In this first article on the male aspects of fellowship the author explains the hurdles to be crossed and then outlines what makes a good male friendship work. The article “Even Pastors Need Friends” shows how one pastor in a small Minnesota town has found three nourishing relationships.
My pastor and I like to break away from busy schedules and sit, drink coffee, and talk. Periodically we meet at a nearby restaurant and chat about our families and the church; we’ve even been known to argue theology.
Some time ago, we shared our reactions to the Olympic games and the phenomenal camaraderie of the male gymnasts. We were struck by the “special something” that happened the night of the team competition. The young men helped one another, celebrated each other’s performance, and embraced each other without inhibition or embarrassment.
It was different from the typical champagne-pouring, locker room revelry; the gymnasts seemed genuine friends rather than a pack of victorious wolves. I felt drawn toward them: I hung suspended as Bart Conner lowered into an iron cross; my hands tingled as they hit “high fives” following Mitch Gaylord’s perfect dismount from the pommel horse; my blood surged as twelve interlocking arms celebrated the blending and bonding of team achievement. The moment was magnetic.
How could two nonathletic preacher friends be pulled into such an intense display of fraternity? Usually my pastor and I don’t talk about male friendship. When we do, it’s about men experiencing difficulty in their relationships, men like the neurosurgeon in Alan Loy McGinnis’s book The Friendship Factor. He describes a scene quite different from the telecast, a scene of loneliness and despair: “The surgeon took a deep breath, like a man about to plunge into a cold swimming pool, and said, ‘I guess I’m here because I’m messing up my relationships. All these years I’ve fought to get to the top of my profession, thinking that when I got there people would respect me and want to be around me. But it just hasn’t happened. Oh, I suppose I do command some respect at the hospital, but I’m not close to anybody, really. I have no one to lean on. I’m not sure you can help me either.’ “
I am afraid this is closer to the male interpersonal-relationship scene in most neighborhoods and congregations. When asked, “How many men have real friends?” the leading psychologists and therapists in this country answer about 10 percent. Most males, including Christian males, view other men as allies at best and enemies at worst. Getting ahead and staying on top dominate our thought and conversation. The emphasis is on doing, producing, and having; far in the distance are wives, children, and friendships.
All the World’s a War?
According to Elliot Engel of North Carolina State, the male twosome is designed more for combat than comfort. Men are expected to compete, whether the setting is the tennis court or the law court. That almost ensures the relationship will never deepen into intimacy but stay at a superficial, guarded level. Vulnerability is not accepted as a healthy component of male relationships.
When I probed several pastors about relationships between clergymen, I turned up comments like these:
“I risked honesty with a colleague, and he burned me.”
“The moment I [senior pastor] project anything more than a casual, professional interest in one of the male staff, the rest of my male colleagues seem to be intimidated by this potential friendship. They begin worrying that I’ll become partial in my decisions.”
“I’m too insecure to be vulnerable-every time I share a weakness with a peer, he uses it against me.”
Joel Block, a prominent Long Island psychologist, says the growing-up message programmed into men is “Show any weakness, and we’ll clobber you with it.” Men are afraid that signs of weakness invite harsh judgment and exploitation: “If I tell another man I’m not confident in my job, he might try for it. If I tell him I’m having trouble with sex in my marriage, he might say, ‘Well, perhaps I ought to come over and help you out.’ “
Clergymen, in addition to fearing exploitation, harsh judgment, and the stigma of failure, are burdened by the “man of God” image. Parishioners often superimpose a more demanding set of expectations upon their pastor than they do upon themselves or the rest of their congregational peers. These expectations further inhibit the clergyman’s abilities to develop close friendships. One pastor lamented, “On the surface it looks like I have dozens of friends; but the truth is, I’m the loneliest man in town.”
Women, in contrast, seem to have a monopoly on close interpersonal relationships. In a 1982 Newsweek column about male friendship, Elliot Engel tells about getting ready to move cross-country to a new teaching position. Just before he and his wife left town, her best friend came for a final good-by; Elliott describes the scene: “Their last hugs were so painful to witness that I finally had to turn away and leave the room. I’ve always been amazed at the nurturing emotional support my wife can seek and return with her close female friends. Her three-hour talks with friends refresh her and renew her far more than my three-mile jogs restore me. In our society it seems as if you’ve got to have a bosom to be a buddy.”
