I'm at the ‘conferenced-out’ stage of being not quite sure what day it is. If not for the fact that Shabbat is very visibly coming into force around me, I otherwise would be hard pressed to tell that it is in fact Friday evening, and that GAFCON is accelerating towards a close.

This afternoon, the draft Conference Statement was presented to the whole conference, and then discussed in detail by all the participants meeting in their different provincial groups. There is a strict media embargo on the text of the Statement, and those of us who are blogging have been sworn to secrecy. I will therefore say no more about it, except to promise that when the final text is released (on Sunday), you will want to read it. (I will post it here as soon as it is available.)

In the whirl of conversations, talks and experiences over the past few days, a few highlights are still clear in my addled brain.

One was the Focus Topic on Wednesday evening, ‘The Gospel and Religion’, featuring a lecture by Professor Lamin Sanneh, Professor of Mission and World Christianity at Yale. It was an erudite, but slightly meandering address, and only gained momentum as it turned for home, when the main point became powerfully clear: Christianity is inherently translatable. Unlike Islam, it has no revealed or exclusive language, and no one name for God. Christianity does not invent a language, but takes a language already in use for everyday purposes, and adopts it as its own.

Thus, Professor Sanneh argued, Christianity rejects the idea of an exclusive or superior language or culture, or for that matter a taboo or unclean culture. No culture or language can claim exclusive access; and none is so marginal or remote that it can be excluded. None is indispensable; none is unworthy. Here is an implicit Christian anthropology of culture. The claims of the gospel deny normative exclusiveness to any culture, and can be communicated in any linguistic or cultural context.

This, he explained, is what happened in the extraordinary growth of Christianity in Africa over the past 50 years. As the colonial era drew to an end, it was thought that Christianity would die in Africa along with it. The opposite happened. Colonialism in fact turned out to have been an obstacle, and its removal sparked the extraordinary explosion of Christianity in the Global South.

This has always been the missionary way, he argued. In India, in Korea, in China, in place after place, when the message reached the vernacular, it burst forth in growth. The genius of Christianity and its missionaries, is that they did for Africa and other parts of the world what Tyndale and others had once done for England: they dared to translate and communicate the gospel in the common tongue, often at great personal cost, and under the charge of political subversion.

“GAFCON”, Professor Sanneh concluded, “belongs to the tremendous sweep of this historic movement, translated to all corners in any and every language. The Gentile revolution is alive and well at GAFCON.”

Powerful and stirring stuff, particularly for Anglicans to hear. Historically, we have not always done so well in the cultural translatability stakes!

The other great highlight of the past few days has been getting to know these Bible-believing Anglicans that the translated gospel has reached in so many different places, languages and cultures. Lunch with Bishop Paul Yugusuk from southern Sudan was particularly memorable.

In Paul's diocesan region, consisting of 12 churches, there is barely anyone over 35. A generation has been wiped out, and war orphans abound—Paul is caring for 28 of them in his own household. Because of the war, literacy among adults is almost non-existent. The children are now learning to read, but for the adults it is virtually too late. The struggle to survive leaves them no time or resources for learning.

As we talked, I was exploring how we could help with Matthias Media resources. Could he use a Bible study or two? What books would be helpful? How about a training DVD? It became quickly obvious, even to a simpleton like me, that Paul didn't want books. He wanted me. He wanted people to come and work with him, to teach and train and disciple the people.

Strangely enough, this is what Matthias Media believes anyway. We believe that people minister to people, and that books and resources are just convenient tools to facilitate the process. And as useful as the books and studies and DVDs are, they are not indispensable.

Pray for Paul and also for Bishop Bernard in the Diocese of Torit. Pray for me, as well, that I can work out how to respond to their call for help.

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What is a true blue Anglican? And what is the positive basis for Anglican unity and identity?

The workshop I've been attending on ‘Anglican Identity’ has been very stimulating on this crucial question, especially the addresses by Ashley Null and Andrew Shead on the common authority that Anglicanism rests upon.

According to the norms and rules of the conference, I'm not allowed to report in detail on what happens in the these workshops. What I can tell you is that Null and Shead brilliantly outlined and reaffirmed that Anglicanism has an overarching, identity-shaping, unifying authority in its doctrine of Scripture.

