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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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