Being human can be incredibly challenging. There’s not a person I’ve gotten close to that doesn’t wrestle at times with identity, insecurity, and idolatry. Especially men.

I’ve said this before, but at our fundamental core, we need to know that we matter and that we belong. Belonging can be very hard though. What we want so badly is not always so easily attained. And it leads me to wonder why our lives have to be so challenging at times.

Think about it for a moment, putting aside the world around us—each of us, individually, carries within us what can seem like a growing list of insurmountable imperfections that we quickly and often see about ourselves. And like it or not, they’re part of our human condition. Our sinful condition.

Our physical being alone can easily be viewed as a somber collection of unwanted feelings, destructive tendencies, irrational emotions, progressing physical ailments, and an ongoing dose of selfish thought patterns that, when entertained often, can quickly harm nearly every part of our mental and physical lives.

I need to go further on this. What about what happens when others know—when they’re acutely aware of these imperfections in us, when we’re seen at our most vulnerable state, when we’re helpless or even exposed? If that happens, we then ask ourselves: Will they use this against me? Will they weaponize my fear? Will they manipulate me to get what they want from me?

The cycle can quickly become destructive. Do you remember what this feels like? What did you do? I can tell you what I did—what I do. I shrink back, I shy away, I isolate. I become fearful. In fact, I think each of us do this very thing, though it can vary in its appearance to others.

To avoid hard things, to avoid such pain and even loneliness, we run from feeling like this—either consciously or unconsciously. Instead, we self-medicate. We find a vice or develop a behavior that’s pleasing to others, at least on the surface anyway, and we ultimately condition our heart to think that this is a better alternative. This is precisely why scripture tells us that the heart can be deceitful.

Deep down, the thought of being seen for or being identified by our worst moments, our imperfections, our weaknesses, is too hard to bear. And so, we settle—we settle for the surface veneer life. We accept being seen by others for who we think they need to see and know. And unknowingly, we then exchange the richness of deep friendship and love for relationships that ultimately become littered with self-fulfilling pleasantries.

Being human can be incredibly challenging. Morgan Snyder calls this living from the false self rather than the true self. And this is precisely why we need God’s abundant grace and mercy, and it’s why we need His Gospel—because if we choose to receive it, it makes us whole; it washes us anew from the filth of sin that so easily saturates our chosen garment of identity, insecurity, and idolatry.

For me, my sin garment is insecurity—it’s self-doubt. Sometimes I struggle to believe that I’m good enough, that I belong. So I tell my wife and children at least a dozen times a day that I love them, because I need to hear that they love me too. Because I want to belong too. I want to be loved too. I want to be seen too.

I’ve learned though that my need for others isn’t inherently bad—we are designed for relationship. But like any good thing, we can take something good and make it not so good. Thankfully though, Jesus’ blood washes the garment of my insecurity and self-doubt. And it’s Jesus’ blood that washes me, and you, anew—time and again, over and over.

And it’s Jesus’ blood that made it possible for us to approach the throne of grace, because we’re adopted as sons and daughters. This is our truest identity. And it’s Jesus’ blood that mends the brokenness of our hearts so that we can be wholehearted and not insecure. And it’s Jesus’ blood that eviscerates the idolization of ourselves. Because in the awareness of our desperation and need for Him, everything else pales in comparison. Everything.

The Gospel itself is the most transformational love story that’s ever been told, because it’s the only story whose central character, Jesus, has the authority and power that can rightfully take us from one place (sinful) to another place (righteous). If there was no blood shed, no atonement for our sins, then the entire story would be just a fictional fairytale. But it’s a true story. He died for you, and He died for me. We’re no longer just sinful people—instead we’re redeemed people, bought with a price.

Can I ask you something? Do you believe this story? I mean deep down, with every fiber of your being, do you believe that this story is true? If you do, has it changed the way you live your life?

Twenty-one years ago, it completely changed my life. And it continues to radically alter the way I view the world around me. And it gives me great curiosity as to how God is redeeming His creation, right now. And it’s the reason why I’m writing this letter.

I believe we, the church—the embodied body of Christ—must do a better job at telling the story, His story, starting with me.

