What difference does being a Christian make to the task and craft of writing? I was left pondering this after Mark Tredinnick's keynote address at Saturday's Faithful Writer conference.

Mark is an author, poet and writing teacher, and his book for aspiring writers (The Little Red Writing Book) is the best I've read (and I've read quite a few). Mark doesn't describe himself as a ‘man of faith’, and we knew that when we invited him to speak. We wanted him to teach us about writing, not about Christianity. And so he did. His talk and workshop were full of illuminating and useful ideas about the craft of writing, obviously gleaned from many hard hours at his desk. It was eye-opening, instructive and inspiring.

All the same, I couldn't help being struck by the different worldview we bring to the task of writing as Christians. For Mark, the writing itself is the thing. The telling, as he told us, is more important than the tale, the journey more important than the destination. It's the writing itself that draws up meaning and significance and value, like fish from deep water.

The idea that there might be an answer or truth from outside—something that is given to us, which we receive and proclaim—hardly fits with the modern (or postmodern) worldview. In a world without an absolute, writing is not a vehicle for the explication and application of truth, but a constant searching. The writing becomes both end and means.

Mark was quite brilliant in pointing out how a degree of ‘faith’ is required to write anything at all, and in showing how us ‘faithfulness’ to the craft of writing is also necessary. But for us as Christians, there is an additional and determinative ‘faithfulness’—to the Creator who wrote our world, who is the author of our history, and whose final chapter is Jesus Christ.

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It's funny and not necessarily good how a view can lodge in your head and stay there unchallenged for years, even though you hold other views on the same subject that actually contradict the first view and, unlike the first view, are actually based on evidence.

So I know, because I've read them, that the Psalms contain sections that are harsh and apparently unforgiving. The classic example is Psalm 137:9, which says “Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!”, and it's by no means the only one.

But despite realizing that verses like this are peppered throughout the Psalms, and despite having spent years as a Christian reading and singing Psalms, I've long held the view that if you went through the Psalms one by one, this sort of cursing by the psalmists would be exceptional. And yes, I have gone through the Psalms one by one over the years, and I've been trying to pay attention too, and sometimes I've taught individual Psalms because they work so well as one-off sermons between other series. So you would think that I'd know what I'm talking about.

Yesterday I got it into my head to test my theory, and, in the grace of God, I happened to be sitting on the bus, which is a great place to read the Bible uninterrupted. What gave me the idea to test this out was reading Psalm 3:3, and being shocked to find a verse that I'd known and even sung for years (“But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head”) was not in a context I'd expected. If you've ever sung the song I'm thinking about, you will know that it is a boppy and completely disposable little ditty that you sing in youth fellowship at the beginning of your time, along with about three other songs, with the intention of getting people to quiet down a bit and focus on the fun you're about to have. It's uplifting, it's bouncy, you sing and forget. It's the church equivalent of a McDonald's Happy Meal, perfectly timed and delivered to keep kids entertained without necessarily being well nourished (but who cares about nourishment when you're on a long car trip).

Anyway, back to Psalms. Before you read on, check Psalm 3 and see if you see what I found.

Take your time now. I'm only putting this paragraph in to encourage you to do it and stop your eye accidentally flicking down to give away what I saw.

So there I was, reading Psalm 3, and I noticed that it was written when David “fled from Absalom his son”. That in itself is striking, and if you know the story in context, you will know that Absalom is trying to kill his dad (see the start of the story right here in 2 Samuel 15). The wrapping of this Happy Meal is none too happy.

And if you read on in Psalm 3, you'll see David praying that God will take sudden and deliberate action against his enemies, at the head of whom was his own son. “Arise, O Lord!” he cries. To do what? To help David out of a tight spot? To cheer him up out of his depressed state? To inspire him with a suitably up-beat tune to go with his Psalm? Well, I'm not sure whether those things are irrelevant, but they are not what he specifically asks for: “Arise, O Lord! Save me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked.”

