meal at Clonmore was well worthwhile enduring the dinner conversation. By that I mean to say that you needed a fairly ferric constitution around the dinner table as Claire and Judith and often several other nurses were present, whose table talk would naturally and frequently wander into detailed descriptions of some surgical venous thrombectomy, gangrenous ulcer, frontal lobotomy, or at the very least some over-sized piles or oozing pussy wounds they had observed that day. Hunger can embolden and reinforce the queasiest stomach, and so I learned amazingly to accommodate this inappropriate meal time banter as if it were Wagner played as background music while I dined in Tel Aviv. Thus years later, I was the only one who managed to continue eating my spaghetti bolognese whilst we watched the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan.

Claire became Judith’s best friend and so when we were married in the August of 1986 it was a given that she should be Chief Bridesmaid. A few years later Claire met an Australian hunk of a nurse (midwife to be precise!), Damien, who would soon become her husband and entice her away to the Southern Hemisphere where they could continue to nurse together, surf, get a decent tan, and produce four offspring in their spare time. They had visited us once in Guernsey many moons ago, so this was our chance to reciprocate, and we did so with great pleasure!

Flying down from Sydney to Melbourne you are conscious of just how huge a place Australia is. On the in-flight map it looked like we could have strolled there if we hadn’t been so lazy, but then you notice how long it takes to fly (about 1hr 25 minutes) and what distance the small line of travel city-to-city in the south-eastern tip of the country actually represents (440 miles) i.e. about the same distance as London to Geneva, but that passes over 3 or 4 countries, and looks quite some distance on a European map, whereas in the would-be-island continent of Australia it hardly makes an impression.

We were only with the Renehans for a few days, but they wined us and dined us and made us feel like we’d spent a month there packing things in. They also made us feel so very much at home which turned out to be just what we needed having been extrapetra¹ for so long now. Their children are a real credit to them and were so warm and welcoming to us also; it’s not at all easy for kids to hit it off and be all jovial and chummy with their parents’ friends right from the word go – we’ve known many who are just plain awkward with strangers – but we found the reverse to be the case chez Renehan! Maybe it’s Damien’s family’s Irish Catholic camaraderie winning through, maybe they’ve just trained their children to be so super-kind and hospitable, maybe it’s a bit of both, but whatever it is we were pleased to experience it and sad to have to leave.

The Roman Catholic community here seems remarkably charismatic. It is also very youth-focused; we heard much about the 2008 World Youth Day events (lasting 14 days in fact) which whilst a Catholic initiative, based in Sydney, but was so huge (we’re talking hundreds of thousands of people) and encompassed other cities like Melbourne, and engaged other churches and leaders from protestant and evangelical traditions, in massive city-wide activities of witness, worship and mission. Young people and youth leaders from all over the world travelled to Australia to be part of it, many hosted by families, like the Renehans, who in turn were clearly spiritually and emotionally moved and enthused by the fellowship and momentum this all engendered. Bible study, public witness, testimony, prayer, drama, music, creative arts, acts of kindness and mercy were all encouraged and promoted during the two weeks of events, and it seemed to have had a lasting effect on the community. It was the largest public event Australia has ever seen.

The splendid Xavier College, Melbourne

Whilst we were there Damien showed me the magnificent school he attended as a boy, with spectacular views over the city, Claire took Judith and me shopping downtown, on a wonderful English-style tram-ride, lunch by the river, cup-cakes in the lanes, walks in the woods, we played games with their kids, helped with homework, read stories, laughed and joked so much, both Damien and Claire cooked us incredibly delicious meals, and most ineluctably Damien showed us the house (quite nearby) where Kylie was brought up. No idea why we should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.

Catching a vintage tram downtown

We also visited Claire’s dear parents who have now retired nearby having lived in Australia before, but when we first knew Claire were for the most part based in Petts Wood, Kent. That was where we last had afternoon tea with them so many years ago. Whilst having aged like the rest of us Mr & Mrs Archibald were yet as warmly affectionate and indulgent as ever, in the most proper, English way. So we reminisced and laughed and enjoyed an elegant sufficiency of afternoon tea including cucumber sandwiches and real china cups until we had lamentably to beg their leave, down the last dregs of Darjeeling and depart.