When we look at the core documents of Anglicanism (the Thirty-nine Articles, the Homilies, and the Book of Common Prayer), a very clear picture emerges: Scripture alone is the authority, and the ‘church’ (viewed as the denomination here) is but a keeper and witness to ‘Holy Writ’, and has no power to overrule Scripture, dismiss it, or bypass it. And although the church and its councils may resolve controversies and make decisions about matters of ceremony and order, this authority is ruled and circumscribed by Scripture.

Here are some choice quotes that say it all, first from the Thirty-nine Articles:

VI. Of the Sufficiency of the Holy Scriptures for Salvation.

Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation: so that whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it should be believed as an article of the Faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation.

XX. Of the Authority of the Church.

The Church hath power to decree Rites or Ceremonies, and authority in Controversies of Faith: and yet it is not lawful for the Church to ordain any thing that is contrary to God's Word written, neither may it so expound one place of Scripture, that it be repugnant to another. Wherefore, although the Church be a witness and a keeper of Holy Writ, yet, as it ought not to decree any thing against the same, so besides the same ought it not to enforce any thing to be believed for necessity of Salvation.

XXI. Of the Authority of General Councils.

General Councils may not be gathered together without the commandment and will of Princes. And when they be gathered together, (forasmuch as they be an assembly of men, whereof all be not governed with the Spirit and Word of God,) they may err, and sometimes have erred, even in things pertaining unto God. Wherefore things ordained by them as necessary to salvation have neither strength nor authority, unless it may be declared that they be taken out of holy Scripture.

XXXIV. Of the Traditions of the Church.

It is not necessary that Traditions and Ceremonies be in all places one, or utterly like; for at all times they have been divers, and may be changed according to the diversity of countries, times, and men's manners, so that nothing be ordained against God's Word ...

Cranmer's quite marvellous ‘Homily on Scripture’ puts it more picturesquely:

Let us diligently search for the well of life in the books of the New and Old Testaments and not run to the stinking puddles of men's traditions, devised by men's imagination for our salvation and justification. For in holy scripture is fully contained what we ought to do and what to eschew, what to believe, what to love, and what to look for at God's hands at length.

In these quotes, we see the vital thing about Anglicanism's approach to flexibility and inflexibility. Doctrine—which includes matters of faith and of morals—is fully contained in Scripture, and must of necessity be taught and believed. On this there can be no flexibility. However, on other matters—such as ceremonies, rights and other issues of ‘discipline’ or ‘order’—there may flexibility and variation, both geographically, culturally and over time.

In other words, Anglican identity (and thus unity) is fundamentally doctrinal and contained in Scripture. We may expect and accept flexibility and variation in the details of how we organize ourselves and conduct our ministries, but there can no flexibility about those things ‘necessary to salvation’. The irony, of course, is that in recent Anglican history, it has all been the other way around—almost limitless flexibility about doctrine, and officious inflexibility about church traditions and canon law.

One of my own fervent hopes for the GAFCON movement, and whatever emerges from it, is that the positive nature of our unity will be a distinctively Anglican one—that is, based on Scriptural doctrine not on secondaries.

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What is GAFCON in reality? A new alignment, a pressure group, or the beginnings of a breakaway church? What will happen as a result? Is there going to be a split? Are we about to witness the end of the Anglican Communion?

These are the questions that the journalists keep asking at the daily press briefings, held in the somehow appropriately named ‘Delilah Lounge’ at the Renaissance Hotel. The paradigm of political conflict and power struggle seems to dominate the secular media's approach to what is happening (although I haven't been able to read any of the resulting reports or stories as yet).

A succession of spokesmen have sought to clarify and explain. Jack Iker, Bishop of Fort Worth, Texas, answered the ‘split’ question by saying that there had already been a split in one sense: the fabric of the Anglican communion has already been torn by the actions of the liberal bishops—by those who consecrated Gene Robinson in 2003, but also by Bishop Michael Ingham in New Westminster, Canada, who has led the charge for same-sex unions, and is now attacking those biblically orthodox churches who cannot in good conscience accept his leadership. (One of the Canadian ministers at GAFCON told me that when he returns to his parish after the conference, he will be a trespasser on his own church property, according to Bishop Ingham. JI Packer faces the same.)