There are a few observations that I see on the horizon within the context of men that give me great concern. Though, as a follower of Jesus and member of the body of Christ, I also have tremendous hope. To begin, I’d like to explore an important word that we often use synonymously with people of faith, and how these people in the western world most often experience God—it’s the word church.

The word is Ekklesia, which is a Greek word used throughout the New Testament, most notably in describing the assembly or gathering of people who follow Jesus. New Testament scholars will tell you that the church as we know it today looks much different than it did back then—it was not necessarily a location; it was a people. This holds true today.

We often reference the book of Acts as a basis for how people of faith are to live together in community as they follow Jesus and journey with Him. We are to do this together. In fact, Jesus Himself states that where two or three are gathered in His name, He’s there. It wasn’t until centuries later, after Jesus’ commissioning of the disciples, that the use of the word church became synonymous with the physical place where people gathered. This is extremely important to know, because it’s the foundation for the rest of this letter.

Here’s my first observation. We’ve become far too critical of the church. Far too many of us are using the phrase, “The church should be doing more to _____.” No, you and I are the church. And as the church, it’s our responsibility to sacrificially respond to the needs that are directly in front of us.

The statement at hand immediately elicits a rejection of personal responsibility as well, and subtly fuels the idea that a life of faith should be one that conveniently serves me and my needs. It likens faith to an experience akin to a cafeteria plan, where we pick and choose what we like, what we don’t, and how much we want. That’s not how faith works.

This type of rhetoric we use within the body of Christ—tearing down the church by saying it should do more—is damaging our witness to the outside world. These self-inflicted wounds need to be healed. In some ways, I think we’ve lost sight of our belonging to the greater body of Christ, the church, the ekklesia, when we utter words like this—words of defeat. We’ve become far too critical of the church.

Passively, I was blaming others and blaming the church for not doing enough to engage men like me, as well as the men who were around me. So, I made excuses for my not getting more involved, for not actively engaging in finding solutions, and shamefully, under my breath, I criticized those that were attempting to help, but their efforts seemed as though they were falling short. I was this person.

So how did God respond to my sinful, short-sighted, passive finger pointing? He burdened me with a heart and love for my fellow brothers so deeply that it completely consumed me. I remember being at the office and interacting with a client at the bank, and I’d be interrupted by God’s Spirit saying, “This guy needs me. And I’m going to use KINSMEN to reach him.”

No, God, I’m comfortable—I don’t really have time for that. I’d be at networking events around town, and I’d see a sort of fragmentation and isolation in other guys as we talked. I like to say that their “peacocking” or “self-promotion” was masking a deeper longing, and God’s Spirit would subtly say, “These men love me, but they’re alone and they don’t even realize it.”

Yes, but I don’t even know where to begin, God—what am I supposed to do?

It completely overwhelmed me with such weight that I couldn’t be idle about it anymore. But I wasn’t quite sure what to do about it—but God did. And He then invited me into what He was already doing by downloading a vision to me for what could be, and He gave me the choice to respond. And I decided to say yes.

Be careful about what you complain about though, because you just may be burdened so deeply that it overwhelms you.

This brings to a close my initial observation, which is a commission for those who claim to be followers of Jesus. For many of us, our witness—our life that’s lived out in response to Jesus’s invitation to follow Him, our being the salt and light of the earth—has lost far too much of its flavor. We need to tell a better story, and perhaps it begins with a renewal of His story that’s obediently lived out in and through us.

Yes, Jesus is the hope of the world, but an essential part of His plan to redeem creation has always been to commission His people to carry out His message. This is the church, the ekklesia—the activated, engaged, commissioned, and sent people of God—gathering together throughout the world to carry out the message of the Gospel. The Good News. Infusing His love, truth, and message into every corner of culture and society. We are a gathered people, but we’re also a sent people.

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.”

The process of male spiritual formation is uniquely at a critical moment in recent history, and the church—the ekklesia—has an extraordinary opportunity.

Nearly all of the systemic societal issues we’re facing as a nation can easily be traced back to the fundamental breakdown of the nuclear family. I mentioned earlier about our need to belong and to matter. This is true for both men and women, but men today are uniquely facing obstacles not seen by prior generations.

Did you see what Paul said there—“Put it into practice”? This requires action, and it brings me to my next observation.