The capacity of our digestive systems notwithstanding, we managed to acquire an extra few pounds in Australia, and it wasn’t surprising really. With all our hosts’ generous gastronomic provisions coupled with the many decently priced restaurants and cafés we frequented the ensuing results meant that I unfortunately managed to blend in more with the general American street scene when I arrived in San Francisco a week or so later. Up until this point the USA had been for me “sweet land of liberty from feeling bad about my size and weight”.

Australia however did generally manage to be generous with its food without being over-saccharine, adding cinnamon and super-sizing everything. Mind you, having said that, it was in Melbourne that we succumbed to the inevitable cup-cake bonanza phenomenon that had hit hard here as much as the rest of the world. In one cup-cake emporium Claire led us to, which boasted in the width of its gamut of choice, it was possible to procure such a plethora of the said confection that I was frankly tempted to ask for a “Marmite & Port Boysenberry Caramel Mallow Skinny Frappe Cup-cake hold the Jimmies² please” just to test them out some. At length I settled for a plain and simple “Lemon & Raspberry Double White Chocolate Chip” variety, but was stunned when the assistant responded with “What size would you like that in?”

Cup-cake cornucopia!

For a moment I wondered whether the correct reply might be? What is the correct nomenclature for cup-cake sizes? Venti… Grande… Lungo… or even 36D perhaps? I plumped for “regular” which is, I often hope, in such culturally embarrassing situations, a universal metaphor for medium. And so I enjoyed my huge ordinary cup-cake filled internally and externally with all kinds of sweet somethings.

Our world-wind tour of all thing Mel’bən was drawing to a close; soon we’d be flying back to Sydney for a few days, just the two of us, near the beautiful Coogee beach, to review, relax and take in a little more of Sydney before we went our separate ways – Judith back home to help Grace move to London for her first year at Uni, and I, eastwards, but then suddenly extreme west (crossing the International Date Line) as I flew across the Pacific to the USA.

One thing was for certain, we were really glad to have planned in a visit to Melbourne and the Renehan family.

Jonəθən

___________                                                                                                                       ¹extrapetra = ‘absent de l’isle’ as we’d say in the States of Guernsey; lit. off the rock (Latin of course, silly)

²jimmies = hundreds & thousands or nonpareils for the Brits and Yanks who don’t understand

Guernsey Gazette 2010

One day all annual newsletters will be like this.

We interrupt this blog in order to broadcast an annual cherished august literary phenomenon known as the Guernsey Gazette. Its international popularity is the stuff of legend, and we are shameless in choosing this little piece of ether in which to publish it this year. For those of you ‘tuning in’ to this iGazette who are accustomed to the more tangible calligraphic editions of the past, sorry. This year we have decided to pilot this prototype e-version (or should that be i-version, I’m never sure?) because

• this blog has proved popular with so many people who don’t normally get sent the regular manuscript Guernsey Gazette (GG) by post; we want you newcomers to share in these previously exclusive joys without incurring additional over-budget expense to ourselves, naturally,
• we also want to test out whether this method of publication and delivery will cause any significant dents in the supernal popularity of this annual organ, and
• on-line is so cool, trendy and way-to-go innit?

Moreover, to be blunt, you can like it or lump it, as there was just no way a GG was going to be produced in the normal Noahic way this year in time for the festive posting. Just wouldn’t have happened. So it’s this or nowt.

What normally happens is that around the end of October, Judith opines to Jonathan “Have you thought about what you’re going to write in the Gazette this year?” to which he replies “Don’t be silly, there’s plenty time yet! Summer’s only just gone.” Then, mid November Judith tries again with a “Any progress on the Gazette front?” which is greeted traditionally by “I’ve got loads of things jotted down in my journal.” What this refers to is Jon’s custom during the year to use a page at the back of his trusty Moleskine journal (see here for an explanation) to note down any significant, memorable, funny family happenings which might then be suitably embellished to form the annual Gazette in due time. These last couple of years have seen Jon’s iPhone (4 now – yes, he has upgraded, thanks for asking, and yes, he does like it… very much… almost as much as matrimonially, one might say – ‘one’ being Judith, generally) brought into the fray as a means of recording bits and bobs from life under the notes app.