Why do affection, vulnerability, and emotional support seem to be the natural domain of women, while men go on majoring in carefully constructed defense mechanisms? Why do women outwardly express their feelings, using them as seeds for sowing loving relationships, while men turn their feelings inward and harvest ulcers and heart attacks? How can women start as strangers and end as sisters, while men start as strangers and end as swordsmen? To the average man, the very idea that he could forge emotional bonds with another man contradicts everything that makes him male. He views the field of interpersonal relationships as a small one; at the outside, his relationships are confined to about four kinds of friendship.
The “Safe” Relationships
Only the atypical male would dare venture beyond these:
Convenience friendships. The foundation here is a helping hand, exchanged favors. Convenience friends help you fix your car or water your tomato plants when you are on vacation, and you do the same for them. Most convenience friends never become close. When the exchange of services is no longer needed, the relationship fades.
Doing-things friendships. These friends share mutual interests-Rotary, racquetball, fishing. It’s a relationship that can be entered easily, thoroughly enjoyed for what it is-companionship-and then sidestepped without causing much discomfort. Such friends often work hard to find things to do together, thinking friendship will come from activity-the sort of carousing good fellowship you see on television beer commercials. As Eugene Kennedy of Loyola University puts it, “There’s nothing wrong with doing things together, but it isn’t true friendship.” What it often is is a contest, unfortunately-a battle of wit or skills-not an affirmation of one another. A high percentage of men, including clergymen, never get beyond this level of friendship.
Mentor friendship. Actually, there are two kinds of mentor friends. Primary mentors are those who have been where we are and help us make sense of it. Mentor friendships often generate strong ties, but the bonding tends to be short-lived, since what began as a union between unequals degenerates into a struggle for self-identity. A young ministerial intern explains, “Dr. Tillson is a tremendous man, and I was fortunate to serve under him. At first we were unusually close; then I realized he was always going to be the trainer and I was always going to be the trainee. As I successfully practiced what he taught me, I sensed that I threatened him, and our relationship became distant and cool.”
Dr. Block refers to another kind of mentor relationship he calls “a-part-of-a-couple friendship.” These are the husbands of couples about whom we feel especially good, see often, share much of our private lives, and celebrate our joys. They provide us with sustenance. As couples they are special, but the men rarely see each other alone. Two on two doesn’t translate into one on one, especially male on male.
Milestone friendships. Milestone friends are those with whom we share significant memories. They knew us “when”-a college roommate, a former employer, persons who shared intense moments of fortune or misfortune. When I think of milestone friends, I think of Wes, a colleague in ministry for three years. As we were returning home from a meeting, a five-year-old girl standing in the parkway suddenly and unexplainably darted into the path of our vehicle. Wes never saw her. I screamed, he braked, but she died in minutes. The inconsolable trauma and grief we shared with each other and with her parents established a special kind of relationship. Milestone friends are important because they keep us in touch with memories the passing years cannot diminish, even though our personal contact may be little more than an exchange of Christmas cards.
Bold as a Turtle
Jim Smith of Highland Park Presbyterian Church in Dallas thinks men seldom get beyond these four kinds of friendships because anything more would be too risky. Unlike women, men instinctively size up risk; our world is by definition aggressive and competitive. Safety comes from being able quickly to gauge the situation and determine one’s place vis- … -vis the competition. Comfort comes from a well-established pecking order of rank and privilege.
To move to something more intimate requires a careful testing of the other person over a long period of time. Smith says men are like turtles. Ever so slowly and cautiously, they stick out their heads, a millimeter at a time, to see if it’s safe to proceed. Miscalculation is deemed fatal. The slightest hint of exploitation, real or imagined, causes instantaneous withdrawal.
The 10 percent who seek relationships beyond these four kinds reach out with calculated probes to find answers for questions: Will he accept me, or will I be rejected? Can he be trusted, or will I be deceived? Will he forgive me, or will I be condemned? Like the turtle, when the testing is completed and a sense of safety prevails, men slowly relax into a genuine friendship.
Without a doubt my own close male relationships have developed in this manner. It would be difficult to capture the distinctives of each one without telling several lengthy stories. No two are alike in origin or degree of closeness; each is a customized relationship. On the other hand, I believe three understandings exist in all genuinely close friendships. (What’s interesting is that these understandings are also basic to a good marriage.) They are acceptance, honesty, and commitment.
