Two generations ago the name of Elton Trueblood was much better known. A Quaker, a philosopher, a teacher, and a trusted guide on how to live faithfully and generously in a world losing faith in faith itself. I was introduced to the books of Elton Trueblood by my late friend and pastoral mentor, the Rev Jim Taylor, one of the finest Scottish Baptist ministers of his generation and mine. I owe Jim many debts, amongst them the forty years of spiritual and intellectual fellowship nourished by regular phone calls, conversations over coffee, time spent at conferences together, and yes, in the days before email, occasional letters written in his small, neat and perfectly legible script.
Early in my first ministry I was on holiday on a caravan site in Crieff in Scotland, and I had brought with me The Yoke of Christ, the edited volume of Trueblood's sermons. By then I had completed an Arts degree in moral philosophy and comparative religion, and a full course of theological and pastoral education. I knew right away I was reading sermons by someone who fully grasped the meaning of Jesus words, "Take my yoke upon you and learn of me." These sermons were thoughtful, aimed to persuade and convince of their truth, and unadorned by clever illustrations or jokes. Rather, Elton Trueblood broke the bread of the scripture text and shared it, believing that those who were hungry would recognise bread when they saw it, or read it.
So began a long friendship in writing with Trueblood and his books. When ten years later, in 1984, I moved to Aberdeen, I borrowed a couple of Trueblood books from the University Library. Those two books are still there, though now in what is called, unencouragingly, the remote store! Even the titles are provocative and intended to intrigue; The Incendiary Fellowship, and The New Man for Our Time. There are actually 10 Trueblood titles in the library, all in the remote store, though easily enough recalled.
The world has changed beyond recognition since Trueblood was writing. Who knows what he would have made of our obsessions with entertainment as distraction, our anxious clinging to all kinds of 'connectivity', the globalised world of trade and commerce, the multi-cultural pluralities that bring their benefits, but with accompanying and at times dangerous tensions and resentments. And he wrote in the style of the cultured, thoughtful, intellectual man he was, his context mid 20th Century, his tone urbane American. But Christians of all people should know that the truth of the Christian tradition remains potent and authentic, even when expressed in the languages and idiom of previous generations. C. S. Lewis took care of what he called 'chronological snobbery' in his essay 'On the Reading of Old Books'. In any case, Trueblood's books are not all that old; and our contemporary habits of writing, reading and information transfer are not so superior as to entitle us to be dismissive of those whose knowledge of God and his ways retains a wisdom we are in danger of losing, and resources we do well to harvest.
So I'm back to reading Trueblood, starting with his sermons, the first one of his books I ever read. Then I'll trouble the librarians at the remote store to send over some more. That should give me enough over the summer to confirm I am not suffering from an outbreak of nostalgia, but returning to one of the places where good drinking water can be found for the thirsty.
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