Showing posts from April, 2021

The Narrative of Destructive Masculinity

Caution: I am going to touch the third rail - masculinity. It's time that men talk about the destructive ways we define and pass along masculinity in our culture. We must change our narrative. We tell our boys from an early age . . .  "Get up." "Don't cry." "Don't let anyone see your weakness." "Be tough." "Stop acting like a girl." "Don't be a wimp." "Be a man." This narrative is destructive. As a result of it, our young boys grow up with stunted abilities to identify their feelings and admit their weaknesses. They internalize this vision of manhood, and it produces a toxicity that has the potential to destroy much of everything in its wake. Within this worldview, anything that challenges this perspective of what it means to be a man must be subdued, dominated, or eliminated. Its impact can be seen and felt in businesses, politics, churches, and relationships. What if instead we helped our children u

A Short Walk

Today, I went for a walk.  There really isn't anything unusual about that. I love to walk my neighborhood and often take the opportunity to do so.  What made today different is that rain was in the forecast. Okay, that's actually not that unusual either. I mean . . . it rains. What was different is that in spite of there being rain in the forecast I decided to get in a quick walk anyway. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn't supposed to be a downpour for at least an hour. So, I changed into my running shoes (I don't really run, but the shoes work for walking, too), put my headphones in, and away I went. I was positive I could make it back before the rain.  I am sure you see where this is going by now. Yeah, you guessed it. I got to the half way point of my walk, and the rain started. It was just a light mist at first. It was actually kind of lovely.  But then . . . the skies went from that nice little sprinkle to a full blown downpour! And I was now only a lit

holy saturday (a poem)

in loss and grief a moment arrives when all goes quiet. the beloved no longer present the soul knows not what to do where to go who to be. all that remains is void. -bshivers

Friday Psalms (a poem)

Psalms* spilled from the lips of a dying man as he hung displayed in the midday sun yet another casualty of empire’s paranoia. The truth of the words from the pens of the ancient poets became a flame hidden in his heart that no earthly kingdom could ever extinguish. For authority belongs only to God, the one who rules over nations, a rock of strength, a stronghold to save. -bshivers *reference Psalm 22 and Psalm 31