Masculinity

I think I’m just getting to the age where I can truly process my adolescent experiences. I don’t dwell on those days often, but when I do, I find that I can approach them with a clarity and emotional detachment that I simply wasn’t capable of before. I’m not sure why. Maybe my frontal lobes are finally done forming; or maybe those feelings just aren’t so raw anymore. Regardless, it’s made for much more healthy, productive reflection than I’ve had on this subject before.

In high school, I was a bit different from other people my age. Well, mostly just the boys. I fit in with the girls just fine. But other guys never really accepted me as part of the group, because I didn’t fit their description of what a guy should be.

My voice was a little higher and more nasally than theirs, with just a hint of a lisp to it. Whereas other boys tended to keep their feelings to themselves, I had no problem expressing my emotions openly to anyone who would listen. I wore skinny jeans long before they were popular. And I loved to feature bright colors in my outfits, whether it be a purple wristband, a neon tie-dye t-shirt, or bright yellow athletic shorts. (Yes, really.)

Growing up, I was expressive. I was eccentric. And I was a little too much for my male peers to handle.

It may not be true everywhere, but where I’m from, people have a very narrow definition of masculinity. Men are supposed to be strong, independent, rugged, and tough. And boys are taught that if they want to be “good,” then they have to exhibit these traits as well. They’re indoctrinated with rules from a young age that are meant to reinforce culture’s gender norms.

• Boys play rough.
• Boys don’t cry.
• Boys take charge.
• Boys compete—and win at all costs.

These expectations are placed on boys and men as a standard for them to live up to. But I never bought into all of that stuff, and I paid a heavy price for it.

I wasn’t raised with those kinds of expectations. I was never told I had to act a certain way or play a certain way or be a certain way because of my biological sex. My parents simply allowed me to be myself, and that included buying me the doll I begged them for one Christmas when I was little. That included allowing me to dress the way I wanted to. That included showing up to my sports games and then showing up to my choir concerts and musical performances when I realized sports weren’t for me.

I’m thankful that my parents never tried to force me to fit into some outside standard of masculinity. But I wasn’t immune to those expectations. They simply came from somewhere else: my peers.

I didn’t fit my male classmates’ preconceived notions of what a boy should be. I didn’t play sports. I didn’t date a lot. I didn’t act tough or repress my feelings. And based on those observations, my peers came to the conclusion that there had to be something about me that made me so different.

The explanation they landed on was that I must be gay. And they had no qualms about letting me know about their theory. “Bullying” is probably too strong a term for what I experienced, but I was consistently referred to as gay (and many derogatory terms along those lines) by my classmates.

Of course, they meant this not only as a way of explaining my non-conforming behavior, but also as a means of punishing me for it. Where I’m from, being labeled “gay” is considered an insult. And I had that label hurled at me every single day of high school.

To be clear, I wasn’t gay. And I wasn’t too bothered by the accusations because I knew that they were wrong. But the way the other boys treated me did make me wonder why I wasn’t like them, and just as they did, I sought an explanation.

Which is what led me to identify for a long time as a metrosexual. The term is still somewhat elusive, but it basically refers to a straight man who cares about his looks. In my mind at the time, it was a way to explain how I was seemingly effeminate without being gay. I felt like I owed the world an explanation for who I was, and that was the only way I could find to do it.

Once I got out of my hometown and went to college, I was exposed to a much broader understanding of the world and, with it, a broader understanding of masculinity. No longer was I tied to the legalistic definition of manhood that was forced upon me growing up. Instead, I was able to see what real, healthy masculinity looks like: things like being a good person, being there for those you love, protecting those in need, and using your gifts to make the world a better place. That’s what being a man is about.

It took a long time, but eventually, I came to the realization that I am a man. I’m the man that I am meant to be. And trying to live up to someone else’s standard of masculinity for so long was only preventing me from truly being me.

Looking back, it seems ridiculous that I ever relied on a label like “metrosexual” to understand myself. Although I would never devalue the peace and meaning someone else may gain from identifying as such, I’ve come to realize that it is not for me. I know now what I couldn’t know back then—that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I am a straight man with my own personal mannerisms, interests, and forms of expression. I am exactly who God made me to be, and no one can ever make me apologize for that.

