My First Men’s Retreat
What is the sound of 100 men singing together? And no, this is not a Zen Koan. What is the sound of men singing hymns like Nearer My God to Thee and Amazing Grace?
It’s solid and serious, low in volume and tone, somewhat hesitant and searching.
That’s one of the things I find out while attending a recent church sponsored men’s retreat.
I can think of nothing more intimidating than spending a weekend with a bunch of men. Visions of back slapping good ol’ boys, binge drinking, pranks, insult humor, one-up-manship comebacks. A pecking order discreetly fought for. One man reigns supreme. He dominates conversation, has the funniest stories. The other men fall into line and fawn.
I enter the LED lit room and squint. It’s a typical hotel conference room with modular walls and multi colored carpet designed to mask stains. I select one of the few remaining seats at a 10 person round table off to the side.
We convene with prayer. After we all respond with a hearty amen, I open my eyes and look around.
What type of man comes to a church sponsored men’s retreat? Are they “soft men,” as my friend assured me when I hesitated about going? I picked up on the insinuation, but I didn’t take offense. (“Who you calling soft?”) Is a church going man, by definition, a soft man?
Well, what’s a hard man? He’s a cowboy, a soldier, a football player. He handles whatever comes his way, alone. He’s a take-charge guy, a natural born leader. He knows what he wants, and he gets it, and that includes women.
And no, I don’t see many here that fit that description, so I guess, by default, we are a group of soft men. So, what’s a soft man? He’s not macho. He’s comfortable with mutuality and sees others on an equal level.
The attendees range in age from 20s to 70s, with the majority in their 40s and 50s. They are white with a sprinkling of diversity. They are professionals with six figure or more incomes, many from JPL and the entertainment industry. So, at least by association, these men are the number one enemy right now. (You gotta lotta esplainin’ to do.) (Young people, ask a baby boomer about this reference.)
We stand and sing with a rock band up front, a keyboard, drummer, bass and three guitars. Lyrics are projected on a screen.
Seated again, the moderator has us pray before introducing the main speaker, who has us pray again before he begins speaking. He asks the question what does it mean to be a man. He refers to Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist and hearing the words “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” All of us are loved as sons of God before accomplishing anything. He is pleased with us from the get go. We don’t have to earn His love.
We break up into small groups and are invited to talk, but first – Can you guess? -we pray. The discussion circles around proving our worth to our fathers, to our wives, to our children, quite the opposite of unconditional love.
Saturday night, written on the white board is the question, Is Masculinity Toxic? We hear about The Doctrine of Total Depravity. Humanity by nature is toxic, i.e., prone to sin. We hear about women who have suffered sexual abuse. Jesus is described as the true man, a role model for masculinity.
In our small groups we are encouraged to speak as personally as possible. My small group avoids the personal with generalities about society going downhill because of loosened gender identification and family roles.
Come Sunday morning there is a significant depletion in numbers. Hmmm. For those remaining, there is a discussion about how to find fulfillment in our jobs.
Worship follows, led by the pastor of the church. We are asked to get on our knees and fight like a man, a Christian rock song lyric. The physical action is a sign of humility and submission, not particularly the go to posture for the hard man. Old and young alike descend and pray.
We are invited to partake in communion. I take a chunk of bread, dip it in the cup, ingest and cry.
Wait…whaaaa?
I was raised in a Presbyterian church that only celebrated communion a few times a year, and when it did, the elements were delivered to your pew seat. The act was performed in relative obscurity. Later in life, I attended an Episcopalian Church that celebrated communion every Sunday. In fact, it was the highlight of the service.
Communion began with the invitation: Whoever you are and wherever you are in your journey of faith, we invite you to this table to share in the bread and wine.
Hearing those words, my hardened heart softened. (Perhaps a more insightful definition of the hard man is one with a barricaded heart.) The dark part of me, the hidden part of me wept. I was being invited to the table, as is, no changes required. I didn’t have to hide my failings. I didn’t even have to promise I wouldn’t do it again. Just come to the table, now, as I was.
Wow, that’s a message I want to pass on to my boys. You are my sons, of whom I am most proud. You don’t have to get good grades; you don’t have to be a sports star; you don’t have to go to a fancy college. You are loved, now and forever. Now go, go down that road, not the road of earning love and acceptance.
So, I choke up when I swallow those elements, reminded yet again that I am part of the Body, now and forever.
We conclude with benediction.
Speaking of road, this retreat was a small step, but an important one. 100 men came out from behind the wall of “I got this” and joined with others in prayer: Teach me to be a better man.