I grew up learning what it meant to be a man. I did manly things, like working on cars, riding motorcycles and taking karate. Mostly, I learned what men are in relation to other things and people. Men aren’t women. They don’t cry. They are strong. They aren’t emotional. I learned about the roles men play: They are leaders, protectors, providers, good husbands, good fathers and good church members. Men get things done.
That is what culture taught me.
But what are men when you take those things away? The roles, the objects and people they relate to? This was a question I wasn’t prepared to answer. But ready or not, Jesus was asking me this question: Who are you really?
Nothing brings this question to the forefront faster than failure. At 24, my manhood and my identity were completely undermined by failure. My accomplishments paled in comparison to my failure. My strength was gone. I couldn’t cut it, couldn’t get the job done, couldn’t protect my wife. I was anything but good. It was in the depths of this season of despair that Jesus gently invited me into a journey with Him into the depths of me.
This journey takes courage. It’s not easy or comfortable. It requires brutal self-honesty and vulnerability with the Lord and with those around you. You will be exposed, with none of your usual trappings to hide behind, and none of your former roles or gimmicks to make you feel or look “okay.” There is no standard of comparison to show you that you’ve made it or that you’re doing as well, or “better” than anyone else. All you have is a dangerous and loving companion who knows the way and has no regard for your comfort or your false sense of importance or greatness.
Seven years later, we’re still on the journey together, and I’m starting to understand who I am and what it means to be a man. I’ve learned that there isn’t one picture or prototype. There isn’t a 12 step process to get there, and I’m not even sure where “there” is. I know that I feel weaker and more exposed than ever. I’ve cried, at least 3 times! My roles are temporary and can change quickly, and so will affirmation of the people around me. And some days, I feel useless to the world.
But I know that Jesus loves me, just like this. Naked, weak and useless. It’s in this place that I’ve found that to be a man is to surrender what I think it is to be a man, and to allow Him to redefine it. I am most used by Him when I stop trying to be so useful. And when I stop striving to be a man, I am.