Come the end of November, Judith’s pleas are beginning to sound liturgical; “I do not want to presume that you’ve finished the Gazette yet, but can I remind you that it will be December next week?” To which Jon intones the antiphon “Calm down dear! No need to worry.” Finally as advent eventually ventures upon us Judith disconsolately attempts one last effort with “Is the GG ready? I’m posting the cards in a few days.” Which is generally met with a ceremonial pause after which Jon’s irascible response is something like “What! How? *¡%?*•$@ €*≠¶¿§! Now you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me? I haven’t even started it yet!”

After another solemn pause usually Jon speaks again, more calmly this time, offering something like “Well at least I’ve got the stuff in my Moleskine and on my iPhone… I’ll work on that”

And this is how events transpired this year, only that when Jon did consult his Moleskine and iPhone the combined list of things to write about consisted of

• Lucy  > U fys grad job sw/cones
• Grace > Oli  d/test job
• Ems > job tall (hair=+12”)
• Judith + nursing
• Dad
• Rom
• F<Bt
• L/St P
• New York?

Now not only did this not add up to much, most of it made very little sense… to anyone, least of all Jon, who began to believe that he’d jotted most of it down whilst asleep. How could this year have been so dull? For one ghastly moment, and, having decided that this was definitely the year to launch iGazette, Jon thought of publishing the whole thing in  Comic Sans just to liven things up a bit. But don’t worry, none of us is that cruel. And then, all of a sudden (Note: has it ever occurred to you what a bizarre expression that is? I mean, as opposed to ‘two thirds of a sudden’ perhaps, or ’37.4% of a sudden’?) revelation, inspiration and not a little perspiration came! How could any of us forget? 2010 was without doubt

THE YEAR OF THE BOAT

This is not our boat... it's one of many cruise liners visiting St Peter Port

So, I hope you are sitting comfortably, as I have a tale to tell. And as it is now so unusually close to Christmas, you deserve to have a glass of something warming in one hand and a nibble or two or something else in t’other. Only that would mean that you could not hold your laptop properly, or have you got an iPad now? Really… how novel and chic. And do you like it? Wait a minute, where was I? Are yes, the boat. Actually maybe that was what ‘F<Bt’ referred on Jon’s iPhone list, not some strange mathematical formula or mistyped reference to Facebook.

Our boat (or to be precise our 50% of boat – as we share it with our good friends

Bare Necessities

Julian & Bebe & their family, and whilst suddens can’t really be split, boats can,) was actually originally purchased in the summer of 2009, but as we spent a few months of that year off the rock and travelling the globe, Jon not returning until late October, we did not really get out more than a couple of times last year. It’s a great little nippy 21ft Sea-Ray sports-powerboat with a small 2 berth cabin and a juicy 275 Mercruiser in the stern.

Certainly our boat has been a major feature of this year, starting from the very beginning since it was as early as on a bright sunny 2 January that Jon & Jules first ventured out in 2010 for a bracing afternoon trip around Herm, Jethou, Sark and Brecqhou, taking in

Fort Brecqhou - the latest Gothic Chateau to be built

Sir David & Sir Fred Barclay’s neo-gothic castle of a folly on the latter as we swept past at 35 knots.

That’s the wonder of the sea in this part of the world; it’s cold but it’s not freezing, you can still enjoy being out on it in the winter. Moreover the numerous little islands around us, and being so close to France, make it so much fun.

Ah! Which brings me to France… and fun! Having had the pleasure of the islands close by, numerous lunches and dinners on Herm, etc. (jealous yet?) Jon suggested that we might venture out later in the summer as far as France, the Normandy coast being only 25-40 miles away depending on which port you call into.  Strangely, Judith agreed. Strangely because whilst our boat is fast, it is also small; it is really the sort of craft you see used for water-skiing and other maritime sports. And so, with Judith having only asked once “Will it be safe?” (and so Jon never having to say in defense anything more complicated than “What could possibly go wrong?”) we invited Bare Necessities‘ other co-parents to join us for an extended lunch in Carteret one Thursday in August.