Bishop Iker has a point. When 300 bishops, representing over half of the world's Anglicans, refuse to attend one of the Anglican ‘instruments of unity’ (the Lambeth Conference), it's hard to pretend that there is a functioning ‘communion’ between Anglican churches and dioceses. Something has already happened, and there is little prospect of the breach being healed, especially since the actions of the revisionists stem from deeply held principles.

Archbishop Benjamin Nzimbi of Kenya put it positively, and expressed his desire for what GAFCON could achieve:

The Anglican church is in need of revival and strengthening. We want to renew its mission, to plant, to grow. GAFCON becomes a forum to share what is happening; and whatever you call it, it's a strong organ bringing revival in the Anglican church, and reclaiming Anglicanism, the faith of our fathers. The missionaries came to Kenya and through great suffering remained faithful. I cannot think of anything else but remaining in that faith. I'm a bishop, but I don't preach because I'm a bishop, but because Jesus Christ saved me and transformed me.

We are still Anglicans. And GAFCON is still evolving. We want the participants to have their say. And they will say what we want to call it, and where we want to move.

The participatory and evolving nature of GAFCON keeps being stressed by the leadership team. There have been a number of opportunities thus far for all participants to put their views about what they hope will be achieved. Four questions were put to us, and we have submitted answers from numerous discussions and workshop groupings:

1. What are your hopes and expectations for GAFCON?
2. If GAFCON is not just a conference but a movement, how should it best be developed?
3. What are some potential dangers, and/or your fears, for GAFCON as a Movement?
4. How could the work of GAFCON help the Anglican Church in your country or Province face future challenges?

The responses to these questions will contribute to the formulation of the Conference Statement, which a committee of leaders from around the world is working on.

From what I've seen so far, my hunch is that GAFCON will be not be a breakaway church or denomination, but a movement of Anglicans wishing to reaffirm true Anglicanism, to foster Anglican ministry, and to provide protection and support for biblically orthodox parishes around the world who are being persecuted and attacked by liberal bishops.

In particular, a sentiment that has been often expressed in many of the groups and discussions is that GAFCON should not be a ‘single issue party’, a group of cobelligerents only united by their opposition to something (such as blessing same-sex unions, or ordaining gay bishops). The only unity worth having is a principled one, around a common theology and identity as ‘biblically orthodox Anglicans’.

But there's the thing. What is true Anglican identity? Is there anything ‘Anglican’ that we can affirm and be united by theologically?

That's the subject of some further ‘Day 3’ reflections that I hope to post soon ...

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The buses left early for our trip (or pilgrimage, as it was styled) to the Mount of Olives. It offered a strange mix of experiences: joy at the extraordinary singing of the African choir, who led us in a brief prayer service on the mountain; fascination at seeing the places where Jesus walked and talked and prayed and was betrayed; eye-rolling distaste for how it all has been turned into a site for religious tourism and idolatry (the Franciscan church at Gethsemane being an extraordinary example of both); and above all, a strange blankness at not feeling even one little bit closer to Jesus through the whole experience.

We were encouraged to pause and reflect quietly while in the Garden of Gethsemane (a pair of twin, walled gardens, with olive trees and other arid-climate flora). A few of us pulled out our Bibles and read the relevant part of Luke's Gospel, and talked about it together. We ended up in Luke 24 with the risen Jesus' command that “repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem” (v. 47).

I realized that the reason I felt very little spiritual inspiration by being in the Garden was that my access to Jesus had nothing to do with being there. I know Jesus because of Luke 24:47—because his gospel has been preached to all nations (even Australia!), starting from the city I was looking at, just across the Kidron valley. Jesus came to me through the gospel, in the power of the Spirit, and the Father and Son fulfilled their promise to make their home with me (John 14:23).

So the pilgrimage to Gethsemane did teach me something: it reminded me that Jesus is near because of his promise and his Spirit.

