I grew up in south central Ohio, where I cut my teeth on the pews of Sugar Grove Methodist Church in Washington Court House. At 12, I heard the Rev. Martin Case, a new graduate of Asbury Seminary, preach a revival meeting in which I accepted Christ as my Savior.
By my early 20s, my faith seemed to wrestle regularly with my intellect in the ring of religious experience. I had read British philosopher Bertrand Russell’s book of essays, “Why I Am Not a Christian” (copyright 1927, Watts Press, London, England), and found myself the target of the darts of doubt it fired at my heart.
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