These can function only in reciprocity. Without two-way, equal interaction, genuine friendship is impossible.
The greatest myth about friendship or marriage is that it is mostly chemistry, one of those things that just happens. Not true. Genuine friendship requires much time and work. Thus, before we can receive-and we must receive an equal response-we must give of ourselves.
Reciprocal Acceptance
Eugene Kennedy states that a close friendship starts when we accept ourselves as we are and then present ourselves to others in a way they will perceive as authentic. Like everything else in life, the real and genuine start with ourselves. Since so many people aren’t on good enough terms with themselves and don’t appreciate the simple things about their own character, they think they have to be something other than what they are. The only coin that passes in the kingdom of friendship is authenticity.
Genuine friendship requires unqualified acceptance. It precludes the demand that you think, feel, or act like me. It presumes the acceptance of the undesirable as well as the desirable. Since there is no danger of rejection, acceptance permits anger as well as affection. It allows us to be our true selves-weak when we feel weak, scared when we feel scared, confused when we feel confused.
A pastor personalized this concept: “I’m comfortable with Bill because he accepts me for what I am. He doesn’t try to make me into something I’m not, nor ever will be.”
Carl Rogers would agree; he said, “True friendships cannot be built until we destroy the idea of what the other person should be.” Momentum toward closeness develops as two separate, accepting people experience each other in just that way-separate, accepting people.
Listening is the gateway to acceptance. All of us want a friend who will pick up on our signal and listen. Have you ever tried to express yourself to a person whose eyes registered a preoccupation with what he was thinking and wanted to say if you would only shut up? To have someone who wants to absorb us, who wants to understand the shape and structure of our lives, who will listen for more than our words, is one of friendship’s greatest gifts.
David Smith, author of The Friendless American Male, tells about Queen Victoria’s impressions of her two most famous prime ministers. When she was with William Gladstone, “I feel I am with one of the most important leaders of the world,” she said. Disraeli, on the other hand, “makes me feel as if I am one of the most important people in the world.” Gladstone provoked admiration; Disraeli provided nurture. Reciprocal acceptance depends on reciprocal nurture.
Usually when someone says, “I know how you feel,” he doesn’t. A close friend may not know either. But the difference is that the close friend cares how you feel. One of my closest friends often responds to my statements of hurt or frustration with the question “Well, how can I help you with those feelings?” With one response he affirms that while he doesn’t have the same feelings and doesn’t totally understand mine, he cares about them and is prepared to help me deal with them. That’s nurture.
Reciprocal Honesty
C. S. Lewis said, “Eros will have naked bodies; friendship naked personalities.” To be honest is to be transparent.
Babies are honest because they have transparent personalities. There is no deception. When a baby expresses affection, contentment, hurt, or fear, he or she is the experience all the way through. One reason so many of us respond so warmly to infants is because we know exactly where we stand with them. A pastor friend put it this way: “No pretense always generates a sense of refreshment.”
Proverbs 27:6 says, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” Friends who can level with one another-even rebuke each other in love-create bonds that will stand the strain of crisis and the battering of time. Those who remain quiet when seeing a personality flaw or problem-even when to do so might appear to be prudent-are not close friends.
Some people think disagreements, especially disagreements that become argumentative, are destructive to a relationship. Not necessarily. Healthy, vigorous, even heated debate conducted with respect projects and establishes our true selves and gives the other person a far better understanding of who we are and how we function.
Reciprocal honesty admits vulnerability. Genuine friends aren’t afraid to ask for help or to express needs. The I-don’t-want-to-be-a-burden disclaimer is an obstacle to vulnerable relationships. One of the most intense desires of the human heart is the need to be needed. We help satisfy this craving in others when we allow them to disclose themselves to us and ask for help-and vice versa.
At the heart of reciprocal honesty is direct expression: “Please tell me what you really want, what you really think, what you really feel. Don’t snow me with words.” Words are so amoral; they can be used to praise, flatter, manipulate, or deceive. They can be used to coax, cajole, or beat around the bush. But when honest expression is desired-change, clarification, reassurance, and help-it’s important that the message be direct and to the point. “For me,” one pastor said, “honesty with another man does not develop until we have prayed together several times. I am reasonably sure we are talking honestly and directly to each other when I sense we’re both talking honestly and directly to God.”