On the appointed day we found ourselves around 9am sitting on Bare in the Marina having prepped her and awaiting the arrival of Jules and Bebe. After a few minutes we heard from them that Bebe had decided not to come having heard on the shipping forecast that it could be “blowing force 4 locally Force 5”. Now I should say that Jules and Bebe are more experienced sailors than we, having owned a boat for several years before us. So I asked Jules candidly, did he think it was still OK to go? And of course being a male human being, he did, and he’d still like to join us if we did not mind; he wanted to stock up on his French wine supplies. Very wise. That was fine by us, and we comforted one another that a) the forecasts are often wrong, b) from the shelter of the Albert Marina it looked like a mild, sunny day, c) force 4 couldn’t really be that bad, after all it went up to force 11 or something didn’t it? and d) “locally force 5” meant that there might be ‘pockets’ where it felt a bit breezier perhaps.

Leaving St Peter Port

So we set off, heading out of St Peter Port in a South Easterly direction towards Carteret, passing ‘Lower Heads’ south of Herm (sounds painful, but bear with me) and then very soon coasting past the southern tip of Little Sark at a brisk 30 knots. It started to get a little choppy after that, and the sea became what is known technically as ‘confused’, and to the uninitiated as “Oo er, I’m feeling rather queasy!” For those of you who don’t know, the Channel Islands are situated in waters with some of the highest tidal variations in the world; for example it’s not unusual to have 11 metre tides here. On top of that, we are in the Bay of St Malo roughly where the warm North Atlantic Drift, or Gulf Stream meets the cold English Channel, so the tidal currents can also be very strong and strange. Thus we started to get quite wet. I should point out that apart from the small cabin in the bow the rest of the boat is not under cover, so if you are hitting the rollers you get wet at the helm unless you duck in time below the small windshield! And even then… well you get my gist. Moreover you don’t really want to retire to the cabin while she’s bouncing about on the briny as the headroom is er… minimal.

Nevertheless we ventured on and soon past the north-eastern tip of that rectangle to the south of Guernsey, otherwise known as Jersey.  So in under 90 minutes of leaving Guernsey we arrived in the Normandy port of Carteret, which whilst not the closest port we could have chosen, has the advantage of a very good marina and a pretty line of quayside restaurants all serving a mean moules-frites to hungry sea-farers. It was a bright, sunny day and so swallowing our so very nearly emitted emesis and making no comment on the journey to anyone, we moored up and ambled to the nearest refectory to enjoy our déjeuner. And très bon it was too.

Moules à Carteret

The Carteret marina is based in an estuary and so we had some time to kill after lunch before the water level was high enough for us to set off back home. This was fine as we had planned to get supplies (wine and cheese… and fuel it turned out, as typiquement the marina refuelling depot was shut for a mere 6 hours – that’s taking lunch to a ridiculous extreme, but hey! this is France). Eventually having headed back carrying 40L of petrol and a similar amount of wine, we found a group of Jersey guys had moored up alongside us.

“You’re not heading back to Guernsey this evening are you?” asked their skipper. “We’ve been having second thoughts about heading back to Jersey” (which is only about 16 miles due west of Carteret compared to about 40 nor-west to Guernsey). Judith was unfortunately taking a keen interest in their opinion. “It was a bit choppy on the way over,” I retorted “But I’m sure we’ll be fine.” They were not giving in: “Not sure about that” said the one, “It’s blowing force 5 NE and storm clouds out there. And the currents will be against you too.” At this point Judith gave me one of her looks. “Ha! Well good job we’re in a power boat then!” I remarked nervously. “You done the journey before then?” asked the skipper. “Is that the time?” I enquired, of no one in particular, and very soon we were gently motoring out of the marina. That was around 6:45pm.

