You can tell a great deal about a person's approach to theology by how they respond to Karl Barth (1886–1968), rightly acclaimed as the greatest theologian of the last century. (The name is pronounced with a silent "h," thus Bart.) If a person is an avowed opponent of Barth's thought, then they are quite likely either very liberal or very conservative in their methodology. Even the once oft-used terms "Barthian" or "Barthianism," neither of which is now in vogue, are now terms of derision on both the left and the right.

I still recall the day I first became aware that frenzied opposition to Barth's writing, that originated from within certain sectors of my rigid conservative background, was not a helpful response if I was to pursue a rigorous and thoughtful theology. Interestingly, it was under a very conservative, and quite imminently fair, professor of systematic theology that I first began to read Barth for myself. I was not given a "sales pitch" but rather a measured and respectful evaluation. My first response, after truly reading his writing, was utter amazement. I couldn't believe how profoundly biblical this man really was in his impact upon the theological world of Europe and America. Even when I disagreed with Barth, which I did then and still do now, I couldn't deny that his primary goal was to lead the discipline of academic theology away from the flawed foundations of modern religious philosophy. Those modern approaches held an almost entirely positive attitude toward modern science, culture, and art. They also had a great sympathy for mysticism and its corresponding stress upon feeling. Barth sought to bring the study of theology back to first principles, those developed most consistently in the Reformation. This meant that he desired to relate all theology directly to the prophetic teaching and application of the Holy Scriptures. He was, more than any man of his time, a biblicist in his approach. Again and again he seeks to be faithful to Scripture, and even when he appears to be wrong he makes you think beyond the simple categories often forced upon Scripture from outside.

Thomas Hooker was born in 1586 in Leicestershire, England. His father was a yeoman. Hooker entered Queen's College at age nineteen, and then transferred to Emmanuel College, regarded by many as a nursery for Puritans. He earned a bachelor of arts degree in 1608, became a fellow in 1609, and graduated with a master's degree in 1611.

While at Emmanuel, Hooker became acutely afflicted by "the spirit of bondage" (Romans 8:15). He was so distressed by thoughts of the just wrath of heaven that he cried out, "While I suffer thy terrors, O Lord, I am distracted!" Simeon Ash, Hooker's sizar and later a member of the Westminster Assembly, spent many nights trying to console Hooker by directing him to the Savior. Hooker clung to the promises of Scripture until he was soundly converted. With a certainty born of experience, he would later say to others, "The promise of the gospel was the boat which was to carry a perishing sinner over into the Lord Jesus Christ" (Mather, Great Works of Christ in America, 1:334). His experiences gave him an abiding sympathy for others involved in similar struggles of the soul.

After his conversion, Hooker served as lecturer and catechist until 1618 at Emmanuel where many of England's spiritual leaders (including Stephen Marshall, Anthony Burgess, Jeremiah Burroughs, and William Bridge) listened to him preach. Hooker emphasized the application of salvation, which, wrote Cotton Mather, was a natural fruit of the "storm of soul that had helped him unto a most experimental acquaintance with the truths of the gospel." His students preserved many notes of those sermons, some of which were later printed without Hooker's approval.