A few years back, a friend and I had dinner with Dominic Crossan. As we shared with him our feeble attempts to follow after the peasant revolutionary he wrote about, his eyes gleamed with excitement. You could almost smell the fresh aroma of the gospel as it rose above the suffocating pages of academia. He told me he had met plenty of evangelical Christians, but not too many that still believed that ole rabbi really meant the stuff he said.