Society tried to force me into its narrow understanding of what masculinity should be, and I pushed back against it. When I did, I was made to feel like I was the problem, and I had to come up with new language to reconcile my own experience with the lies I was being fed about what it means to be a man. Although I came out the other side secure in who I am and willing to forgive the forces that wronged me, it is my goal to ensure that my own children don’t have to face the same pressures and struggles that I did.

When it comes to other people, we get so caught up in the shoulds, in trying to define how others should live their lives. But when we spend so much time forcing our expectations on people, we never get a chance to know them for who they really are. Sometimes, we don’t even give them to chance to find out who they are themselves. And when we do that, we’re doing them, ourselves, and the world a disservice.

As far as I’m concerned, the only thing people should do is be themselves and work to become the best version of themselves that they can be. We are each created different for a reason, and we each have something unique to offer. Why would we stifle that by trying to make everyone else look just like us?

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be me. And I want you to be you. And I want my nieces and my nephews and my future children to be themselves, too. I don’t ever want my preconceived notions of who they should be to get in the way of who they truly are.

So I’m committing to root out the shoulds in my own worldview. We all have them, whether they be cultural gender norms or something else. And we all try to force them on other people, but we don’t have to. So let’s stop. Let’s allow people to be who they are and simply appreciate them for it. I’m thankful I’ve always had at least a few people willing to do that for me, and I want to do that for others. How about you?

Attachment

A couple of weeks ago, Apple announced the revival of the iPad Air in a 10.5” form factor. For most people, that news was moderately interesting at best, but as I read up on the announcement, I felt something unexpected: joy. I was legitimately happy about a company far away selling something I would never buy. So happy, in fact, that I couldn’t hold it in.

The fact that it lives on, and now at a price point that non-power users might actually consider, makes me incredibly happy.

— Devon Michael Dundee (@devondundee) March 18, 2019

I tweeted about it. I texted about it. I talked on and on to my (wonderfully patient) wife about it. I was so excited that I just had to tell people. And now, I’m left here to wonder why. Why was I so ecstatic about something so seemingly trivial?

It’s not like I’m going to buy the thing. In fact, I had one just like it, and I got rid of it last year to upgrade to a new one. The most interaction I’ll ever have with this iPad Air is casually looking it over the next time I walk into a Best Buy. Maybe one of my non-techy friends will take my advice and invest in one for their personal computing needs, but even that won’t improve my own life in any measurable way. This device has nothing to do with me, and yet, it still had such a strong effect on me, and I’ve been trying to figure out why.

I think the answer lies in the fondness I have for that old iPad I mentioned above. In 2017, Apple released their first 10.5” device, then called the iPad Pro, and I bought it on day one. I loved that thing. I originally thought it would make a great device for reading articles and watching videos, but it became so much more.

Over time, I moved almost every single one of my daily computing tasks over from my desktop to my iPad, and I found them to be much more enjoyable on there. There was a magic to it all that was just so compelling. From checking emails to completing church tasks to podcast editing to writing for this very blog, I did everything on that iPad.

Katherine and I even did most of our wedding planning on it. I remember sitting next to each other browsing venues, picking out items for our registry, and designing our invitations on that 10.5” screen. We used it to look over floor plans for our house and even to buy furniture. It may seem silly, but the warm feelings I have for those moments are forever inexorably tied to that piece of glass as well.

That iPad was my main computer. My mobile office. My creative studio. My sidekick. It went everywhere with me. During a time of huge change in my life, it was always there with me, in my bag, ready to go at a moment’s notice. No matter what I was trying to accomplish, I knew I could rely on it to help me do it to the very best of my ability.

The truth is that I got attached to the thing. Can you imagine? Me—emotionally invested in a physical object. It’s ludicrous.

I don’t get attached to anything in the physical world. My friends, family, and coworkers even like to joke with me about it. If someone hands me a piece of paper, the first thing I do is scan it and throw it in the trash. When Katherine and I were preparing to move, I sorted through my stuff and gave away bag after bag of it without batting an eye. I don’t even think twice about upgrading my phone every year because I don’t have any attachment to it whatsoever.

For a myriad of reasons, though, this one physical thing locked me in. And so, when Apple last year announced that they were discontinuing it and coming out with a new version, my heart sank. I almost didn’t have it in me to upgrade. But I did, and I found a good home for my old iPad with my brother at school. And I thought that was the end of it, until news of this new iPad broke, and all of those emotions came back to me.