A note of caution: reciprocal honesty is not psychological nudity. The tell-all school of thought so popular during the early days of encounter groups has inflicted a lot of damage on relationships.
I recall a magazine article about two friends who created a conversational depository called the Swiss bank. Their friendship included an understanding about what not to say as well as what to say. Either party could invoke the Swiss bank at any time, and the other person knew not to pursue the matter any further. For these two friends this was a comfortable way to avoid damage from probing sensitive insecurities.
Reciprocal Commitment
Soon after Jack Benny died, George Burns, the quintessential song and dance man, was interviewed on a TV talk show. When asked about his relationship to Jack, George flicked his unlit cigar and answered with that distinctive voice so experienced in delivering punchy lines. “Well,” he said, “Jack and I had a wonderful friendship for nearly fifty-five years; Jack never walked out on me when I sang a song, and I never walked out on him when he played the violin.” Though couched in jest, Burns expressed the fact of commitment. He and Benny were genuinely close friends-committed friends. While they were not given to a formal covenant, hardly a day went by when they didn’t talk, at least by telephone. Each would have done anything for the other. People who knew them envied their commitment.
Reciprocal commitment does not require a formal covenant, although in the biblical friendship of Jonathan and David, such a pact existed (1 Sam. 20:16-17). In fact, one does not know early in most relationships if and when the blossom of commitment will occur, but there is no doubt about its beauty and fragrance once it bursts forth.
One evidence is the speed with which comfort and continuity can be re-established after an interval of time. When Jim Smith and I recently chatted about our twenty years of close friendship, we noted that we can pick up where we left off, no matter how much time has intervened. But that’s been possible only since we reached the point of commitment.
Like the three legs of a stool, reciprocal commitment rests upon:
Trust. Jim and I turned the corner when we traveled for the national office of Youth for Christ. By day, we tried to help young men and women sort through the complicated personal and vocational problems young ministers face. By night, we tried to help each other. Jim is one of the few people who have read my psychological profile-a process I sought following a difficult period in my life. I know without doubt that when I tell Jim something in confidence, he will not spread it around. All can be safely shared with him-my doubts, my struggles, my tears. He knows I am committed to him in the same way.
Loyalty. When someone speaks negatively about me, Jim doesn’t cover up my flaws or faults. But he puts himself on the line and speaks positively on my behalf. He speaks the same way in the presence of a third party as he does in mine. He knows I will do the same for him.
Faithfulness. When Jim makes me a promise, I know he will do every reasonable thing-sometimes unreasonable things-to keep it. I can put my full weight on his word because his word is his authentic person.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, trust, loyalty, and faithfulness can only be defined by testing; commitment can only be proven by crisis. As someone put it, “Commitment ain’t commitment till it hits bottom.” Friendships are not genuine friendships until they have survived misunderstanding and estrangement. Friends must face moments of tragedy and loss together; they must be given the opportunity to desert and run for cover. Kennedy says we can never be sure of a friendship until a friend sticks with us “when we can no longer do anything for him, when we can no longer confer some kind of grace on him by his tie with us.” Just as acceptance risks rejection, and honesty risks deception, commitment risks abandonment.
The story is told of a military patrol reconnoitering enemy territory. Taut as piano strings, the little group of men probed the shadowy images of uncharted terrain. Suddenly, the night was rent by a blinding flash, and the point soldier was mortally wounded.
While the sergeant screamed for the unit to take cover, a young recruit plunged insanely ahead to the dying man. There he, too, was wounded. In extreme pain, mustering his ebbing strength, he dragged his now-dead friend back to the unit and collapsed. Above the roar of the battle the sergeant yelled, “You fool! Why’d you go get yourself shot for a dead man?”
The recruit replied, “Sarge, I had to hear him say, ‘I knew you’d come.’ “
Such epic tales of friendship to the death have been sung and celebrated throughout the ages. There’s a kernel of truth to them. In every genuine friendship, some kind of death is involved. The example of our Lord is the perfect model. He, the friend who sticks closer than a brother, gave everything for his friends. He is waiting for us to reciprocate-with him and with one another.
Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
