Many a sonnet has been written about the love of a woman, but it was the love of men that God used to win me into the kingdom. I hail from a background where religion was womanish. This was never voiced outright, but what my childhood eyes observed was that the few adults in my vicinity who were obsessed with God were of the female persuasion. This communicated to me loudly, if subliminally, that religion was for those given to romance and histrionics and tall tales.
The first time I saw men loving Jesus was at a place called L'Abri in Switzerland, and I was thrilled. Until today, I don't think I have ever expressed this in words. I'm not sure why. Either I was not able to put my finger on it before, or it was a response that did not fit any known theological categories. Or maybe it was just too weird and idiosyncratic.
I would go so far as to say that I might not have become a Christian-at least not then and not there-if I had not encountered men who were tender toward God. Any religion that is good for just 50 percent of the population is doubtful. Religion that is embraced by all women but no men may as well be an indication of psychological feebleness as of truth.
To see a woman put her head on Jesus' breast would not seem unnatural. To see the apostle John, a fisherman, put his head on Jesus' breast is shocking. To see women march to church with their husbands looking whipped as they shuffle behind, shooting the breeze with other men about the Red Sox was, to me, according to nature. To see men who love God as much or more than their women, who know more Scripture, and can lead their families in kingdom living, is exhilarating.
We talk about the importance of sending out missionaries, and that we should. But speaking personally, nothing did it for me like observing men of the ilk of King David, the monarch of Israel who stripped himself to dance before the Lord with all his might-and he didn't care a whit what Michal thought (2 Samuel 6:16).