God is referenced as a “he” and “him” in the Bible, so goes the argument, because men, in specific, need a male ideal to look up to.  This in no way is meant to put men above women; on the contrary, this underscores men’s unique weakness.  Without a male ideal – without that distinctly male celestial guide – men, left to themselves, would be indescribably brutal, unfathomably destructive.  Notably, women do not need God to be a she.  They are built differently, and any argument that says that men and women are interchangeable is, to put it mildly, for the birds. 

I begin with this framework of the masculine to indicate that a particular aggression resides within each man and that, if channeled well, is beneficial.  Channeled aggression protects.  Channeled aggression provides.  Channeled aggression strives toward the noble, the good, and the worthy.  Unchanneled aggression leads to the opposite. Brokenness. Destruction. Selfishness. Laziness.  

We do not have to look very far in our society today to see men who have squandered this gift.  To be sure, parts of our culture even celebrate such wasteful behavior, calling it “liberating” and “free.” It is no such thing. Men have been called to a higher mission, yet so many falter, choosing instead the numbing effects of TV, smartphones, drugs, and booze. I humbly submit to you, dear listeners, that we are in need of a renaissance of true masculinity – a rebirth of who we have been all along. And it might start with considering how the vulnerable in our society are treated. 

Recently, I had each of my students stand before the class and tell us something interesting about themselves. The task was not meant to be an intense intellectual exercise. It was simply meant to acclimate the students to public speaking: controlling a narrative in an engaging and fun way.  In essence, the exercise was meant to build confidence in each student. 

Many students talked about some hobby.  Others talked about their family.  A young man – eighteen years old, likely – spoke about where he was from and, in particular, his father.  He did not last long.  A split second after the word father escaped his lips, he bursts into tears.  The feelings were that intense.  My impression was that there had been a deficit.  A lack.  An absence in his young life.  All leading to a breakdown in front of a roomful of strangers. 

The pain of abandonment is real, and let me hasten to say that the hurt and the vulnerable are many.  What would our world look like if more men stood up for these folks?  Were more intentional about including them, guiding them, letting them know that they belonged.  I have come to learn that fatherhood is not restricted to the relationship I have with my three daughters.  Oh no.  Fatherhood extends to those who need fathers.  I am not talking about crossing boundaries or giving unsolicited advice.  I am not talking about imposing on others.  I am merely talking about filling a need when it arises in an appropriate and respectful way.  Something small but something potentially meaningful.  Channeled aggression for the good of another.  We belong to one another, after all.  The wolf one shepherd misses might be the wolf another shepherd catches. 

Here is a poem I wrote.  I hope it lands well. 

Creep 

They played where 

our property veed 

awkwardly toward the row of 

pines, his row, Dean’s 

who suddenly stormed out of his house 

with his demand: 

“Not with my kids!  He 

can’t play with my kids!” 

Mom joined him in seconds. 

“What’s this?  What’s wrong?” 

“Your boy.” 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause I said so.” 

Dean was a short, wiry 

Italian who had fought in Vietnam. 

He kept a warning finger 

in the air. 

Mom was miffed. 

“Then your kids can stay in their own yard,” she 

shot back, then, 

while the other children stayed away, 

she moved as mothers do toward 

her little boy, 

this inexplicable threat with his 

inflamed cheeks and tear-soaked eyes, 

this five-year-old monster with 

his thumb in his mouth