Texts:; Mark 10:46-52; 1 Samuel 16:14-23
Speaker: Joel Miller
46 They came to Jericho. As (Jesus) and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. 47 When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” 48 Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” 49 Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” 50 So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 51 Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” 52 Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
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If you were doing a crossword puzzle, and the clue was “masculinity,” five letters, and you already have t-o _ i-c, I’m pretty sure the overwhelming majority would confidently write an “x” in the open space and consider that one solved.
As far as I can tell, the phrase “toxic masculinity” goes back to the 1980s. It was coined, surprisingly, by men. The self-diagnosis was that men were suffering from the ills of industrialized society: individualism, competition over comradery, loss of traditional rituals and initiation rites that give boys and men a clear sense of obligation to their community, the sense that men aren’t supposed to feel anything, except anger. That’s the stew, they taught, that creates toxic masculinity. This mythopoetic men’s movement – as it was called – was inspired by the feminist movement. It sought to reconnect men to themselves and the natural world in a way that respected the feminine but was uniquely masculine.
Our understandings of gender and sexuality have become more fluid since that time, but the term “toxic masculinity” stuck. And that movement lives on in new forms.
More recently, we have witnessed the rise of the “manosphere.” For those whose algorithm or curious clicking has never taken you in that direction, the manosphere is pretty much what it sounds like: men, online, in loosely affiliated groups. What these particular men seem to think they are doing, is reclaiming masculinity. Unfortunately, this looks something like male self-improvement as resistance to the feminine. Celebrating male dominance as freedom and success.
This could all be ignored as one more fringe corner of the internet. Except, as has been observed, the manosphere got elected. The manosphere runs the US department of defense which it has renamed the very manly department of war. The manosphere will not gently surrender the reins of power. An entirely new administration, I assure you, will not be the end of the manosphere or toxic masculinity.
As someone who loved being a boy, someone who feels right at home in my pale male skin, this is a conversation I’m paying attention to.
And as someone fairly involved in this Courageous Peace Witness series, I can’t help but think that if we’re going to move in the direction of peacefulness, we have to address this complex cluster of embodied energy known as masculinity.
Calling for non-toxic masculinity is a start, but it’s a pretty low bar. Kind of like striving to be a non-intoxicated driver, or a non-negligent parent, or a non-abusive husband. You make a meal for your family and you ask, “How’s the food?” And they say, “It’s good. It’s non-poisonous. Great job dad.”
What’s a better goal than not-harmful? Well, the sermon title is not a typo. Tonic masculinity. I first heard that phrase a couple years ago, from Ted Swartz, of Ted and Company TheaterWorks. He was performing here at CMC. We were talking in my office, and he said he was mulling over some ideas about a new show on tonic masculinity. I don’t know if he made that up or heard it elsewhere, and I don’t know how or if that show is progressing, but I know the phrase stuck with me.
Think about it. Tonic masculinity
Tonic, like medicine. Tonic, like liquid health you drink down to boost well being. Tonic masculinity.
Tonic, like in music, the stable grounded pitch to which the song returns home. The tonic chord that feels perfectly at rest. The tonic key, which holds the harmonic ecosystem.
Tonic masculinity. Can you see it? Healthy and healing masculinity. Can you feel it? Masculinity that is grounded, at rest with itself and utterly energetically alive. Masculinity that offers space for harmony. Tonic masculinity. Can you imagine a world in which that is the default answer to that crossword puzzle clue?
The way preaching usually works is you’re given a scripture in search of a theme. Today we have a theme in search of a scripture. We have a vision, a possibility, in search of story. Good story, right story. Tonic masculinity in search of those willing to embody it. Where can we find it? Since this is a sermon and we’re on the lookout for stories of tonic masculinity in scripture, at least we know if there’s one thing the Bible has in abundance, it’s men. From the tonic to the toxic, and everywhere in between – usually, within the same character.
Let’s look for the tonic. And let’s focus on one man’s story: David. David’s story is told in 1st and 2nd Samuel. He’s one of those Old Testament characters who make it into the New Testament. Did you catch that, from the blind beggar, the man by the side of the road who cries out in the crowd? “Son of David, have mercy on me.” He’s calling out for David, for David’s progeny. Why? What does David have to offer a beggar? What does the son of David have to offer a man who wants to see? We’ll end up back here, by the side of this road where Jesus, Son of David, is passing.
David embodies a whole span of archetypes, mythic identities of the masculine: He is shepherd, musician, warrior, friend, fugitive, king, poet, lover, son, brother, father. And adulterer and murderer. We’re not trying to forget those, but today we’re searching for the tonic. It’s too long of a story so we can only cover the first bit.
When David goes out to slay the giant Goliath, he picks up five smooth stones from the riverbed. And that’s what we’ll do. Five brief stories of David. Five smooth stones that challenge the giant of harmful masculinity, and show us another way.
