The world is selling men a fantasy when it comes to masculinity. The Church has a far better vision to offer

I found myself huddled at the bottom of a mountain, backpack strapped on, head torch flickering in the dark.

Around me stood 100 other men, head torches cutting through the darkness, all of us shivering, partly from the cold, partly from nerves, and partly from excitement.

As we awkwardly introduced ourselves to one another, it quickly became clear that, like me, none of us were entirely sure what lay ahead.

We were about to begin a three-day ‘Xtreme Character Challenge (XCC)’. No one knew the route. No one knew the plan. All we knew was that we were men, stepping into the unknown, together. Part of me hoped that somewhere along the challenge, we might gain something more than we arrived with, something like brotherhood.

The night before, I had been sitting on the sofa with my wife watching Louis Theroux: Inside the Manosphere.

It explored the world of the so-called “manosphere”, young men presenting themselves online as the finished article. Strong. Successful. Untouchable. Offering advice on how to “be a man”.

My wife watched with a sense of disgust.

I felt something different. I felt sad. 

Because beneath the bravado, it was clear what was missing. These weren’t strong men. They were men without direction. Without formation. Without anyone to show them what strength actually looks like.

And it brought me back to a phrase I’ve heard countless times growing up: “be a real man.” It’s a phrase that gets thrown around easily, on social media, in locker rooms, pubs, playgrounds. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realised how unhelpful it is.

The myth of a “real man”

For many men, especially those who’ve grown up without strong, present role models, the question isn’t whether to become a “real man,” but where to look to find one.

Sadly, the answer seems to come not from real life, but from fiction.

Characters like James Bond become the blueprint, men who are physically untouchable, intellectually sharp, effortlessly desired, and always in control. The kind of man who is expected to be a master of the chessboard, a champion of the boxing ring, and a Casanova in the bedroom.

The problem is, this isn’t a vision of manhood, it’s a fantasy.

And for many, the pursuit of becoming a “real man” quietly becomes something else entirely: the pursuit of being all-powerful, all-knowing, and completely in control. In other words, not just being a man, but trying to be God.

And now, I find myself standing in the cold, at the base of a mountain, about to spend three days in the wilderness with a group of men who have agreed to an adventure.

Many have come to prove their strength. However XCC isn’t designed to highlight our strengths, it’s designed to expose our character. What surprised me most over those three days wasn’t the physical challenge. Yes, we did things that, on the surface, you might associate with strength. But the most powerful moments came when we stopped.

When we sat and talked. Because it was there, stripped of distraction, that men began to do something far more difficult than climbing: they became honest. One by one, the facade of being “untouchable” began to crack. 

Men spoke about the pressure to hold everything together, and the quiet reality that they couldn’t. The areas of life they were desperate to control, but found uncontrollable. About failure. About shame. About addiction. About the constant, exhausting pursuit of money, success, healthy relationships, or just the feeling of being overwhelmed by life itself.

And for some, there was something even deeper, a quiet, unsettling sense of guilt. Not for what they had done, but for what they feared they might be capable of.

What happens when men are honest

In a world where masculinity is so often spoken about as something destructive or dangerous, some men carried a kind of shame simply for being men, aware that the strength they possessed could be used for great harm, or for great good.

And the overwhelming realisation was this: Every single man on that mountain was flawed.

Not one of us had it all together. It was a moment of clarity. Because in that honesty came the revelation that we needed help. Help we could find in sharing our burdens with one another, and also with God.

For me personally, that became very real. As I walked and prayed, I found myself carrying the weight of being a father.

As the father of an adopted son, there is a deep desire in me to heal every wound he has ever carried, to protect him from a world I know can be harsh and broken. And if I’m honest, there are moments where that desire becomes a quiet belief that it is somehow my responsibility to fix everything.

As I prayed on that mountain, I had a simple but profound sense from God: “Jamie, he was my son long before he was yours. I love him more than you ever could. Trust me. You are not his saviour… I am.” 

In that moment, something shifted. As much as I would love to be the one who protects him from every pain, I simply can’t. I don’t have what it takes. And strangely, that isn’t crushing, it’s freeing.

It allows me to let go of a burden I was never meant to carry.

To accept that, despite my best efforts, I will, at times, let my son down. But also to hold onto something deeper: that God the Father never will.

It struck me how rare that kind of space is for men. Women often seem far more able to draw alongside one another, to share struggles and speak openly about what they’re carrying. Whether that’s cultural or biological, I’m not entirely sure. But for many men, those spaces simply don’t exist.

And yet standing there, surrounded by men who had chosen vulnerability over performance, I found myself filled with hope. Because this, I realised, is what formation looks like.

What struck me, both watching the documentary and reflecting on the weekend, is that many young men today aren’t rejecting masculinity, they’re exaggerating it.

In the absence of real role models, they reach for the most extreme expressions they can find. Strength becomes dominance. Confidence becomes control. Independence becomes isolation. And anything that resembles vulnerability is rejected as weakness.

But that version of masculinity is not only unhelpful, it’s unsustainable. Because no man can live as if he is all-powerful, all-knowing, and completely in control. That’s not masculinity. That’s a burden no human being was designed to carry.

The masculity of Jesus

Masculinity is not the problem.

Unformed masculinity is. 

The desire to protect. To provide. To take responsibility. To stand up against injustice. To endure hardship. To compete and to win, these are not things to be dismissed or suppressed. 

They are powerful, they are good! But power without formation becomes destructive. And when those same instincts are held alongside humility, vulnerability, honesty, and care, something far more compelling begins to emerge.

The kind of masculinity we see in Jesus. Strong enough to overturn tables in the face of injustice. Gentle enough to weep at the tomb of a friend. Courageous enough to confront. Humble enough to serve. This is the paradox we see in Jesus, strength and surrender held together.

In the Book of Revelation, he is described as both the Lion and the Lamb, powerful and victorious, yet willing to lay himself down. Authority and humility, perfectly held together.

Simply critiquing the culture won’t be a sufficient response from the Church. We need to be intentional about forming men.

That means walking alongside one another. Doing life together. Creating spaces where men can be known, not for the image they project, but for who they really are. It means challenging isolation. Calling out shame. Refusing to pretend we have it all together.

Because not one man on that mountain did. And not one man on this earth does.

If we fail to do this, if we fail to disciple men well, then they will look elsewhere for formation. They’ll look to the world around them for examples of what it means to be a man. And too often, those examples will lead them further away from who they were created to be.

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that we so often talk about becoming “a real man”, as if manhood is something achieved alone, in isolation.

Men don’t become whole in isolation, they are formed in relationship, alongside others. The men I stood with on that mountain were honest. They were willing to be known. And perhaps that is where real manhood begins.

I’m already planning to go again. And if you’re reading this and recognise something of yourself in it, if you feel isolated, or like you don’t have a space for honesty, vulnerability or confession among other men, then feel free to get in touch. Perhaps we could step into the unknown and go on an ‘Xtreme Character Challenge’ together.

For more information about the Xtreme Character Challenge visit xcc.org.uk