The truth is that despite my hesitation to become attached to physical things, I’m happy that this one is out in the world. It’s meant so much to me, and I believe it has the ability to play that role in the lives of others as well. Because we all eventually find a thing or two that we become attached to, and I’m starting to learn that it’s OK. As long as we’re attached to the right things for the right reasons, they can actually help us enjoy our lives rather than pull us away from them.

I don’t know that I’ll ever love a physical thing the way I loved that iPad. I’m pretty fond of the one I have now, but it’ll never be tied to the memories I have of that old one. I’m secretly hoping I can get it back from my brother one day when it’s chipped and cracked and the battery doesn’t work anymore. Because even then, I’ll still love it. And I’m choosing to embrace that rather than resist it.

I’m still trying to steer clear of becoming attached to too many things in this life, because ultimately, they’re all going to go away. And most of the things we invest so much of our emotions in simply aren’t worth it. But if you find something that is, don’t be afraid to hold on to it and love it for all it’s worth. I’m lucky to have found something so meaningful in my life, and I can only hope that if you do as well, you’ll find as much joy in it as I have.

Thanks for reading, friends. I’ll see you next week.

Discernment

Last Wednesday at church, Katherine and I ran into someone we’d been trying to connect with for a while. We started talking about making dinner plans for later that week, but finding a day that worked for everyone proved to be difficult. I was ready to give up and try again another time, but my wife was smarter than that. Thinking quickly, she said, “We could go right now.” I was stunned, because the idea hadn’t even crossed my mind. But we did, and it turned out to be a great time.

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself indecisive, but I am a ruminator. When making a decision, I take time—sometimes lots of it. I overthink things to the point of exhaustion. I do make decisions, but not without a great deal of effort and difficulty. And even once the decision’s been made, that doesn’t mean my brain slows down. Did I make the right decision? What are other people going to think? The cycle never ends.

A good deal of my decision-making effort is put towards being sensible. Taking a logical approach. Thinking through every detail and its consequences before actually doing anything. But that’s not what discernment is about.

The point of discernment isn’t to make good decisions. It’s to make wise decisions. And a formula for the latter simply doesn’t exist.

I think that wise decisions can come through a great deal of consideration. After all, we don’t want to just float through life doing whatever we feel like doing in the moment. God gave us our brains for a reason, and we’re meant to use them. But just like any other tool, if we rely too much on logic in decision-making, it can become a crutch and hold us back.

Discernment has other tools in its belt as well, many of which I am guilty of neglecting when I face a decision. Tools like scripture, accountability, prayer, community, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. How often do we turn to these sources of wisdom when thinking through something? If you’re like me, the answer is, “Not as often as I should.”

That’s not to say that all of my decisions have been bad. I’d like to think that I’ve done more things right than wrong, because I do try to practice discernment well. But I’ve also made some pretty big blunders, and when I reflect on them, I can see in each of them a lack of discernment on my part. I imagine that most of us could do the same if we’re being honest.

Thankfully, I was saved from making that sort of blunder last week when making dinner plans with my friend. Sometimes, discernment comes in the form of spontaneity. Or in simply listening to your wife. Other times, it looks different. But it always requires some combination of the tools God has given us. May we never neglect any of them, and may we always rely on them to help us make wise decisions.

A Different Point of View

SCENARIO ONE: LIVING ROOM

You’ve been invited over to a friend’s house to watch movies. Sitting on their couch, you feel a sudden chill.

YOU: It’s cold in here.

FRIEND: No, it’s not.

YOU: Yes, it is. I’m freezing.

FRIEND: Walks over to thermostat. It’s 71 degrees in here, a perfectly normal temperature. That’s how it’s always set. I’m not changing it.

YOU: Alright… but I’m still cold.

FRIEND: Frustrated. It is not cold in here! Would you just stop complaining? Suck it up.

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SCENARIO TWO: ICE CREAM SHOP

You’re on a first date, and it’s going pretty well. You decide to go for ice cream after dinner. As you’re standing at the counter making your selections, your date turns to you.

DATE: There are so many options!

YOU: Yeah, there are! I think I’ll stick with my favorite flavor, though.

DATE: What’s your favorite?

YOU: [Insert your favorite flavor of ice cream here.]

DATE: Flatly. Oh. That’s stupid. Butter pecan is obviously the best.

