What happened to men?

Paul W. Tibbits was the commander and pilot of the Enola Gay, the B-29 aircraft that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Retiring in 1976 at the rank of brigadier general, Tibbits was slated to become one of the celebrated figures of history.

Years following his retirement, in a biographer’s interview, Tibbits was asked a seemingly odd question: “What did you do with your uniform?” The biographer had in mind to magnify the importance of the man who wore the uniform. Tibbits was simple in his response.

“I turned it in.”
“And what did you get in return?”
“I got a ‘chit’ from the supply sergeant telling me that I turned it in.”
“Do you have any idea what your uniform would be worth today?”

Tibbits was unmoved by the question and took command of the biographer's quest:

My military career was merely one of a man among men. As men, we embraced what was before us with a sense of responsibility. When we left that responsibility, we hung up our uniforms, and went on to embrace the next. It was not common for our men to glory in the past. The past was gone. There would be new responsibilities. We looked forward to becoming husbands, and fathers, and grandfathers. And with each new phase of life we once again would be merely a man among men.

Such a spirit is reminiscent of a day gone by. If there is anything the feminist movement has accomplished, it is the feminization of men. I have noticed a changing trend since the 70s. It once was common to discuss significant issues with husbands and fathers. But as time passed, the men have receded into the shadows of silence while women have emerged to take their place. What happened to the men? You will find them among their hobbies and toys while the women blaze the trail of leadership. I am not suggesting a problem with women but a void among men. Jesus shows something of that void by his example. As he looked to the cross, the hour of responsibility commanded his action. The Gospel of John tells the story:

Now my soul has become troubled; and what shall I say, "Father, save me from this hour?" But for this purpose I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name (John 12:27-28).

It is a courageous passage. In full awareness of the cross before him, Jesus held his troubled heart in one hand, and his greater purpose in the other. With both before him, his troubled heart gave way to his greater purpose.

Men are wired to take initiative and assume responsibility. When we do we find our worth. And when we don’t, we wither away. Martin Luther was a sixteenth century reformer. But more than that he was a pastor at heart. When asked about how to deal with male depression he gave the good solution: “Go harness the horses and spread manure on the fields” – get up, stop thinking about yourself, do the next thing, work hard, and create something good for someone else. That seems like helpful advice to me. He met men at their nature. The Bible agrees.

Genesis is the Bible book of foundational beginnings. In it we read how God created man and then placed him in a garden to cultivate it, “Then the LORD God took the man and put him into the Garden of Eden to cultivate it and keep it” (Genesis 2:15). Verse 18 follows, “Then the LORD God said, 'It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him.'" Among the many questions this passage may provoke, one seems clear: Before God gave Adam a wife, he gave him a job. Man was made to work and find satisfaction in it. The nature of that work is meaningfully shaped in the spirit of creation, provision, oversight, guidance and care. This is the spirit in which a husband is to love his wife and family. God places the ball of leadership in the court of the man, not the woman.

I recently was listening to a radio talk show. The topic was on the positive images daughters have toward their fathers. The radio host asked women call in and tell their story. One was particularly insightful to me. The woman, now older with a family of her own, spoke how her father was always the tower of strength and stability to the family. She told that her father always appeared to be confidently in control, cheerfully positive and relentlessly reassuring. The woman then went on to say something like this:

It was only in later life that I learned that my father carried heavy burdens. He pounded the pavement for jobs in a time where jobs were hard to come by; we felt like the richest family on the block. He anguished over the thought of not being able to meet the needs of his family; we knew only abundance in our every want. He never showed his tortured heart; to us he was the happiest man on earth. And when his health began to fail, he stood tall on the inside and presented himself as the husband and father who would never fail us. He was so alone but we were never alone.

I have a feeling that the above testimony of the daughter may strike a cord of satisfaction in the soul of many men. I have a feeling that her testimony may even sound a kind of trumpet call to something deep within the soul of a man. Perhaps it may even compel a man to courageously say: that’s the man I must be!