I recognize now that my theological education did me great good, but it also uncovered a deep darkness in my heart. It led me to a place of spiritual snobbery. I found myself able to hold forth on a great number of theological topics, but I had no fruit of the Spirit in my ministry. In doing so, however, I found my sermons became confusing. In attempting to avail myself of theological headiness, I was losing the power of the gospel.

They read from the book, from the law of God, translating to give the sense so that they understood the reading.—Nehemiah 8:8

“Muddy water is no sign the spring is deep.”—W.T. Conner

Education was not highly valued in rural Cooke County, Texas, in 1970. To make matters worse, Phil Young needed to help his father on the family farm. So he decided to drop out of high school after his sophomore year. He became a Master Plumber later in life—a career he pursued for just over 40 years. In May 1984, Phil married Angie—a single mother with two young sons.

And that is how I came to be raised by a plumber—a plumber who insisted I pursued formal education.

When I was in high school, similar in age to my step-father when he decided to discontinue his education, he took me to work one day. We dug ditches for hours that day in the hot Texas sun. My back was sore; callouses were forming on my hands. As I stopped to rest, leaning against my shovel, I looked at him, and he grinned.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

I was honest in my reply. “Not really,” I said.

“Good,” he shot back, “then get your education.”

So I did.

I majored in Bible as an undergraduate at Hardin-Simmons University—a small but strong Baptist school on the edge of the West Texas plains. There I learned terms like “Heilsgeschichte” and “demythologization.” I learned more about the Scriptures than I knew possible. Soon I found myself able to carry on theological debates and conversations with students I respected. It was exhilarating.

I recognize now that my theological education did me great good, but it also uncovered a deep darkness in my heart. It led me to a place of spiritual snobbery. I found myself able to hold forth on a great number of theological topics, but I had no fruit of the Spirit in my ministry. In doing so, however, I found my sermons became confusing. In attempting to avail myself of theological headiness, I was losing the power of the gospel.

I soon realized—and repented of—my problem. I realized I must take the deep truths of the faith and the education I had received, and I must communicate them in a simple way.

I needed to preach to plumbers.

And so I made a resolution. Early in my ministry—and again once I had completed graduate school—I resolved to make certain every one of my sermons could be understood by blue collar workers like my father.

I found inspiration in Spurgeon.

At the height of his popularity, Spurgeon’s star shone brightly over London. His influence was rivaled perhaps only by the Queen—on both sides of the Atlantic. Thousands crowded Metropolitan Tabernacle to hear him preach—those of the highest education and those who were of the lowest status within Industrial Age England. Factory workers and farmers sought to hear the great preacher, along with the most well-heeled individuals of the Empire.

What was it that drew those less fortunate souls to his pulpit? Was it the expansive social work done in the poorest neighborhoods by Metropolitan Tabernacle? Perhaps. But by all historical accounts, it appears to have been crowds flocking to hear Spurgeon’s preaching that drove the work of Metropolitan in the city, not the converse.

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