Back at the Renaissance Hotel Ballroom, Henry Orombi (Archbishop of Uganda) preached a powerful sermon on ‘Jesus is Lord’, the high point of which was his emphasis on the powerful, transforming word of God. Expounding the story of the paralyzed man healed by Jesus in John 5, Archbishop Orombi pointed out that Jesus exercised his Lordship by speaking a creative, healing word of power, and that he continues to do so today.

This is the characteristic testimony of the Ugandan Christian, he told us: I once was this, but now am that. Once a drunkard, but now a preacher; once a fornicator, but now a faithful husband. Once lost in sin, but now found by Jesus.

It struck me that this is one powerful reason for the abhorrence with which the Africans regard the revisionist ‘gospel’ of the liberals in North American. The liberal gospel is not a gospel of transformation. There is no power to change. Indeed, there is no need to change, because what we ‘once were’ is simply redefined as a valid lifestyle choice: “I once was lost, but now I realize that being lost is who I am, and that God honours that and accepts that”.

Later that night in the press conference (with my Briefing hat on), I asked Henry Orombi whether he thought this emphasis on the transforming power of the Word was one of the key differences between evangelicals and liberals. He said:

The preaching of the word of God allows faith and response to germinate. When the Word is preached, things happen.

Why is the church in the Global South growing? And not in the North? When I am in Uganda, I preach for one and half hours. How long do they preach in the North? Ten minutes?

What is happening in the North? Do they have a love for the Word? An ordinary Christian in the South has a Bible that is well-used and well-thumbed.

How well-thumbed is your Bible?

This emphasis on the Word was also one of the most encouraging things about Os Guiness's extraordinary address late on Monday afternoon, about the gospel and secularism. Having provided a masterly exposition of how advanced modernity and secularism was threatening Christian discipleship, his answer (among other things) was not that we needed to find some slick new message, or some clever new method; we need now more than ever, he said, to rely on the simple, plain preaching of the Word, and the accompanying power of the Holy Spirit.

That's how people find Jesus, or are found by him.

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It's the Africans. Cascading down the hotel staircase in a riot of colour and noise and smiles, the bishops in vivid purple and their wives in even more gorgeous dresses, laughing and greeting each other, hugging, flowing on, in a joyful Christian river.

Of the 1200 delegates here at GAFCON, somewhere between a third and a half are from Africa. I've already met Bishop Bernard and Bishop Paul from Sudan, who gravely informed me that if I wanted to know what ministry was really like where they lived, we would have to sit, we would have to sit. Some things can't be said in small talk in a corridor. Discussing what it is like to be a Christian bishop in Sudan is clearly one of them. I'm looking forward to sitting with them.

At last night's opening session, it was the leading African Archbishop, Peter Akinola of Nigeria, who outlined the sad history that had brought global Anglicanism to an event like GAFCON. In the face of relentless revisionism, of which the consecration of the openly homosexual Gene Robinson as a bishop was but the most vivid expression, compromise or inaction is simply not an option:

We cannot succumb to this turmoil in our Communion and simply watch helplessly. We have found ourselves in a world in which Anglican leaders hold on to a form of religion but consistently deny its power. We have a situation in which some members of the Anglican family think they are so superior to all others that they are above the law, they can do whatever they please with impunity. As a Communion we have been unable to exercise discipline.

And why GAFCON? Here are some choice quotes from Peter Akinola:

GAFCON is a rescue mission. Our beloved Anglican Communion must be rescued from the manipulation of those who have denied the gospel and its power to transform and to save; those who have departed from the scripture and the faith ‘once and for all delivered to the saints’ from those who are proclaiming a new gospel, which really is no gospel at all (Gal 1). In the wisdom and strength God supplies we must rescue what is left of the Church from error of the apostates ...

We are here because we want to renew our commitment to our sacred duty to preserve and proclaim uncompromisingly the undistorted word of God written to a sinful and fragmented world. GAFCON is a meeting of ordained and lay leaders concerned about the mission of the Church and how best to carry it out and be poised to address the ever-present challenges of self-reliance, good governance, overcoming corruption and to prepare a strong and stable platform for upcoming generations ...

