What is it about men circling up, as around fire, that lends itself to speech, and even wisdom?
The kindling and sticks of firewood had not been laid out yet when some of us huddled ‘round. The purposes of gathering were for one of the young men to teach and for men to come alongside one another as part of encouragement and accountability. Men often live lives of work alone whereby their relationships atrophy.
The topic? Consistency between professed faith and practice. The Christian walk is to bear witness to the Christian message. Christians’ lives are to be marked by transformation.
One passage of Scripture the teacher cited came from James: “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only” (James 1:22 ESV). A second came from Paul: “For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who be will be justified” (Romans 2:13).
We men gathered on the upper banks of the pond. It was near dusk. A light breeze blew from the west. Clouds indicated a chance of rain. Some of our sons were downhill, fishing. The pond’s surface rippled when the winds picked up. We all looked to the teacher. He had his Bible open on his lap. Gently, he read, explained, and illustrated the multiple texts of Scripture.
When he concluded teaching, some men’s faces had changed. Spiritual realities were at work. Then some men began to speak. They spoke of how time often had found them at work for things that perish, instead of at work on themselves, and/or their loved ones. Some had neglected their families for careers. Some spoke of how grace had found them amidst busyness. Others told of how they’d hardened themselves against some church folks’ legalism. Some sanctimonious church attendees had deterred some men from feeling welcome. As a result, some men chose to bury themselves in work/careers. Others spoke of how we men tend to labor for acclaim rather than for truth.
Evening wore on and, eventually, darkness fell. One of the men began removing kindling from his pickup truck and started the fire. We gathered around the growing flames, as he added pieces of split wood. The flames grew orange and lengthened towards the sky. The Spirit continued to work.
My son was still downhill, fishing with some of his buddies. I called to him, telling him that it was getting late, and to start loading up the fishing tackle. My mind kept at its interior monologue: This is what matters. This is what matters. Invest in people. Don’t lose your soul. Hear, yes, but do.
Time came to depart the campground. Neither my son nor I wanted to leave. I helped clean up the area, and shook hands with some of the others. My son and I got into my pickup. Halfway home, and without any prompting from me, my son said, “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, boy.” I glanced at him quickly to see if his thoughts were with mine. He had his left elbow on the armrest. I wrapped my right hand over his left hand, squeezed it, and fought not to weep for the joy of relearning to celebrate the simple. This is what matters. This is what matters. Invest in people. Don’t lose your soul. Hear, yes, but do.