First story, first stone. When we first meet David, he is the boy shepherd. He is shaped by the rhythms of day and night; the animals, plants, and seasons. These are his primary teachers. He’s the youngest of Jesse’s sons. The prophet Samuel has come to anoint one of these brothers as the next king of Israel. Samuel sees height and strength in the oldest and expects him to be the one. When he’s not, he expects the next oldest, and on down the line. Then Samuel hears the Lord say: “The Lord looks on the heart.” And it’s the youngest and smallest, David who is chosen to rule. Maybe it’s because, as a shepherd, he had to be a caretaker for the vulnerable. Maybe, to survive out there, he had to develop heart. In a scene made up entirely of men, each hoping for royal power, we are directed to the inner life, the heart. And that’s the first stone of tonic masculinity: A rich and strong inner life.
The next story is the one Sam read. David has been anointed, but Saul is very much still king. And yet, the most powerful man in Israel has lost control of himself. The text calls it an evil spirit from the Lord that would come upon Saul and torment him. Lots of other cultural traditions have stories of the mad king. It’s the man who has achieved the pinnacle of a certain kind of power but becomes increasingly powerless in all the ways that matter most. He is a danger to himself and others. A man in Saul’s court knows of a young musician, David of Bethlehem, who might be of help. Saul sends messengers to fetch him. David comes and plays his lyre for this king. How many hours of disciplined practice had David put into his craft? The tonic power of David’s instrument overcomes the chaotic powers of Saul’s mind, if only temporarily. One form of masculinity a balm for another. The development of skill and craft in service to others. Second stone. Skill, honed over time, that heals and creates and builds others up.
This is followed by the most famous David story – killing Goliath, the Philistine giant. It is undeniably violent. Still, it hints, if only metaphorically, at how to survive in a violent world without playing by its rules. When David’s people are faced with a great threat he volunteers to confront the enemy. Saul gives him his royal armor and sword. He puts it on David. But it doesn’t fit. So, David takes it off. He removes the existing weapons of warfare, and lays them aside. These were the only protection either of the armies could imagine. To win this fight, David proceeds with no armor at all, no helmet, no sword. Just five smooth stones and his sling. The only way to slay the giant is to refuse the giant’s weapons, and thus make oneself vulnerable. Vulnerability as strength .
There is something built into masculine energy, whether possessed by men or women, that drives one to go up against Goliath, draw on the best of one’s physical and mental resources, and try to prevail. But that challenge could pale in comparison to the next: intimate friendship. 1 Samuel says that Saul’s son Jonathan “was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” It says they made a covenant with one another (18:1-3). When Jonathan and David have to separate when the jealous Saul is seeking to kill David, they embrace and weep. (20:41). When Jonathan dies in battle, David laments, “your love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women” (2 Samuel 1:26). There are certainly elements here of the loyalty and bonds between military brothers-in-arms. And, it’s no wonder David is a reference point in queer theology. On the whole, the relationship of David and Jonathan paints a picture of what feeds a healthy and vital masculinity: deep and abiding relationships that go beyond the transactional, beyond acquaintance, into the rich tonic territory of friendship. Fourth stone that overcomes the giants of unhealthy, individualistic, unfeeling masculinity. Friendship.
These are the first four stories of the life of David, all in a row, 1 Samuel 16-18. They highlight the value of the heart and the inner life; skill as healing gift to others; vulnerability as strength; the vitality of friendship.
I recently heard someone suggest that perhaps a better name for toxic masculinity is precarious masculinity. I know that word, precarious, but wondered what the dictionary had to say. This is it: Precarious: an adjective that means not safe, strong, or steady; or a situation that is dangerously lacking in security, stability or a firm foundation. Precarious masculinity. Maybe toxic masculinity is frightened masculinity. And maybe it’s frightened for good reason. When you don’t feel secure or stable, when there’s no firm foundation, when you become convinced that life is precarious, there’s a certain logic to putting others under your feet so you have something to stand on.
In the gospels, Jesus is referred to as the son of David, generations down the line. He’s the carrier, the inheritor, of all those archetypes. David – that vital youth and very flawed king – has a second coming, embodied now as a teacher, a healer, a king of sorts, shaped in the trials of wilderness and Spirit, masterfully wielding power. There are of course many stories throughout the gospels of Jesus as a model of healthy masculinity, but for this fifth David story, I invite us to identity with the blind man by the side of the road. A fifth smooth stone of tonic masculinity, is a willingness to call out for help. As if masculinity itself is a blind beggar, refusing to sit quietly. Making so much noise it disrupts the crowd. What if, what it’s calling out for, is healing. “Son of David, have mercy on me.” It longs for the power of the tonic. What if it knows, somewhere deep within itself, that it is blind. It wants to see. Son of David, have mercy. Help us see. Help us heal. Show us the way.