We are here because we know that in God's providence GAFCON will liberate and set participants (particularly Africans) free from spiritual bondage which TEC and its allies champion. Having survived the inhuman physical slavery of the 19th century, the political slavery called colonialism of the 20th century, the developing world economic enslavement, we cannot, we dare not allow ourselves and the millions we represent be kept in a religious and spiritual dungeon ...

We are here because we know that in spite of the fractures in our Communion, as orthodox Anglicans, we have a future and so we are here in the holy land to inaugurate and determine the roadmap to that future.

It was a rousing address, by turns passionate, indignant, pleading, gentle and resolute. At its close, Emmanuel Kolini (Archbishop of Rwanda) suggested that we were at the beginning of a second Reformation. If the courage, biblical conviction and fire of these Africans is anything to go by, he may well be right.

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“Tell me again: why are you going to GAFCON?”

I guess I should have a stock answer by now, given how often the question has been put to me in the last month, including by my wife as we chatted at the airport.

In our office, we took to calling it GAVCON (one of those early mispronunciations that sticks, and then becomes a joke), and then GAVISCON (a well-known indigestion reliever in our part of the world). Is that what GAFCON is? A calmative for the upset stomach of Anglicanism?

Well, hardly. In fact, it would probably be more accurate to describe this year's Lambeth Conference as a dose of Gaviscon—an attempt to calm things down and last through the day, taken in irrational hope by a patient with stomach cancer.

But I digress. Because now, sitting in a hotel lobby in Jerusalem with a registration tag around my neck for the Global Anglican Future Holy Land Conference and Pilgrimage (GAFHOLYCONAGE), I almost feel I know why I'm here.

All around me are bishops, reverends and lay people of all shapes, sizes, colours, cultures and ecclesiastical styles, representing over half of the world's Anglicans. What unites us is a common commitment to historic orthodoxy, to the Bible, to the truth and to the transforming power of the gospel. GAFCON is really an opportunity for this sort of Anglican to get together—the true-blue kind of Anglican, who celebrates rather than repudiates our Reformation roots.

So GAFCON is a place where gospel-loving, Bible-believing Anglicans can make a stand and a statement, can get to know and encourage each other, and can make plans together for future cooperation and growth. I gather it's why Jerusalem was chosen as the venue—a place that symbolizes a return to biblical and historical roots. We are followers of this Jesus, not the pale Galilean of the 19th-century liberals or the skivvy-wearing New Yorker of the 21st-century liberals.

So why am I at GAFCON? For one thing, I was invited, which was fortunate because it's by invitation only. But it's really because there comes a time to say, “They went out from us because they were never really of us”. We are well past that time in the fellowship of churches that is the Anglican communion. It's time to stop the charade of negotiating with those who don't share the core beliefs of Anglicanism, and to move forward positively in fellowship with those who do, encouraging each other, praying for each other, working together for the cause of Christ. Are there a thousand Anglican leaders who want to do this—from every corner of the world?

It's worth being part of, I think.

[Stay tuned for more GAFCON posts from TP as the week goes on.]

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The story of the Bible can be summarized in two words: death and resurrection. Ultimately, the story of the Bible is about the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. This is the core of the story we call the ‘gospel’. But this basic story also finds its expression in many different and complementary ways throughout the Scriptures. To take just a few examples:

• The ‘death and resurrection’ story is foreshadowed in the pivotal story of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, the heir of the covenant (Genesis 22).
• The prophets describe the story of the ‘death and resurrection’ of Israel. This is particularly obvious in the Book of Ezekiel, which tells the story of the death of the old Israel through God's judgement on her sin (chapters 1-24), followed by the resurrection of a whole new and transformed and cosmic Israel (chapters 33-40).
• Other aspects of biblical teaching also seem to have the same general pattern. The wisdom of Proverbs seems to undergo a kind of ‘death’ in Ecclesiastes and Job, resulting in a transformed heavenly wisdom (see 1 Cor 2:4-16, Jas 3:13-18).
• Paul's ministry follows a kind of ‘death and resurrection’ story (e.g. 2 Cor 4:10-14).

