refusing the second childhood

A kind of second childhood falls on so many men.

John Steinbeck

One of the most consistent pieces of feedback we hear in our world today is that we need to calm down. I’m sure people have said this to you. People certainly say this to me. I tend to run pretty hard, but I also rest hard. I prioritize 7 hours of sleep a night, practice the sabbath, drink green juice, nap like a dog, and have deep rhythms of renewal, but that doesn’t seem to alleviate the concern. I have no desire to become a statistic, but I have even less desire to squander this season. Passion, once seen as a gift, seems to have become a threat.

I know the last few years have been hard for us all, and burnout is at an all-time high, but I think amongst the legitimate struggles and concerns, something else has snuck in. A kind of selfish preservation. An exchange of sacrificial love for acceptable ease. I am concerned that we are in danger of trading burning out for not burning at all. We are swapping sustainability for mediocrity. I don’t believe in just "sucking it up" and "grinding it out" for its own sake, but I am worried that the hearts of many men have stopped pressing into the promises God has for them. To be clear, If you are overwhelmed with anxiety or struggling with fatigue, by all means, tend to it; that is the godly and wise thing to do. But it’s not the legitimate things I am worried about; it’s the temptation to shrink back because of society’s lowered expectations.

When he was in his sixties, John Steinbeck set out for a road trip around America to see what had become of the country he loved. He wasn’t seeking to recapture his youth or revisit the glory days; he simply wanted to push into what was stirring in his heart. A desire to find his place in a changing nation and rekindle the fading sense of adventure that grows dull in the hearts of men his age. And then the concerns began to roll in. Many thought the trip was too much, unnecessary, and a threat to his life. Why couldn’t he settle down with some smaller hobbies and a few little luxuries? He had earned, even deserved, to relax. He had nothing left to prove. His reply to these concerns was profound. In Travels with Charley, the book documenting the trip, he writes:

It happens to many men, and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It had happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends, "Slow down. You’re not as young as you once were." And I had seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from their manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-invalidism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives, and it’s such a sweet trap. Who doesn’t like to be a center for concern? A kind of second childhood falls on so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child. 

Fellas, do not retire from manhood. Do not fall back into a second childhood.

I am not for foolhardy bravado, but the sweet trap must be resisted.  Hebrews 11 is called the hall of faith, not the hall of sustainability. We must press into the call of God on our lives. God has more for you than what is offered in the programs of the typical western church. His heart is for you to live from your heart. He wants you to step into the unknown, to the place of risk and faith. That can be as small as joining a new community of men and as large as taking on a cause in your city. You can’t let everyone’s concern for you smother God's call to you. Listen to his voice. It will be the one that calls you out of comfort, calls you to the cross, and calls you to find life by losing yours.

Steinbeck goes on:

And I have searched myself for this possibility with a kind of horror. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as a consequence, not as a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason why she should inherit a baby.

What sort of men is our world inheriting today? How much fierceness have we surrendered for yardage? I am not trying to rage like a shadow-driven alpha male, (last week I wrote about tears,) but I think we need to begin to prioritize the voice of calling, not just the voice of concern. We need to asses whether or not the gifts of God within us are in flame or neglect.

Are there things you long for but never get to out of fear of being too intense?

Are you holding back passions for fear of being misunderstood?

Are you routing vision and drive through trivial things because they are socially acceptable?

Why not take a moment this week to get in touch with the deep desires of your heart? To see if you have buried any talents in the ground out of fear or concern. If so, go dig them up. Your community needs your story, gifts, wounds, passions, and heart to live. Your kids do. Your wife does. Let’s refuse the second childhood together.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.