At around 10pm we made it into St Peter Port. If ever anyone was glad to barely make out in the dark the familiar rocks to avoid in the Little Russel it was us. We had taken over twice the time to get back. At one point, banging up and down on every wall of water that seemed to be being thrown at us, I looked and saw the southern tip of Sark. “Phew!” I thought ‘We’re nearly home.” I asked Julian to take the helm and I fixed the lights up as darkness was falling. An hour later, after some incredible crashing and banging about, I looked again and Sark seemed exactly in the same place. On the portside only 10 miles away or so the northern shoreline of Jersey seemed to be extending itself forever, and I wondered at one point if we’d be better to drop anchor in one of those Crapaud bays for the night.

In all this time Judith exhibited what can be only described as radio silence… with an occasional little whimper, as we were flung involuntarily into the air again and came smacking down on some piece of unfriendly sea which at times resembled liquid concrete. From time to time I asked Judith “Are you OK?” but each time I knew it was a stupid question before the words left my lips. “Just get me home” she whispered on one occasion as she looked up with soulful eyes. We were evidently not doing more than 8 knots and yet we felt like we were going (nowhere) a lot faster.  We used the whole tank of petrol on the way back compared to a third getting over to Carteret!

Enough shipping yarns! Suffice to say, Judith needed a couple of weeks of physio to recover from such jolting, but at least, as I often tell her now, she has a boating tale to tell. Judith’s only comment was “I don’t do exciting.” (This, as you can imagine, has been much quoted now!)

Now the girls have been up to their usual mischief this year. Lucy stupidly went and graduated in the summer,

Lucy eats her hat on graduation day

which was a real shame as she was doing so well at attending her one lecture per week, most weeks. We had really hoped she might continue as a student for at least another decade as there is nothing Jon likes more than paying dirty, disorganised, and socially inept clowns (art college lecturers to the uninitiated) enough money to make them seem important enough to be always off campus at the drop of a hat, travelling the globe on so-called lecture tours, drinking sprees masquerading as research and the like. Not that Jon feels strongly about these things or is opinionated or anything.

Any how, Lucy’s last year included her Final Year Show of course for which she produced an interesting ‘audio art’ piece, which seemed to please her tutors, even if her father failed to see the connection with ‘Fine Art (Painting)’ which was the title of her degree course. Maybe I should have submitted a cowpat for my Music Composition class in my final year? Sorry. Got me on a bit of a band wagon there. Look, she passed, with honours, let’s leave it at that and be grateful. Next to Lucy’s audio piece was a fascinating display by a student who had decided to buy white emulsion from B&Q and to simply paint the walls floor and ceiling white. Simply and badly it seemed. She called it “White” I think, and we were reliably informed that it took 9 months in conceptualisation. Personally I would not trust her to paint my ceiling it was so unevenly finished. Enough! Enough!

So Lucy got her BA (Hons) and returned home like all good students to work part-time in a café for the minimum wage. Actually only for a month or so – this was her regular holiday job – and she’s now landed a great permanent job at Martel-Maides, a top Guernsey Estate Agency & Fine Art Auctioneers. But her café job offered some amusing moments. Lucy told us one day that a French group had ventured in and one man had come to the counter and ordered “Swiss cones”. It was busy and there was no-one else around to ask really, but Lucy was pretty certain when she informed the man “I’m really sorry but we don’t have any.” But he was shocked “But ow eez zat? Ouat do you say?” “We don’t serve swiss cones here” Lucy confidently assured him. “But ouat are zose zen?” he said, pointing at the three scones he was asking for.

Grace passed her driving test earlier this year, amazingly in the snow; this means we can all drive now, except for Emily (but at least even Emily can vote as of this year – as the voting age is 16 now in Guernsey). She can of course also legally procreate, but not purchase alcohol or tobacco, which some would argue are essential before and after medicaments. Her parents meanwhile are not sure whether to rejoice or weep. Also Emily is now “the only one without a boy-friend” as she likes to point out (although Jon regularly reminds her that he does not have a boyfriend either). But the fact remains that Grace has now found Ollie, or vice versa (not sure).