Now, let me make a quick disclosure before I move on. My identifying observations about some difficulties uniquely facing men doesn’t in any way remove the ongoing challenges that women uniquely face as well, and in many cases, for decades or even longer. The zero-sum argument is one that honestly has no place for followers of Jesus. We’re brothers and sisters in Christ. Period. Arguments like this—ones that lead to a win / lose scenario—are simply not of God; they’re demonic and divisive.

With that in mind, here are a few data points on men:

Men are more depressed than previous generations, regardless of socioeconomic status.
Men are more suicidal than previous generations, regardless of socioeconomic status.
Men are less financially secure than men of previous generations, especially within the lower and middle class.
Men are the primary breadwinner in 60 % of two-parent homes, especially within the lower and middle class.
Men are far more lonely than previous generations, regardless of socioeconomic status.
Men are entering the workforce later in life than previous generations, especially within the lower and middle class.
More men are more addicted, drugged, and void of purpose than previous generations, regardless of socioeconomic status.
More young men are influenced daily by podcasters, social media personalities, and online gaming forums than every youth pastor in the country combined.

As I’m writing this, just this past week a certain male figure appeared on a podcast episode with the most popular voice in non-legacy media, Joe Rogan. Within 24 hours, the video was viewed more than 25 million times. Joe’s audience is overwhelmingly young men, ages 18 to 35.

So, what does all of this have to do with male spiritual formation? Absolutely everything. Because we, the church—the ekklesia—need to know what we’re up against. We need to know how culture and society are influencing and shaping the hearts and lives of men, both young and old.

John Eldredge, who has ministered to millions of men over the past 20 years, mentioned recently in an interview about the increase he’s seeing by men who are forming groups and organizations across the country. He said for the most part this is good—guys are finding common ground with fitness, success, leisure, achievement, lifestyle, and even family. He did say, however, that these groups and their pursuits will ultimately become void, empty, and in some cases damaging, because the Gospel is not at the central core of why the group exists.

John’s statement highlights the acknowledgment that men are, in fact, searching.

In years past, there was a much clearer sense of what men should do within societal norms: there was an understanding of how they should behave, how they should work, who they should work for, where they should go, and what was expected of them. Yes, there were certainly exceptions, and this isn’t a claim that the societal norms of before were morally absolute—they had considerable flaws. However, the majority of men knew what was expected of them and how they were supposed to show up within society. Many men carried a sense of duty and responsibility that was beyond themselves. This is no longer the case. The lines have been blurred, which has left many men searching.

You might be reading this and thinking, well that doesn’t apply to me at all. I have a clear understanding of my purpose, the work I’ve been called into, the family I love and serve. I’m not depressed, never been suicidal, and sure, I have my ups and downs, but life is actually very good for me right now.

That’s exactly my point.

This is not just about you, and this is not just about me either. This is about our response, as the church—the ekklesia—to tell a better story and to faithfully carry His message. And through it, we just might ignite within men a deeper sense of self, anchored in God’s truth and His Gospel, yielding a life that’s both wholehearted and even fully alive in Christ.

To give you a glimpse of what it looks like for many men right now, let me give you a few examples of what’s stirring in their hearts and minds. The mental, physical, and spiritual layers of the examples I’ve just provided can be quite complex for men. Yet there are some notable antidotes at the core of each of these statements: an abiding relationship with Jesus and ongoing faithful friendship with others.

Our telling a man that his identity is in Christ doesn’t land too well if he doesn’t know how to get a good, fulfilling job—because most men are doing their best to try and get ahead.
Our telling a man that his addiction doesn’t honor God won’t lead to him changing his behavior—because most men know if they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.
Our telling a man that he needs to love and serve his family better when he has absolutely no example of this in his family story can be extraordinarily difficult—because most men don’t realize how their own family story has shaped their life.
Our telling a man that he needs to toughen up when he’s quietly experiencing depressive thoughts will actually fuel the anxiety—because most men will see this as a weakness and say nothing.
Our telling a man that he must be the breadwinner in his home is a sure-fire way to lead him down a path to a crisis of identity and idolization—because most men still believe their worth is tied to their ability to financially provide.