But what is particularly interesting is the way that the ‘death and resurrection’ story is applied to the daily lives of believers. Death and resurrection is not only the big overarching story of the Bible, it is also our individual story. When we are justified and included in Christ, the story of our lives also become his story. Paul can say that he has been crucified with Christ, and so he no longer lives, but Christ lives in him (Gal 2:20). All those who are baptized into Christ are simultaneously ‘immersed’ into his story—the story of death and resurrection (Rom 6). This, of course, gives us great hope for the future: we look forward to the time when we will receive resurrection bodies instead of mortal bodies (e.g. Rom 8:11). But this story doesn't just apply to the end of our lives; our life in the Spirit now consists in lots of little ‘deaths’ and ‘resurrections’ day by day. In Colossians 3:5-14, we read that we must put to death whatever belongs to our earthly nature (e.g. sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, covetousness, which is idolatry, anger, wrath, malice, slander, obscene talk, lying, etc.), and put on the things that belong to our resurrection self (e.g. compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience and love, above all).

So the story of our lives can also be summed up in two words: ‘death’ and ‘resurrection’. Consequently, our view of the Christian life is distorted when we neglect one or any of these other aspects of Christian living. Those who focus too much on ‘putting to death the misdeeds of the body’ in the Christian life can tend to be pessimistic and negative, emphasizing the ‘don'ts’ of the Christian life—perhaps giving the impression that God is a killjoy who would be much happier if we just stayed in a monastery, twiddling our thumbs. Some Christians in past ages have been big on the idea of the ‘mortification of the flesh’, going to great lengths and schemes to “put to death” the misdeeds of the body. There have been very weird extremes too: self-flagellation, enforced celibacy, hermits doing penance in the desert, etc.

But I think that, in our day, the opposite tends to be more the problem: we in the modern western world don't like negativity; we're far more comfortable with the positive. To make a huge generalization, I don't think modern Christians are too bad at emphasizing the ‘resurrection’ side of Christian living: God loves me, he has a wonderful plan for my life, he wants me to love others—to be kind and compassionate, to read the Bible, to tell others the wonderful message, to look forward in eager expectation for the new creation, etc. These are all very positive characteristics of our new resurrection life that God has given us in Christ, and they're all true. But how do we go at remembering and embracing and proclaiming the fact that the ongoing story of our Christian lives is also about death? Are you comfortable with the teaching that we must be killing the old self daily? If so, when did you last make a concerted attempt to murder some aspect of your earthly and sinful self—for example, greed or sexual impurity? Many Christians have plans and goals for the future, but how many of your plans and goals involve killing and combatting sin in your life?

Saying ‘yes’ to God is simultaneously saying ‘no’ to sin. Death and resurrection (or, to use slightly older terms, ‘mortification’ and ‘vivification’): it's the story of our lives.

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Like many churches around Sydney, we are about to preach a series on the Reformation solas, because Roman Catholic World Youth Day is arriving next month. One of the things I was thinking about was how to ensure that the sermons on grace and faith reinforce and complement each other, rather than simply repeating each other. That is, it's not always easy to say what the ‘grace alone’ slogan means to distinguish it from the ‘faith alone’ slogan. Another little issue is that I think the ‘alone’ part of each slogan has a somewhat different sense in each phrase.

Anyway, here's my attempt to outline the sermon series. I would be very glad of your feedback—especially in sharpening the distinctions between the grace and faith sermons, and the sense of the ‘alone’ and the ‘not’.

Sermon 1: Sola scriptura: Scripture alone

• Define Scripture: it's God's word written—the Bible.
• The sense of ‘alone’ in this phrase: Scripture alone is our highest and final authority (instead of Scripture is our only source of knowledge or authority).
• What we say ‘no’ to here: we're emphasizing Scripture, not tradition (like the Roman Catholic magisterium which claims authority on any number of things such as additional teachings on Mary, compulsory clerical celibacy, etc).
• Passages: Mark 7:1-13, 2 Timothy 3:10-4:5.

Sermon 2: Sola gratia: grace alone

• Define grace: it's God's unmerited favour, not a substance infused into us.
• The sense of ‘alone’ in this phrase: salvation comes to us entirely as God's generous gift.
• What we say ‘no’ to here: we're saying salvation is all of God's grace and not of our merit, deserving or cooperation (again, compare this to the Roman Catholic catechism on grace etc.)
• Passages: Luke 15:11-24, Ephesians 2:1-10.