---

Clearly, these two scenarios are ridiculous and fictional. I hope that you’ve never experienced anything like them, though I imagine some might have. I wrote these not just for fun, but to illustrate a point: None of us would ever purposefully treat another person like this.

If your friend is cold, you offer them a blanket. If your friend likes a different flavor of ice cream than you do, that doesn’t mean that their choice of dessert is wrong. It’s simply their opinion. We know this to be true, right? These exaggerated stories seem pretty cut and dry. But I wonder if we’re so good at applying the principles these stories illustrate in situations that are less straightforward.

These stories show us the importance of valuing the subjective experience of others—in other words, the way they see the world. No two people experience life exactly the same way, which is why we have differing views on just about everything. Our experiences make us who we are, and sharing those experiences can help us understand one another better, but only if we truly value what other people feel.

When was the last time you took to the time to hear out someone who sees the world in a different light than you do? Not to argue with them, or to convert them to your side, or to gather intellectual firepower to support your views in the future. I’m talking about actually putting your differences aside and truly listening to someone’s heart, their pain, the things that have brought them to where they are. Can you honestly say that you’ve done that recently?

The saying goes, “People will never care how much you know until they know how much you care.” I believe that all civil dialogue is based on this single proverb. Any conversation that does not come from a place of caring for the other is futile.

Because nothing in the world can change how a person feels. Just as a thermostat reading can’t make someone suddenly stop feeling cold, objective reality can’t force them to change the way they experience the world. And just as you would never demean another person for their favorite flavor of ice cream, we have no right to tell someone that the way they feel about something is wrong. It’s not like they can help it. We can’t choose the way our experiences make us feel, so why would we expect anyone else to?

There is a time and a place to talk about truth and growth and moving in the right direction, but before any of that can take place, we must first meet people where they are. We must first make them feel known, heard, valued, and safe. We must first look them in the eyes, recognize their experience, and say, “I see where you’re coming from.”

At the end of the day, we all see the world through a certain lens. None of us has a monopoly on reality. And we would each do well to adjust our worldviews in one way or another. That’s a good deal of the work I’m trying to do in my writing. But none of it means anything if it isn’t rooted in compassion, in empathy, in recognizing and affirming the experiences of others. Because no matter your opinion on their experience of reality, it’s real to them. And you’ll never have any sort of impact on them until you experience it with them.

So here’s to taking a more compassionate approach towards others. You never know what you might learn by seeing things from a different point of view. No matter what, you’ll be able to make someone else feel heard, and that can make all the difference in the world.

Book Review: Beating Guns

At this point, it would be nearly impossible for someone to look honestly at the events taking place in our country and not come to the conclusion that we have a serious problem when it comes to gun violence. Some say it’s a gun problem; others say it’s a people problem. Shane Claiborne and Michael Martin argue that it’s both, and they address both aspects of the issue in their new book, Beating Guns: Hope for People Who Are Weary of Violence, which I had privilege of reading ahead of its release today.

Before we get too far into the review, I’d like to make a note that this book is not meant as an attack on gun rights or gun owners. Shane himself shares fond memories of hunting with his grandfather in the book. Some of the research for this book was done while one of the authors was shopping with his wife at gun shows. The opening line says, “If you own guns and want to see fewer people killed, this book is for you.” I think we can all agree that we want to see fewer people killed, so this book is not looking to exclude anyone, regardless of their political leanings when it comes to this issue.

The title is a bit of a double entendre. Of course, the authors’ goal is to help us overcome gun violence, but that’s not all they’re trying to do. Inspired by Isaiah’s prophecy that God’s people would one day beat their swords into plowshares, Claiborne and Martin have made a habit of literally welding guns into farming tools, and even the occasional work of art. In this way, they are “beating guns” both literally and figuratively.

It isn’t just for show, though. Through their work, Claiborne and Martin are seeking to transform not only bits of metal and wood, but the hearts of people. When they look at the violence plaguing our world, they see it for what it is, but they also see the potential for it to be changed into something beautiful. And they share that vision in their book.

I’ve been a fan of Shane for a very long time, ever since I read his first book, The Irresistible Revolution. Shane is an author and public speaker, but his day job is at The Simple Way, an intentional Christian community he helped found in Philadelphia. There, he and his team minister to their impoverished community and work to improve living conditions in the name of Christ. He’s also the co-creator of Red Letter Christians, a movement of evangelicals committed to truly living out the words of Jesus in their daily lives.