If we’re going to reignite within men a sense of wholeheartedness—a life that’s alive in Christ—then it begins with our telling a better story of His Gospel. We need to properly reframe the invitation to follow Jesus as one of adventure, risk, sacrifice, surrender, and consecration. Much of the formative male spiritual experience we see has been filtered down to one that is not that appealing, because it does not require any risk, or sacrifice, or surrender, and is void of just about any type of adventure. And thus, to winsomely capture the hearts and imaginations of a generation of men, it’s going to take many, not a few.

Self-preservation has taken hold of too many of our hearts, and it’s time we die to ourselves again, and again, and again.

In recent months, I heard the following words from Jon Tyson, a writer and pastor who’s in many ways casting an air-raid approach to the awareness of the male spiritual condition in our country. But most importantly, he’s actively engaging in ways to infuse God’s truth into the hearts and lives of men. We had a gathering with some men here in the area earlier this year, and Jon was able to join us for the day—which was a gift. Jon said something that day that was deeply profound. He was sharing on the topic of ambition, specifically holy ambition. His challenge for those of us in the room was to adopt a different approach and mindset with regard to the issues and subsequent needs of our day.

He said we need a mentality that says this: “It’s not necessarily my fault, but it’s my responsibility.”

This statement is at the core of a mindset that is rooted in selfless sacrifice, abundance, and generosity—not one of selfishness and self-preservation.

I mean this kindly, but in many ways it’s as though we’ve become far too important to ourselves, and in doing so, we’ve slowly embraced a life that is centered around our needs, our wants, our experiences, our faith. Instead, Jesus calls us into a life of following Him—to die to self, to carry our cross daily. This is the life of faith. It’s a lifestyle that doesn’t always make sense, because our spiritual operating system is not based on logic and reason, rather faith and obedience.

I’ve seen what happens. I’m seeing what happens. And I’m writing this letter because I want to continue to see this happen.

May we, the church—the ekklesia, the body of Christ—live out our lives both faithfully and sacrificially, and may each of us embody a deeper sense of responsibility and duty to love one another with the great love of God.

I’ve seen what happens when brothers and sisters are united in Christ.
I’ve seen what happens when men come together without pretenses.
I’ve seen what happens when lavish hospitality is at the forefront of serving men.
I’ve seen what happens when the Gospel is preached with conviction and grace.
I’ve seen what happens when men are seen for who they are and not what they do.
I’ve seen what happens when we honor the life of a man who takes risks and is faithful.
I’ve seen what happens when a person’s generosity shapes an environment for men.
I’ve seen what happens when men love one another with the great love of God.
I’ve seen what happens when people die to themselves, and how it transforms the hearts and lives of those around them.

I’ll close this letter with some of my favorite words from the Quaker theologian Dr. Elton Trueblood, who penned these words nearly eighty years ago:

“Jesus was deeply concerned for the continuation of his redemptive work after the close of his earthly existence, and his chosen method was the formation of a redemptive society. He did not form an army, establish a headquarters, or even write a book. All he did was to collect a few unpromising men, inspire them with the sense of his vocation and theirs, and build their lives into an intensive fellowship of affection, worship, and work.

One of the truly shocking passages of the Gospel is that in which Jesus indicates that there is absolutely no substitute for the tiny redemptive society. If this fails, he suggests, all is failure; there is no other way. He told the little bedraggled fellowship that they were actually the salt of the earth, and that, if this salt should fail, there would be no adequate preservative at all. He was staking all on one throw.

What we require is not intellectual theorizing or even preaching, but a demonstration. There is only one way of turning loyally to Christ, and that is by trying to create the kind of fellowship which He required of His followers. We cannot revive the faith by argument, but we might catch the imagination of puzzled men and women by an exhibition of a Christian fellowship so intensely alive that every thoughtful person would be forced to respect it. The creation of such a fellowship is the argument that can count in the confused world of our day.

If there should emerge in our day such a fellowship, wholly without artificiality and free from the dead hand of the past, it would be an exciting event of momentous importance. A society of loving souls, set free from the self-seeking struggle for personal prestige and from all unreality, would be something unutterably precious. A wise person would travel any distance to join it.”

This is precisely what we’re aiming to do, and I need your help to do it.