This book review is part of a series. See Intro | Part 1 | Part 2.
“…I fashion myself as the self-appointed leader of a heterosexual male backlash in our overly chickified city filled with guys drinking herbal tea and rocking out to Mariah Carey in their lemon yellow Volkswagen Cabriolets…” ~ Mark Driscoll
As I read this book, I couldn’t help but think that Driscoll is–or at least was, in the early years of his ministry–terribly insecure in his manhood. His preoccupation with “manliness” doesn’t just border on obsession; it has set up a throne in the central district. He appears desperate to be seen as a man’s man in spite of his health and occupation: Continue reading