My wife and I were born and raised in Pueblo (PWEH-blow), Colorado–the Pittsburgh of the West, because it was home of one the largest steel mills in the United States; my dad worked there for forty-six years, until he was sixty-eight years old. He used to tell me that the mill was where nails were born.

Those hard nails were also metaphors for the people of Pueblo. They are tough, unassuming, hard working, a little insensitive, and almost always straightforward. In 1993, Congress declared Pueblo the “Home of Heroes” because it was home to the most Medal of Honor recipients (four) in one city. President Dwight D. Eisenhower asked if there was something in the water that produced this unprecedented cadre of heroes in one place. It’s not the water; it’s the attitude of the community–tough as nails.

This machismo way of life is contrary to a proper expression of an interdependent community in Jesus Christ. For years I viewed the need for others as being weak and unsuitable for a tough son of a steelworker. It was my good friend in college–my first “outside friend”–who pointed out my hyper-independence as being abnormal. I previously viewed it as a hard-earned quality.

When I gave my life to Jesus after my first year in college, I dragged this toughness into my Christianity. It naturally led to legalism because legalism is based on toughness. It championed my own ability and strength to discipline my own life in line with the Scriptures, as well as a few additional ascetic activities. I even took pride in my humility. I judged others who were weak or who fell in their walk with Jesus. I justified this toughness and independence as the quality necessary for the demanding ministries I was leading. I took on several near-death churches as projects that I would “pastor” with unparalleled toughness. The bad part was that these churches experienced success, which fed my justification of an independent, hard-hitting approach to ministry.

The sin of my independence finally became evident to me when I understood the breadth of the gospel. I thought of the gospel as the ABC’s of our faith, elementary truths that we matured beyond in order to discipline ourselves in living out “Christian Religion.” I didn’t realize that community was a gospel expression and that our interdependence with others glorified the Son of God. I had previously used small groups as a church growth tactic, not as an expression of the gospel. I didn’t realize confession was an admittance of the need for gospel reconciliation and that confession and repentance was a community (rather than private) exercise.

My faith finally made sense to me when I understood how the gospel affected every aspect of my life: my marriage, my parenting, my relationships, and my pastoral leadership. I realized that I did not need to display an artificial personal fortitude to be used of God; I need to be pliable by the gospel. The gospel redeems me not from being tough to tender, but rather from being self-centered to being cross-centered. I can be tough as nails as long as I am hammered into the cross.