Do you know for all the times over the years that I've sung about God, “my glory and the lifter of my head”, I have never once got to the bit where I sang about God striking my enemies on the cheek, and breaking the teeth of the wicked. Why not?

It's not the only Psalm where the violent bits have been censored. Try to find any reference to babies' heads being dashed against rocks in this piece of Youtubery featuring Psalm 137 (3 minutes 19 seconds, funky memories for all fans of the 1970s).

I'm about to make a point here, but I feel I've said enough for one post. If you have enough time between now and when ‘Break your teeth on this part II’ appears, read through the first 75 Psalms (I managed it on the bus back home; if you can do more, then more power to your arm), and just make a little note of where the Psalmist decides to record the downfall of his enemies with satisfaction, asks God to bring shame upon them in general terms, or prays that specific physical violence might fall upon them. How many of the 75, do you reckon, are couched in these terms? 8? 18? More?

You'll have to come back in a day or two to compare your answer with mine.

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The approach of the Beijing Olympics is a worthwhile time to remember the persecution of Christians in China. According to this summary report from Voice of the Martyrs, “There are more Christians in prison in China than any other country in the world”.

Not surprisingly for Western Christians, reports in the secular media have focussed either on the Olympics themselves, or, if the spotlight has been turned on the government, on the persecution of Tibetans, and occasionally on members of the Falun Gong movement. In the last few days, the major issue seems to have been internet access for journalists. (Who says journalists are self-centred and myopic in their concerns? There are probably some who aren't)

It's quite right for Christians to be concerned about these things as well. We want just government, and 1 Timothy 2 commands us to pray for governments; although note that the reason given in verse 4 is God's desire to see people evangelized and coming to knowledge of salvation. Peaceful, non-persecuting government will make it easier to tell others the gospel.

At any rate, as you marvel at people's ability to run fast and lift heavy things, spare a thought and a prayer for those who are unable to run fast because they have trusted in the Lord Jesus, and find themselves imprisoned in Chinese labour camps. Use the reminder of the Olympics as an opportunity to find out more about brothers and sisters who are suffering for the Lord, and pray for them too.

And what should we pray for them? Apart from the obvious prayers (like asking God to care for their bodies and souls, and to look after the families of those being persecuted), remember what Paul asked for when he was in chains:

To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains, that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak. (Eph 6:18-20)

Pray that Chinese government persecution will lead to the greater glory of God, and the salvation of many who need to hear of him. This, after all, is the reason those persecuted have accepted their treatment with joy.

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I'm getting the hang of this blog business. When it's the weekend and you want a rest, apparently what you do is drag out some ancient or obscure quote, and let that suffice for a post. The Pyromaniacs do this with Spurgeon, and it works a treat.

However, given how fast the world is moving, and how short our attention spans are, I don't think it's necessary to go nearly so far back for our classic quotes. The late 1980s or early 90s should do. And anyone can quote Spurgeon or Ryle or Luther, but who out there in blog-land (I ask you) is quoting classic snippets from those early edgy editions of The Briefing?

Well, as of now, we are. Here's Phillip Jensen, from Briefing #39, December 1989:

In my job I keep meeting people who suffer from psychosomatic wellness. Or perhaps, to be more accurate, psychosomatic goodness.

I understand that some doctors spend a lot of their time telling their patients that they are not sick at all; it is all in their minds.

I have the opposite problem. People keep coming to me telling me that they are spiritually well, that they are good people. Since I know there are no good people, I instantly realize that they are suffering from psychosomatic virtue.

The dream dies hard. The evidence mounts on all sides, but people continue to believe. They are seemingly reasonable, rational people. One event after another belies their blind faith, but they stick to it.

The whole purpose of faith is to trust what's trustworthy—not what is unreliable. How many times does your hypothesis of life have to be shown to be wrong before you discard it?