I wasn’t familiar with Michael Martin before reading this book, but he’s got an impressive resume as well. From his Mennonite background, Michael inherited a commitment to nonviolence that has come to define his career. He founded RAWtools, a ministry that travels the country turning guns into gardening tools and, as they say, “other lovely things.” Michael also teaches seminars on nonviolent confrontation and deescalation, skills that most people simply don’t know enough—if anything—about.

Both Claiborne and Martin write from the worldview of the Christian faith, which they use a lens for understanding and dealing with the problem of gun violence. Unfortunately, public debate on this issue often doesn’t make room for the faith that so many of those debating claim to hold. But this book does a good job of integrating public discourse with theology in a way that affirms the truths of scripture and calls believers to live up to them.

The book is truly comprehensive, despite its manageable length. (I read it in just a few sittings.) In addition to taking a theological approach to combatting gun violence, it also covers the history of gun violence in the US, analyzes the economics of the gun industry, addresses the Second Amendment and its interpretations, and touches on important issues like the intersection of gun violence with age, race, and gender. Spread throughout are graphics, photos, and statistics that go along with the author’s points. While reading, I got the impression that this book was very thoroughly researched, not just the byproduct of another echo chamber.

Most importantly, the book shares the stories of real people impacted by gun violence and what we can learn from them. The authors recognize that while statistics are important, it’s stories that can truly transform the way people think. Nearly every chapter includes a memorial to the victims of a mass shooting, including a brief summary of the story and the names of each and every person killed. It’s jarring, humbling, and heartbreaking to read these stories, many of which I haven’t thought about since they were in the news. But if we’re going to make a difference, it’s important that we not allow ourselves to become desensitized to the violence, and reading these stories helps prevents that.

The part of the book that impacted me the most was the chapter on suicide. While most of the news coverage on gun violence centers on mass shootings, a significant number of those affected are actually victims of suicide, not homicide. I had no idea. In the book, the authors spell out intelligently the ways that we can prevent many, many deaths by creating a few simple barriers to access for those who are most at risk. I know many in our day and age shudder at any mention of limitations on gun access, but if we can save the lives of those who’ve lost the ability to save themselves, I think it’s at least worth considering. Seriously, this chapter alone is worth the cost of the book.

At the center of the gun debate in our country is the tension between personal liberty and public safety. Claiborne and Martin address that tension in a way that is sensical, practical, and faithful both to their Christian beliefs and to the American ideal of freedom for all. They include several suggestions for commonsense reforms that they believe would reduce gun violence significantly, many of which have already proven popular among the American people.

But ultimately, their book isn’t about laws. While they recognize the importance of the legal system in addressing the gun problem, Claiborne and Martin are interested in changing something much more fundamental: the human heart. Their book is a call for Christians to choose love over fear, to stop seeing the world through the lens of persistent self-defense, and to choose what they call the “third way” of Jesus in the face of violence. We don’t have to be either perpetrators or victims. There’s a better way that Jesus shows us, and while it may not be the most comfortable, it is the way we’re called to follow.

It’s the only way that will lead us to the future that Isaiah saw for God’s people, where violence is defeated and weapons are beat into farming tools. And we can only get there by committing ourselves to living out the way of Christ even when the world says it won’t work. Even when we’re laughed at or subject to scare tactics or even taken advantage of, we must choose to emulate Christ and refuse to participate in the world’s violent ways.

We can end the epidemic of gun violence in our country, but not by continuing to do things the way we’ve always done them. We have to choose a new way forward: the way of Christ. Otherwise, the cycle of violence will only continue. As Claiborne and Martin say in their book, “One of the greatest mysteries of our faith is that, for some strange reason, God does not want to change the world without us.”

Beating Guns is a faithful attempt to imagine what that way could look like, and we would do well to listen. If enough Christ-followers would heed the words of this book, we might actually see things start to change in our communities and then across the country. That’s my hope, at least, and the hope of Shane and Michael in writing this book. So give it a read, and maybe you can become a part of the movement that beats gun violence once and for all.

Beating Guns is available today wherever books are sold. I highly recommend you pick up a copy. (Or you can borrow mine.) If you get a chance to check it out, I’d love to hear what you think!