Grace, Ollie, Judith & Lucy... supper in Herm naturally!

Ollie Smith, it turns out, is a good mate of Luke Vidamour (Lucy’s man) as they go back to school days. All four of them were part of ChristChurch London until the middle of this year. Now only Grace remains in London, as a second year Maths undergrad, we having poached back most of our Guernsey students who had been on long-term loan to them! Grace also landed on her feet with a plum job in a local finance house for the holidays. It pays well, she loves it, they like her, they are very generous, her Dad is very relieved, etc.

Emily now towers above everyone except her Dad. Of course her hair adds about 12 inches to her height, and she often gets mistaken as our oldest daughter. She also has a Saturday job, working in the same café in the grounds of Saumarez Manor where Lucy used to work. Emily particularly likes doing the washing up there. All day sometimes. She’s really good at it at home too. Now in her GCSE year, Ems favourite subjects are Cooking (or whatever they call this now? Home Economics? Catering? Food Science? Edible Materials?) Photography, and, you guessed it, Art.

No hair, Big hair...

So all you dirty clowns out there swanning around the globe, lecturing on Whiteness and swigging back Margaritas like there’s no tomorrow, there’s probably another £9k p.a. wending its way towards you from yours truly in the next couple of years. No don’t thank me. You deserve it. You really do. Enough already!

Having returned to nursing part-time Judith continues to work a couple of mornings and one afternoon per week, either in community or clinic services and really enjoys both. It suits us as it’s so flexible and means she can say ‘no’ one week without too much difficulty (or guilt!) Also, the uniforms come in handy…

We visited France again (via car ferry to St Malo) late Summer and enjoyed spending some time with our dear friends the Hayters and then took a slow road south to spend a week with our other dear friends Grahame & Helen Atkins at the maison provençale of still more dear friends Ray & Sue Lowe, in Gignac, kindly loaned to us. En route north afterwards we paid our regular dues in St Palais-sur-mer before returning home.

This year has also included sorties into Romania, where we made some great new friends at churches in Brasov and Iasi. We also accepted a kind invitation from our great friends Gareth and Raye Forsey and visited New York and Connecticut, and spent some time with their growing multicultural church in South Norwalk, like the Romanian churches, this represents a company of people with whom we feel increasingly in mission-partnership.

This year has seen some changes in church staff and the exciting development of a new generation of leaders, Jon calls his ‘Young Lions’ who are beginning to take responsibility and shape the future direction of Church on the Rock. It’s been good again to see many newcomers join us from all over the globe – Africa, America, Australia, Europe… and an exciting new initiative in partnership with a couple of other churches has been the establishment of an on-island Kingdom Theological Training Base, in liaison with NWTP and the Westminster Theological Centre. This is opening up for the first time dynamic, live mission-equipping theological training (at graduate and post-grad level) to a whole group of people who would never have access except going off island at great expense. This is the fulfillment of a dream for Jon as 16 students are currently doing the first year.

New York in December

As the year closes, Will, Jon’s Dad is becoming increasingly weak and frail and we wonder how much longer he will be with us. He is totally at peace with God and in his 98^th year is as ready to ‘graduate’ as Millie (Jon’s Mum) was three years ago now. He still lives with us and we need to be around quite a lot at the moment as his mobility is very limited. Which is also partly why this GG did not get done earlier. We hope you have enjoyed this reformation, this first iGazette and we await with anticipation the praise, tributes, honours and accolades, which will no doubt emanate from all four corners of the earth very soon now this is published into the ether. There’s no hurry, but thank you in advance.

Oh, the Aga and the Volvos are doing just fine, thanks for asking.

Until next year, or, if you continue to read this blog – and I advise starting at the beginning to get the full mind-numbing effect, till next time…

Wishing you a very Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year!

With love,

JJLGE

(you know where to find us)

P.S. If you sent us a boring newsletter in which the top highlight was your child’s Grade 4 clarinet exam result we forgive you. But we probably won’t have read it anyway, so please forgive us.