Western liberalism has a blind faith in the good and perfect nature of man. It is an unreasoned faith. It relies on vague desires for personal freedom. It exists against all the evidence of this century and others: against the evidence of two world wars, of the Holocaust, of Vietnam, Afghanistan, Korea, Chile, South Africa, racism, sexism, and so on, and so on.

We know we cannot trust the words of anybody. Our locks, our legal safeguards, our property insurance, our weaponry, our police, all testify to our working faith in human immorality. That humans are basically immoral is demonstrated daily in the media, in society and in our own actions.

How can we worship a (human) being who is so seriously flawed? We must pretend. It is better, in our minds, to worship the lie than the truth.

(From ‘Bad Dreams in Good Faith’, Briefing #39, December, 1989, pp. 4-5.)

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Gav's post on the “danger of living the gospel without speaking the gospel” has sparked off one of those debates that we evangelicals sometimes have—you know those ones which seem to become more hairsplitting and hard to follow the longer they go on. In this case, it's the old question of ‘whose job is it to evangelize?’.

Towards the end of the conversation Mikey Lynch makes this interesting point:

… the tone and the teaching of Promoting the Gospel may remove the “should” from this equation, but it doesn't remove the “would”. Over and again John [Dickson] shows and tells us how all Christians will be inspired to speak about their faith, even if they don't have to.

Mikey (and John, I think) are searching for an idea that is different from ‘should’—which doesn't carry the sense of ‘ought’ and obligation—but which nevertheless affirms that it still is great when this thing happens (that is, ordinary Christians sharing the gospel). It's desirable, it's good, it's to be celebrated, but it's not a duty or a responsibility.

I have to say that this is the aspect of this particular argument (which has been pottering along for years in our circles) that I continue to find curious and dissatisfying. Is living the Christian life to be divided up into things I really have to do (because the Big Guy says so), and things which would be good to do but are optional?

Or to put the question in its purest form: What is the relationship between what is ‘right’ and what is ‘good’—between what we are commanded to do, and what we aspire to do because it is excellent and worthwhile? (For the ethicists amongst us, we are talking about the difference between deontic and teleological ethics.)

The answer to this crucial question will depend on whether you think God's command is imposed arbitrarily on the world, or whether it conforms to the way God made the world to be. In other words, did God flip a coin to see whether stealing would be prohibited or not, or is there something about God and the world he has made, and the people who inhabit it, and his purposes for all of us, that makes stealing counter-productive, destructive and just plain ‘bad’?

If we say the latter (as I think we must), then we must also say that to do what is right is good, and to do what is good is right. ‘Ought’ and ‘good’ are, in the end, two different forms of moral language that are unified in directing us to live full, free, God-glorifying lives in God's world (as we await his new world). These two ways of speaking are not exactly the same, and they are often addressed to different circumstances and contexts. But the common instinct to give a higher place to the ‘ought’ over the ‘good’ is more Pharisaic than Christian.

In fact, when we think about the different ways that the Bible drives our moral action (or ‘good works’), there are not only two kinds of language; there are many. In the word of God there are stories and examples that carry a moral lesson and power; there are urgings, pleadings, encouragements and exhortations; there are passive commands (“be filled with the Spirit”); there are the wise observations of Proverbs; there are positive, attractive descriptions of good people and actions; and most strikingly there is Paul's characteristic indicative-creates-imperative move: since you are now this, live like that (Colossians 3:1-17 being a marvellous example).

