At long
last we know what makes Carl Trueman tick. Like most important things in life,
it comes down to the fairer sex:
That was
the pivotal event in his theological formation. It’s autobiographical revelations
like this that key you in to the man behind the mask.
For instance, we could already surmise why Trueman didn’t go
the Anglican route. His proud, working-class roots rebelled against lisping,
high-pitched, Eton-tutored clerics whose only raison d’etre is to officiate at
royal baptisms, weddings, and funerals.
But now we know why he became a cantankerous
Presbyterian churchman who wears suede penny loafers, a cardigan sweater,
drives a Volvo, and sings the metrical version of Robert’s Rules of
Order–rather than giddy, free-spirited charismatic who takes dictation for the
Virgin Mary.
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