Rhino Hide, Calloused Knees and a Flinty Face (2006)
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There is a survey going around the blogosphere right now asking people to name the twenty books that have been most influential on them theologically. I tend to avoid answering these questionaires, or meme's as they are sometimes called. The irony is that I almost always read the ones that appear on the blogs I frequent. I like the fact that they usually reveal something about the person answering them. I did think about what twenty books would be on my list.
I did not read much theology, per se, during the earliest days of my Christian life. However, I did focus on a few streams of thought that helped me immensely. I read a number of missionary biographies. I read a fair amount of material about persecuted Christians and martyrs. I also read quite a bit about prayer.
I know, the suspense is killing you. What books were so formative in my early Christian life? Let me tell you what concentrating on those themes did for me instead.
I realized that Christianity was far more than just going to Bible studies and prayer meetings, singing praise songs and trying not to lust after the barely-clothed co-eds at the dining hall. I saw that the missionaries and martyrs I was reading about had offered themselves in toto to the Lord and the world. I knew that I would never be worthy to carry their jock straps, but a kid could dream, couldn't he?
Something resonated in me when I read about these Christians from past decades and centuries. What I was reading in the Scriptures certainly confirmed what I was reading in these books. The combination of the two provided an alternate witness for living out the Christian faith.
I saw an unflagging determination to preach the Gospel no matter what the monetary, physical or relational costs. Men saw their wives and children die. Women watched their husbands carried off to jail or to death. Children watched their parents invest everything into other people, only to be rejected and cast aside. These people were at war and had a Spirit-inspired tatoo on their soul that said "Faithful unto death."
John the Baptist, the Apostle Paul, the Prophets Elijah and Ezekiel. These were men. They were not the melt-in-your-mouth, milk-toasty, self-consumed wusses that dotted the landscape of collegiate Evangelical fellowships (I include myself in that number). I was no better than the people around me. I guess a difference between my compadres and most of the religious folks we knew was that we saw our poverty and wanted to try and attempt something better.
Now, there is something to be said about the seasoning and mellowing that takes place as we grow older. I certainly heard plenty about that when I was attempting to set myself on fire for Jesus (metaphorically speaking, of course). The problem with much of that unwanted counsel was that I didn't want to end up like the people who had their arms around my shoulders and were speaking so condescendingly about my zeal. To be honest, there is still something in me that doesn't want to end up like that.
I guess I will always be a bit of a radical. I love what seminary did for me. I think that it helped inform and direct the passions that the Lord has tried to give me. I don't think I am on a different path that I have been walking since my baptism in the spring of 1991. Those stories of preaching missionaries and praying martyrs continue to be a part of who I am. I still see that Christianity has a militancy about it. There is a war to be waged. It is fought with ideas. It is fought with love. It is fought by our witness to the Gospel in word AND deed.
Propers for Trinity 21