God uses all of these kinds of language to call forth our action. Under the power of these words, we regard many different things as good, right, and worth encouraging each other to do, even though they are not so much as mentioned in the Bible. So here's a list, off the top of my head, of things that the New Testament neither directly commands us to do, nor even gives any clear positive example of someone doing:

• supporting international relief agencies
• everyday Christians reading the Bible personally and regularly
• speaking or writing publicly from a Christian viewpoint about the political, cultural or social issues of the day
• studying the Bible in small groups
• going to church every Sunday
• baptizing people in church
• having special evangelistic church services or meetings
• inviting non-Christian friends to such meetings
• writing or reading Christian books
• having family devotions
• providing meals for sick congregation members
• setting up organizations or societies to promote the Christian cause
• caring for or stewarding God's creation

Using different kinds of moral language, we urge, encourage, rebuke, stimulate, spur, exhort, push, persuade and generally egg one another on to get involved in these various good, right, useful and excellent things. The lack of deontic biblical language (‘must’, ‘ought’) would not hold us back from doing these things ourselves, nor from urging others to do them as well.

So why do we tie ourselves in knots trying to discover whether ‘all Christians are obliged to evangelize’ or whether there is a command for all Christians to evangelize? It's an ethically confused question that leads not only to more confusion, but to less Christians evangelizing. Could we perhaps agree to move on to a different question? Such as: How could we encourage, inspire and equip more Christians to talk about Jesus with their friends?

Then again, if all this is too hard or unconvincing, and you really just want a biblical command, try this: “As for you, brothers, do not grow weary in doing good” (2 Thess 3:13).

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Here's Acts 11:19-21:

Now those who were scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except Jews. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who on coming to Antioch spoke to the Hellenists also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number who believed turned to the Lord.

“The persecution that arose over Stephen” refers back three chapters to Acts 8:1 which says “And there arose on that day a great persecution against the church in Jerusalem, and they were all scattered throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles”. That little phrase, “except the apostles”, is particularly pointed, for whatever reasons lay behind the apostolic inertia in this verse, it means that any specific evangelistic effort to non-Jews had started well before the apostles got their acts (sorry) together. They were still doing their apostolic thing as only they knew how in Jerusalem, even they knew full well what Jesus had said to them way back in Acts 1:8:

But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.

Perhaps the apostles were waiting for a written invitation, since Jesus' words in Acts 1 were a starter's gun for world evangelization if ever there was one. But the very first people to hear the call and break out from evangelizing purely Jewish audiences were not apostles, but anonymous believers from Cyprus and Cyrene.

Indeed, it takes a full two chapters before the Apostle Peter, in Acts 10, finally gets around to evangelizing non-Jews. Even then, it's only because he receives an angelic vision, the celestial equivalent of a boot up the backside, that confirms that this might be the right thing to do. Even then, he is immediately hauled up before the other Jerusalem apostles who demand that Peter explain his actions.

Meanwhile, God had already been well and truly blessing the spread of the gospel among the non-Jews without the slightest hint that his Holy Spirit was acting with approval from the institutional church.

One of the messages of this bit of Acts has to be that if you feel the need to tell someone that Jesus is Lord, you don't need to wait for the church's blessing before you say something. Even apostles can be slow off the mark in doing what they ought to do, which means that you can show them the way. Just keep a low profile about it, or you may discover that you have to explain your evangelistic enthusiasm to the church leadership!

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Recently I enjoyed preaching on Romans 16. Perhaps surprisingly, there was a lot to learn from the long list of names. One obvious feature was the many women mentioned.

In recent years, it's been popular to say that the church has oppressed women, that it has little place for them, and even that the Apostle Paul was a woman-hater. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Paul identifies 28 people he wants to greet in Rome. Ten of them are women. Even that statistic is impressive in a fairly male-dominated society. Paul was certainly not ignoring women.

Several women mentioned were obviously important in Christian circles. For example, there is Priscilla in verse 5, mentioned, unusually, before her husband. Obviously she was a capable woman, whom Paul greatly admired. He says she and her husband risked their lives for him. And many were very grateful to her and Aquila.

Then in verse 6 there is Mary, and in verse 12, Tryphena, Tryphosa and Persis—all women who are said to work hard in the Lord.