Sermon 3: Sola fide: by faith alone

• Define faith: it's trust in God and his promises (not mere doctrinal assent, nor a positive religious feeling in the absence of evidence, pace Dawkins!)
• The sense of ‘alone’ in this phrase: God's gracious justification is received by faith alone.
• What we say ‘no’ to here: we're saying it's received by faith, not by works of the law (nor good deeds) of any sort (again, compare and contrast this with the Roman Catholic catechism).
• Passages: John 6:25-40; Galatians 2:1-21.

Sermon 4: Solus Christus: Christ alone

• Define Christ: Jesus Christ, God's Son in his person and work—as priest and sacrifice.
• The sense of ‘alone’ in this phrase: the righteousness of Jesus Christ is the sole basis of our justification, so on the grounds of his redeeming sacrifice, Jesus is the only and unique mediator between God and humans.
• What we say ‘no’ to here: we come to God only through Christ and his finished work on the cross, not by other mediators (such as Mary or the saints, nor can Mary be called a co-redemptrix) or continuing sacrifices (such as in the mass). More broadly, there are no other ways to God except through Jesus Christ (i.e. we cannot get to God by other religious leaders such as Muhammad, Buddha, etc., as post-Vatican 2 theology implies).
• Passages: Luke 11:27-32, Hebrews 10:1-23.

What suggestions do you have?

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We shouldn't be shocked when non-Christians find Christian virtues out of date, incomprehensible or just plain hateful. The natural person, Paul reminds us, “does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him” (1 Cor 2:14).

But we also shouldn't be surprised when the ‘natural’ world's aversion to godliness starts to have an effect on Christians as well. We find it very easy to be influenced by the world's way of thinking—to let the world ‘squeeze us into its mould’, as the JB Phillips translation of Romans 12:2 puts it. Some of the things the Bible regards as good and praiseworthy we begin to find a little daggy and distasteful. We rarely go so far as to reject these virtues outright; we just glide by them quietly when we see them in the Bible, and hope that we are not required to defend them, or focus on them, let alone do them.

For example, reading the Pastorals again recently, I was struck by the recurring word ‘dignity’ (and ‘dignified’) which appeared four times in the first three chapters of 1 Timothy and twice in Titus. Paul regarded it particularly important that elders, overseers and deacons be ‘dignified’, but it is also pleasing to God our Saviour that all Christians lead “a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Tim 2:2).

How long (I thought to myself) has it been since I have considered the importance of dignity (of all things) in the Christian life? It's not something I'm particularly attracted to. When I think ‘dignified’, I think of a humourless, English gentleman sitting in the parlour on a settee—no, perched on the settee—back ramrod straight, grey-green suit, brown shoes impeccably shined, with, perhaps, an impeccable moustache to match. And a look of disapproval.

Dignity is not prized much in our world these days (which is probably why I don't prize it). We like informality, authenticity and spontaneity, perhaps because our anthropology is basically humanist: we think that people really are good deep down inside, and so you should let whoever you really are just come bubbling to surface. A quiet and dignified life? This is hardly what we aspire to.

The Greek word in the Pastorals is semnos (or semnotes). It refers to a quality or character of life deserving of respect and reverence—a way of life that is above the ordinary, and thus worthy of special honour. The polar opposite of dignity would, perhaps, be flippancy—the behaviour of a self-regarding clown who always shoots his mouth off, behaves poorly or without restraint, and is thus accorded little or no respect by anyone.

Is that what Paul meant when he encouraged a “dignified” life? The only other time he uses the word is in that challenging little passage in Philippians:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Phil 4:8).

It's “honourable” here in the ESV; the NIV has “noble”.

What does dignity mean, do you think, for Christians today?

[Stay tuned for more ‘Virtues we dislike’ from other Sola Panellists.]

