I kept on going, since no one stopped me. I moved through the chapters, and the faces shifted from confused to impressed to, finally, deeply moved. In some way, time itself seemed to stop and listen. By the time I reached the soaring finale to Romans 8, the room was completely silent, fully absorbed. My mom and sister had tears rolling down their cheeks at this point.
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death . . .
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord! (vv. 1–2, 38–39 esv)
I finally finished speaking, and rested with a smile, appreciative of the attention I’d received. My family remained silent for a moment. I knew that somehow, that simple act of recitation had changed something between my family and me. For the first time, I believe they understood that Jesus was more than the next fad in line. He was my life.
They knew that all those other pursuits were empty attempts in the single quest to find what I now had: a living relationship that filled my being and made me complete, in the same way these words from Romans had filled me in their presence.
I could finally answer Paula’s question. I knew who I was. Robby Gallaty had an identity.
And now, my parents saw it too.
What I came to understand on that Easter Sunday was that the Word of God truly is far sharper and more powerful than any two-edged sword. Debating and salesmanship come up empty. Logic and persuasion accomplish nothing. But the Word of God needs only to be released. When you have a lion, you don’t boast about what it would do. You set it loose. You let it roar.
That day, the Word of God was turned loose, and it roared in our household. No one got saved that day. But seeds were planted for a future harvest.
Chapter 17
Ignorance on Fire
As the new year began in 2004, I became a student at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS). I’d lived all my life in and around this city, but I was hardly aware of NOBTS. It was quiet and Baptist; the city was festive and Catholic.
David Platt had sent me there, or at least toward praying in that direction. That was okay by me, because there was no way they’d accept me, right? I figured I still had Bourbon Street written all over me. Not to mention that I was less than a year removed from drugs and alcohol.
Dr. Chuck Kelley, the school president, eventually heard my eye-opening personal testimony. I asked him after graduation, “Dr. Kelley, I’ve always wondered. How is it you let a guy like me into a place like this?”
He laughed and said, “Based on your transcript, you were just another William Carey guy—good Baptist school. You didn’t exactly fill us in on what you’d been up to ever since.”
“You never asked,” I said.
He laughed.
The church needs a few students with degrees from the sin world. Sin is an important topic for us. The Bible has its share of sin experts, and the church is supposed to be a hospital for sinners. I knew going in that I’d be an outlier, given the life I’d led. I expected to walk through the seminary corridors and see clusters of students discussing the finer points of Pauline theology, or maybe debating End Times theories. Going to seminary would be just one step below hanging out with the Apostles themselves—these folks might not have visible halos, but they’d be front-row saints.
David Platt was my model of what to expect. But I didn’t see a lot of his vision and passion for the gospel on my first few days. It was more like a law school or med school, a typical post-graduate institution. “Hey, David,” I asked, “where does the early morning prayer group meet?”
“Prayer group? There isn’t one.”
I persisted. “Where are the guys on fire for Jesus?”
“Robby, you’ve got to remember, these are people who mostly grew up as devout believers, the same way I did. Their faith isn’t brand-new to them like it is for you. They have more Bible knowledge; you have more passion. You don’t know much, but you’re utterly psyched about the parts you do know.”
My nickname in those days was “Ignorance on Fire.”
“I guess,” I replied. “But when I see a guy falling asleep in class, I want to get in his face and say, ‘Wake up, dude! You’ve got the gospel—the greatest news in history—right there in front of you! How can you be dozing off?’”
“Can’t say I disagree. But I think most seminaries and Bible colleges are like this. Most churches, for that matter. By the way, do you want to start meeting for prayer and discipleship before school starts?”
I was in. David and I agreed to Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:00 a.m. We wanted to see gospel passion spread throughout this campus.
Since David was the assistant to the Dean of the Chapel, he was given a key to Leavell Chapel. For two weeks, just the two of us met for Bible study and accountability on Tuesdays and an hour of prayer on Thursdays. We simply knelt on those stairs, crying out to God to revive us, revive our fellow
