Men, who really knows you in your church? Your soul was made for godly masculine intimacy with other Christian men, and with Christ. Take time to pursue it. Heaven and hell really are hanging in the balance.

Two audible dings immediately rang out as my cell phone turned on.

“Heard you guys lost a bird in Afghanistan. Who was it?”

“Hey bro, heard one of your boot lieutenants was in a crash in country. I hope it wasn’t Ryan.”

I had just landed from a military training flight. I now stared at my phone in disbelief. Two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Ryan’s mom.

I knew what that meant. Officers must be at her front door, informing her of his death. Her voice was eerily calm as she confirmed it.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I stuttered before hanging up.

Several days later, I stood with his family as his flag-draped coffin was carried through the pouring rain. It felt like heaven cried with us that night.

Preparatory Grace

Ryan was my best friend and, at that point, the only Christian in my inner circle. I grew up in a Bible church and had prayed to accept Jesus no less than a hundred times. But in my youthful arrogance, I found the entire church experience stifling and joyless.

College provided me with the opportunity to see what the world had to offer. I had “Jesus in my heart,” so there was no need for the church anymore. The results were predictably disastrous, but no one in my life loved me enough to call me to repent.

Six years later, in a military helicopter training squadron in California, I met Ryan. Later, we’d be in the same fleet squadron on the East Coast. He was all-around better than me. He finished his MBA at 24 years old and then joined the military, just like his grandfather. He played Division 1 college baseball. More importantly, he openly talked about his faith in Jesus.

The two of us immediately shared a connection that almost felt supernatural. I now understood the once-awkward idea of David’s and Jonathan’s souls being knit together in a way that was stronger than a “woman’s love.” This was the masculine, brotherly spiritual intimacy that I never knew I’d always wanted.

As we settled into our military unit in North Carolina, Ryan again invited me to church with him. The church was large and modern. It had drums, and the sermons felt like TED Talks. Everything seemed bizarre to me. But I went, and the small serving of Jesus offered in sermons began to work on me. Ryan asked me what I thought of the messages. He knew my story, and he knew that even though I professed to be a Christian, I wasn’t walking with the Lord.

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