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Recently at my church we've concluded preaching through Nehemiah. My Sola Panellist colleague, Lionel, preached the last sermon from chapter 13. This details Nehemiah's disappointment at the failure of his reforms to be effectively ‘bedded in’. In chapter 9:38, the people of Israel had made a solemn ‘binding agreement’ expressing their repentance from sin. We find the details in chapter 10 where

• In verse 30, the Israelites promise not to intermarry with the surrounding peoples
• In verse 31, the Israelites promise to keep the Sabbath holy (i.e. no Sabbath trading)
• In verse 39, the Israelites promise not to neglect the house of our God (the Temple).

Chapter 13 details the Israelites' failure to do these exact three things, along with what we sense will be Nehemiah's forlorn attempts to get things back on track. I found the agreement in chapter 10 naively ambitious since the prayer of chapter 9 had just detailed the endless cycle of Israel's sin and disobedience, despite God's compassion and grace in forgiveness.

In passing, Lionel mentioned that when we are disappointed, sometimes, the Bible says, people ‘tear their hair out’. But to indicate Nehemiah's deep frustration at his people's unfaithfulness, Lionel pointed out that in chapter 13:25, Nehemiah was tearing out other people's hair!: “And I confronted them and cursed them and beat some of them and pulled out their hair. And I made them take oath in the name of God, saying, ‘You shall not give your daughters to their sons, or take their daughters for your sons or for yourselves.’” Wisely, in his sermon, Lionel said no more about this, and moved on to the major thrust of the passage.

But this verse made me wonder: pulling hair is what we condemn five-year-olds for! How do we react when we read something that, to our modern sensibilities, seems such an unacceptable method of church discipline?

To get conversation going after church, I joked with a couple of people, saying, “Would you advise pulling their hair out as a good pastoral method of dealing with people who disagree with me?” The modern codes of conduct many denominations have adopted for our ministries would rightly rule such behaviour out of order. Physical chastisement of others is completely unacceptable. (Except when directed by parents to their own children. And even then, we need to control our own anger and take great care to avoid physical injury.)

So how do we assess Nehemiah's actions? Here are my assorted thoughts. Firstly, the book is basically Nehemiah's own report of events—his diary notes of what went on under his stewardship as governor in Jerusalem. As such, it does not come with explicit commentary as to the rights and wrongs of his conduct.

Of course, chapter 1 indicates clearly God's sovereign hand in bringing him to that position at that time, and he is demonstrably a man of prayer and commitment to God's law. So I think we should read and evaluate the report of his actions sympathetically. But I am not convinced this means we can assume everything he did was automatically endorsed by God.

Secondly, we must not overlook the significance of his official civil role of governor. As such, he was invested with God's authority to punish the evildoer: “for he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer.” (Rom 13:4). We must not impose 21st-century liberal western standards of governance anachronistically upon a fifth-century BC middle-eastern situation.

Thirdly, we must remember that Nehemiah's account is necessarily a selection and summary of all that occurred. He may be omitting a longer account of how he came to decide such people deserved this strong rebuke. Was there some sort of judicial or other disciplinary process or did he just flare up in anger? He does not say.

Fourthly, once we reflect on the dangers of such intermarriage, we can better understand his depth of concern. Nehemiah immediately explained that historically even such a great king as Solomon was led into sin by intermarriage (13:26) and that these arrangements involve treachery to God (13:27).

The parallel and contemporary concern expressed in Ezra 9:1-2 shows even more clearly that the problem with marrying people from the other cultures is their detestable religious and moral practices. This prohibition goes all the way back to the law of Moses (e.g. Deut 18:9-12). These detestable practices included witchcraft, fortune-telling and consulting the dead. But above all, they practised child-sacrifice, burning their children in fires to manipulate and placate false gods like Molech. So the mixed marriage meant a temptation to compromise—such that even the physical welfare of children was at stake. We can see why Nehemiah may have been motivated to take such extreme action! Perhaps even a modern western liberal mindset could understand why he did what he did.

Obviously debating the rights or wrongs of Nehemiah 13:25 is not the main point of the chapter. But his actions sure got me thinking. Of course, you'll be glad to know that I won't be adding hair-pulling to my pastoral repertoire, and I'm not sure we must declare that Nehemiah was completely correct in all he did. But I hope I've provided a worked example of reading something sympathetically that stands out as odd and unacceptable in my own culture.

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