And we shouldn't forget Phoebe, mentioned in verses 1-2. She's not in Rome, but is travelling there on some matter. She is identified as a ‘servant’, which can also be translated as ‘deacon’. This word was sometimes used for a recognized church office. And so it's quite likely she had a recognized ministry role in the church at Cenchrea. She is also a great help or ‘patron’—probably providing financial or social backing to the Christians. In fact, Phoebe was possibly the one whom Paul trusted to take his letter to the Christians in Rome.

Paul obviously had a lot of time for women like these.

So what conclusions can we draw about the place of women in ministry? Paul's letter says we can be certain there is an honoured place for women in ministry. They were servants of the church, they were Paul's fellow workers and they were hard workers in the Lord. And we should encourage women today to get involved and to work hard in serving the Lord.

But if there's a danger of glossing over the fine ministry done by women, there is an opposite danger of reading too much into the brief references in places like Romans 16. This is exactly what is done by many proponents of an egalitarian approach to ministry.

There's a problem when feminists claim this passage proves women served as public Bible teachers and church leaders. The reality is that the references don't give enough information to define the precise nature of their ministries.

For example, the fact that someone is called of a ‘fellow worker’ with Paul does not prove she was a preacher or a church leader. I consider our office administrator my co-worker. But she does not lead or preach in church. Likewise, my wife is my fellow worker. She administers the music ministry. She teaches children at Kids' Church and in school Scripture, and teaches the women in her Bible study group. But she does not lead or preach in church. So the use of the term ‘fellow worker’ does not prove women may be church leaders.

The same applies to calling Phoebe a deacon. As a patron, Phoebe's ministry may have majored on hospitality or financial support. In Acts 6, those who served as deacons were to help with feeding the poor widows in the Jerusalem church. And in 1 Timothy 3, unlike the church elders, deacons are not required to possess the quality of “being able to teach”. In fact, in 1 Timothy 2:11-15, 3:1-7 (cf. v. 8ff) and 5:17-18, it is the male elders, not the deacons, who oversee or direct the affairs of the church—some of them by preaching and teaching. So this reference to Phoebe as a deacon does not prove she was a church leader or teacher.

Lastly, there is the example of Junia in Romans 16:7:

Greet Andronicus and Junia, my fellow countrymen and fellow prisoners. They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were also in Christ before me. (HSCB)

I've heard this verse used to say women were foundational authoritative apostles. But there are three uncertainties here:

1. The name is grammatically ambiguous: it could be male (Junias) or female (Junia)—although it's most likely female, since almost all the references in other literature from the time suggest Junia was a common female name, but Junias appears virtually unknown.

2. The phrase “outstanding [or ‘prominent’] among the apostles” is also ambiguous. Imagine someone says to you, “Sandy is prominent among the bishops” (unlikely I know!) Does this mean Sandy is a prominent example of a bishop? Or does it mean that Sandy is prominent (as a person or as a minister) in the estimation of the bishops? Grammatically it could be either, although once again, it is arguably more likely an inclusive reference.

3. The third uncertainty is what the word ‘apostle’ means here. It has the basic sense of ‘delegate’ or ‘envoy’ or ‘messenger’ or what we might call a ‘missionary’ (one sent on a mission).

   Often it is used of envoys with special God-given status—especially of the original twelve apostles of Jesus. Paul applies ‘apostle’ to a wider group of eyewitnesses to the resurrection, including himself in 1 Corinthians 15, and to himself in most of the opening greetings of his letters, as one appointed directly by God as his special envoy.

   But elsewhere, he uses the word simply to refer to messengers without any special God-appointed status. For example, in 2 Corinthians 8:23, the term ‘apostles’ is translated as “representatives” in the NIV and as “messengers” (i.e. of local churches) in the ESV. Likewise in Philippians 2:25, Epaphroditus is an ‘apostle’, which simply means Paul's messenger. (This is also the case in John 13:16.)