Tempus Fugit & Déjà Vu All Over Again

OK, OK, I know it’s been an age (7 months in fact) since I last posted here, but you know we pastors are busy folk with much to do in our six non-working days per week. There are still nearly thirty half-edited posts in draft on this WordPress site and I am resolved now to complete them over the Holiday period and the next few months.

There are several reasons why I have waited until now to continue this blog:

- many of the next few posts relate to my time in the USA and my visit to Bethel Church, Redding in particular (which was the next place I visited after Hillsong, Australia). There were things I experienced, noted and observed during my time there especially which have taken several months to digest and consider before attempting to put them in print;

- I also felt ‘muted’ in making too many immediate comments about Bill Johnson & Bethel Church which might have seemed hasty because on our return about a year ago from my sabbatical Judith and I were stunned by the completely unexpected departure from our home church in Guernsey of a group of around 30 people to form a new church, choosing to cede from association with Newfrontiers and instead to relate to Bethel & the ministry of Bill Johnson;

- Many other people, churches, conferences, teachings, blogs, events, etc. relating to this extraordinary man Bill Johnson have spoken into and helped to shape our consideration of all I experienced and indeed all that happened with us on our return, (and continue to do so). Having drawn a deep breath and gone through having to deal with the ups and downs of other leaders’ and church members’ emotions, as well as our own shock and disappointment, we have found the Lord Jesus still proves to be enough, and his grace to be sufficient! Though we are weak, He remains strong: so we find ourselves in a better place to talk about all this.

- We also now find ourselves, as I write, back in the USA – with our very dear friends Gareth and Raye Forsey, and Bridge Church, South Norwalk CT, to be precise – not far from New York City, which is exactly where I ended my time in the USA last year. This has thus afforded us the time to reflect on all that has happened in the last 12 months objectively and to begin to piece together what we sense the Lord has been teaching us through it.

So… watch this space!

Contemplation, contemplation, contemplation…

We had planned to rent a car the next day, to take a day out, away, to talk, walk, and to contemplate all that we had seen and experienced so far. The Lord was continuing to speak to us personally, individually and as a couple, but also now as leaders and for our church back home. Our days had been full since hitting the ground in Sydney, meeting pastors and leaders, asking questions, listening, watching, observing, attending services and meetings, taking notes; when everything is new, exciting and there’s so much to see and take in you need time to reflect in order for it to be beneficial. We both felt we needed time to gather our thoughts, to breathe and to pray. Several people had recommended we visit the Blue Mountains which were within a few hours access from the North West suburbs of Sydney where we were based; so with a few recommendations, place-names, GPS/Sat-Nav, maps and a motel booking this is where we headed for 24 hours.

Australia’s a funny place, and Australians (whether local or localized) are funny folk. In both the ha-ha and peculiar way it would seem. Just as well too – who’d want to travel half-way around the world just to see more of the same ordinariness and feel at home? Well, we didn’t, but it would seem some do! Let me explain: Katoomba – a town which had been described to us by several city-folk in Sydney as “quaint… olde worldy… you’ll love it!” we found to be queer, mouldy, worldly, we wanted to leave it… as fast as we could.

welcome to Katoomba

It just reminded us of sad and dreary has-been towns in the North of England we’d pass through, quickly, en route to somewhere less depressing. Maybe in hindsight we did not look close enough, but I guess if you’re a fan of the Industrial Revolution and are pining for a dirty brick-house mill-town, where unemployment is topping 50%, exemplified by bottle brandishing bristly men sitting on benches along the roadside, and where wiping tables and sweeping floors in eateries are not considered as essential then you’ll  find Katoomba the quintessential embodiment of your dreams, a quaint and nostalgic reminder of that type of place, in a warped kind of way! We were not pining in this way as it turns out.

Quaint? Olde worldy?

And so, having journeyed for a few hours with high hopes, and arrived at Katoomba, we parked the car and looked for somewhere to have lunch. I was conscious of my masculine duty to hunt for a suitable establishment that would suit my feminine mate’s delicate tastes. Not necessarily overtly romantic – we’d leave that for dinner – but maybe quaint, hospitable, clean and serving decent soup.