In other words, even if (as is grammatically possible) Junia is called an ‘apostle’ in this verse, it does not prove she was a church leader and teacher. She may simply have been a Christian messenger or missionary with a range of possible duties, alongside Andronicus, who is most likely her husband.

The word itself does not prove what her role is. And it is dangerous to suggest that this part of the New Testament must contradict the other parts of the New Testament that put certain clear restrictions on women with regards to not teaching or leading a mixed congregation.

Another more subtle problem with this approach is that it suggests that such ministry is the only pinnacle available to a woman. But don't forget how positive Paul is in verse 16 about the mother of Rufus who had also been like a mother to Paul. Her ministry of mothering—of raising children and practising hospitality for a visitor like Paul—is equally commendable to that of Phoebe as a deacon or the outstanding Andronicus and Junia and Priscilla and Aquila.

So today, just like Paul in Romans 16, we need to value and encourage women in the full variety of those ministries legitimately available to them.

Reference: Andreas J Köstenberger, ‘Women in the Pauline Mission’ in The Gospel to the Nations: Perspectives on Paul's Mission, Apollos, 2000, pp. 221-247.

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A most excellent statement from a seemingly unlikely person, heard this morning. The speaker was a tall, retired man in a suit, addressing a younger bearded man who may or may not have had some religious interest, but who had a great deal to say about the Pope, the Roman Catholic church, and the recent Roman Catholic World Youth Day (WYD). They were talking about the re-enactment of the route to Jesus' crucifixion that happened as part of the WYD celebrations. The older man, who spoke broken English with a heavy Armenian accent, had this to say about the re-enactment:

Jesus say after he die, three days later he wake up. I say “Why you no show the wake-up?”

There are so many good things about this comment, it's hard to know where to start. Putting aside the question of whether or not re-enacting the crucifixion is a good idea (especially when embellished with non-biblical mythology, such as Jesus meeting his mother and a woman named Veronica as he went on his way), the old man's question was more than reasonable. It's not only the cross but the resurrection of Jesus which lies at the very heart of what we believe as Christians. Because Jesus rose again, he is revealed as Lord and Judge. Why have a religion which focusses, in its art and drama, on Jesus as a baby, on Mary his mother, and on Jesus nailed to a wooden cross, but which, at the same time, fails to portray his victory over sin and death in the resurrection? For he was “raised for our justification” because if he wasn't, “we are still in our sins”.

As the old man demanded, “Why you no show the wake-up?”

That question was encouraging enough. But, in addition, the old man did not allow himself to be sidetracked by the younger man's rant about the Pope and various pilgrims; instead, he had zeroed in on the heart of the Christian faith, and had proclaimed it in a voice loud enough for all the waiting passengers to hear ... well, it just made my day.

When I see him next (the old man, not the younger man), I am going to go and thank him. For the moment, I'm just saying a word or two to the risen Lord Jesus—that he might make the words of that gospel presentation effective in bringing new life.

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This morning, just for something different, and not at all because some of the Sola Panellists have gone quiet and there's nothing in the cupboard (guys!), let me suggest that you spend your time doing some listening instead: check out this month's Briefing Lounge podcast, ‘Shifting to the personal’.

One thing nearly all the Sola Panellists have in common is that, at one stage or other in our ministry lives, we've been profoundly influenced and trained by Col Marshall. When people think of the ‘St Matthias Movement’ of the 80s and 90s, the planting of 17 churches, the massive growth in people going into Moore College, the large and paradigm-shifting campus work at UNSW, the change in ministry culture that was influential in so many places, and all the rest, they tend to think ‘Phillip Jensen’, and understandably so. And they tend to think that the whole movement was built around Phillip's singular preaching gifts and personality and energy.

But those of us closer to the action know that none of it would have happened, humanly speaking, without Col Marshall. Col was the ‘ministry brains’ of the operation (if I can put it like that). His relentless focus on people, and his equally relentless determination to keep going back to the Bible and rethinking what we were doing in ministry, shaped everything that happened in those extraordinary years.