Checking out the “sites”…

We walked past what resembled a redundant factory and then found the main street which had several establishments of a certain ilk, full of men who looked like they once been in the employ of aforementioned factory and were now semi-permanent fixtures in aforementioned establishments. We walked on and continued to look for somewhere without perhaps the radio blaring, without a laminated menu including photos of the food (hinting perhaps that pictures were necessary in order to identify the alimentation – although how many pictures of a burger and chips do you really need?) somewhere maybe with clean windows, chairs and floors, with welcoming decor, perhaps with a view – was that too much to ask?

Des res saloon…

Perhaps so. I kept on arriving first at a cafe door and peering in, only to find it did not look inviting, clean or quiet, and turning to Judith to say “Er… no, let’s walk on!” Eventually, Judith said “Look, I’m hungry. It doesn’t really matter if it’s a bit greasy-spoon. Let’s just eat at the next place.” So without further ado, we found ourselves walking in to the next cafe, Judith first, confidently slipping me a “This’ll be fine!” as we enter; we managed about 6 steps, roughly half-way into the place, when Judith looked around, saw the tables, smelt the air, noticed the staff, felt the stickiness of the furry flooring-material, and promptly blurted “No. Not here.” And so we left.

Shall we eat at the Savoy?

We did eventually find a place which was, apart from a dirty glass, an exceedingly unruly infant, the farts of an old man, and half of the 8 item-menu being unavailable, just about bearable. But it did not register on the quaint scale.

Why had people sent us here? We walked to the Visitor Centre after lunch in search of an answer. We were offered a bus drive to a cable-car, a guided tour costing a small fortune, and suitable insect-proof clothing and guide-books to purchase in case we were thinking of camping out in the woods. We headed back to the car.

“Let’s try and find the motel we booked for tonight” I said, in an attempt to sound optimistic.

It was meant to be on the edge of Katoomba. Most of Katoomba had appeared to be a bit edgy so far. The most positive comment we could make was that it resembled in certain places the kind of frontiersville of a Wild West, but one where the wild had sadly metamorphosed into woebegone. It seemed to lack the charming eccentricity of Garrison Keillor. Maybe if we’d stayed longer it would have grown on us, but it did not seem as endearing as “Lake Wobegon, the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.”

So, with slight trepidation, we set out in search of the Motel. The directions we had printed out from the website turned out to be not a little vague; they did not seem to match up with GPS coordinates or map markings, also road names seemed to have changed; perhaps new roads been built recently. We got a little lost. Rather fortuitously, it turned out, because we stumbled across some exceedingly beautiful scenery, and then some simply stunning vistas, and then we found Echo Point and now we realised exactly why people had sent us out here!

Wow and double wow!

Natural beauty, just the way God created it, has that ability to just take your breath away. The Blue Mountains live up to their name, and what a landscape, what a view! In driving up the way we came from Sydney we had evidently bypassed any scenic views. Then, the disappointment of Katoomba, sold to us as art deco but which turned out to be more fart wreck-o for us. Now, suddenly,  just around the corner we caught a glimpse of the real reason we ought to spend a day and a night here.

Judith & the Three Sisters... Faith, Hope & Love... I guess!

Moreover, just a few paces from the view at Echo Point we discovered Leura, a pretty little one-street town which, despite being perhaps a tad pastiche, did register on the quaint scale for us (we returned here for a romantic dinner at Silks brasserie!) So, without further ado we spent the rest of the day walking, talking, looking, observing, sitting, sipping (tea and beer), listening, watching the wildlife, taking an amazing sky-ride in a cable car across a ravine (with a friendly, personal tour-guide – Judith and I ended up being the only passengers!)

Thus we were able to find the space and environment to contemplate all that God was saying and doing in our lives; and the whole ‘Katoomba experience’ made me think how sometimes we are led into situations which seem disappointing or even depressing when just around the corner is the real deal, which, maybe we might miss if we gave up searching, gave up moving onwards.

Don’t give up! Keep searching, keep moving on!

Water falls at Leura, Blue Mountains