Col is probably best known for his leadership of MTS (the Ministry Training Strategy), but in ‘Shifting to the personal’, he talks about how institutionalization affects all of us (including MTS), and how we are drawn almost magnetically to structures and programmes rather than people. What would Christian life and ministry and church be like if our priority was to build and work with people as individuals, and to disciple and train them as followers of Christ, rather than to keep the wheel turning on all the programmes and events and structures that seem to take on a life of their own? And what if our home groups really functioned as small ‘c’ churches, and took responsibility for their members, with thoroughly trained leaders who taught and pastored them? And what if the fad for ministry ‘training’ didn't just equip people with skills, but shaped their whole life, character and discipleship?

All this and more, as they say, in this month's Briefing Lounge (the best yet, I think). Have a listen, and pop your comments and questions back here.

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In the comments from one of my GAFCON posts, Sam asks this interesting question:

While reading the material on the GAFCON website during the conference I couldn't help notice the charismatic flavour of many of the comments, particularly those of the African Bishops. Do you have any thoughts on how you see this impacting the wider Anglican community in the future?

I'm not sure exactly which comments Sam means, but in the conference generally there was certainly a bit of mild charismaticism here and there. It was more a matter of flavour than real substance—a few arms in the air, the way the singing was done, some ‘praise the Lord’-style language, but not much more than that. It seems to be part of the unique recipe that is African Anglicanism: a splash of high church colour and movement, a few dollops of charismatic vibrancy, and several cups of good old-fashioned evangelicalism. Charismatic theology or practice wasn't prominent, nor particularly significant in its influence as far as I could see. And whether it will have a wider impact via the growing influence of African Anglicanism, I'm not entirely sure. I suspect not, but I don't feel particularly qualified to make a prophecy.

However, what I would like to do (and hence to the point of this post) is to share a personal observation and a wild hunch, and see if anyone else is as crazy as I am.

I have always thought that something about the charismatic vibe grates with Australian culture. When I was involved in the charismatic movement (nearly 30 years ago), I remember standing there, hands raised, eyes closed in ecstasy, body swaying to the music, calling out “Thank you, Jesus”, or stringing syllables together tongues-style, and feeling ... well, like a bit of goose. A sincere goose, and glad to be a fool for Jesus of course, but a goose all the same.

Now I'm not commenting at all on the genuineness of my devotion at that time, or of those around me, nor on the theology that lay behind it (let's leave that for another time). Nor am I talking about the offence of the gospel, or the way in which living for Jesus means being different from those around us. I'm talking about the style, the little rituals, the patterns of language, the way we arranged our gatherings, how we expressed and enacted our deepest feelings and thoughts—the ‘culture’, in other words. And I never shook the feeling that culturally, Pentecostalism was an odd fit. It felt weird and imposed, like a big Aussie boofhead wearing a grass skirt.

And what has all this to do with GAFCON? Well, as I stood (and sang) shoulder to shoulder with charismatically inclined Anglicans from many different parts of the world, I couldn't help noticing how naturally the African bishop next to me wore the ‘charismatic vibe’. He swayed and waved and sang with a huge smile on his face, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Then there was the white charismatic guy in the row in front of me. He still looked like a goose.

The obvious but somewhat politically incorrect thought struck me: is it possible that classic ‘charismatic’ culture really is African culture? That the late 19th-century black holiness churches which gave birth to pentecostalism passed on to the 20th-century charismatic movement some of its cultural flavour? And that one of the reasons it all feels so strange to Aussies, and maybe less so to Americans, and probably even more so to Brits, is that it is just not us? We have our own ways of rejoicing and celebrating and expressing sincere gratitude. They are no less real or heartfelt or sincere. But they don't usually involve repetitive singing, swaying, dancing and waving.

Maybe this is what we should learn from our joyous, uninhibited African brothers. Maybe we should feel free to be ourselves. And love it.

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