“I hadn’t even read the Bible or been to church before January, but now I get it. It’s the truth isn’t it? Me and the wife are absorbing it all now, this Jesus we’ve experienced. We’re praying together and all sorts. We’re even working through the Bible together. We love it”

That’s what Geoff said to me this week as I nursed a cappuccino in Hampshire. It turns out that one of his mates asked him and his wife if they would like to learn a bit more about Jesus on a local Alpha course in the church. He realised that he didn’t know much about Jesus, so he accepted. Within a few weeks, Geoff and his wife got to grips with the real message of Jesus and welcomed him into their lives.

As I watched this 40-something man overflow with passion and tangible joy I found myself getting overwhelmed with clarity. In a nation where many Christians look for academic understanding of true doctrine, strategic mission and apostolic faith, many have stopped asking the question.

I watch church leaders hit the headlines for controversies in a time when 29 million men have no interest in the Christian message, and as recent surveys show, feel more comfortable in a woman’s lingerie shop than in church. Why have we stopped asking the question?

When internationally renowned Christians attack the liberal believers thus painting a target on their own backs, sparking an embarrassing episode for the Church, why have we stopped asking the question?

As I meet with vicars mourning ‘friendly fire’ within the walls of their own church, I hear the footsteps of the lost walking passed the Church doors; as slander tastes better than the thought of asking the question.

The most important question. The only question. The God given question. The martyr’s swansong, the servant’s anthem, Geoff’s favourite question.

“Would you like to know more about Jesus?”

What does the word ‘heaven’ say to ordinary blokes? There’s ‘chocolate heaven’ which sounds a bit girly and after all, is just a pudding which women especially drool over. Then a lot of stuff about heaven seems to get mixed up with all the romantic hoo-hah around Valentine’s Day, with cute little fat, baby cherubs in adverts floating about with tiny non-threatening, dangling willies (or willies safely covered by some random bit of scarfy looking stuff). But the only reason why blokes get onto the Valentine bandwagon is because the retail industry has got them on a guilt trip unless they buy a Valentine’s Day present for their partner.

When does a bloke say to his mate, ‘fancy going for a beer?’ and his mate says, ‘oh, that would be heaven!’– like never, unless they’re both heavily into amateur dramatics. On the telly or in films, the only people who say something is heavenly are upper class women or some bloke in the caricature role of the harmless, effeminate, bumbling twit of a country vicar. Heaven is where parents tell their little kids, Grandma’s gone when she’s just died, even when the old bird never mentioned the place or never appeared to give a tinker’s cuss about the place when she was alive.  Heaven is soft, fluffy, nice, boring, pale and filled with middle aged, middle class women in white dresses who spend their time getting a buzz from Philadelphia Cream Cheese.

Heaven is for wimps and posh women. And who gives a passing cloud for whether it really exists or not?

‘Hell’. Now there’s a word worth thinking about. ‘Give ‘em hell’ is a battle cry to strengthen your brothers in arms. Hell’s Angels are respected nowadays and ‘hell raisers’ are sort of rogues you admire. Hell Boy is a cool super hero. The primary American carrier-based fighter plane in the second half of World War II, the Grumman F6F, was called the Hellcat. The Scottish infantry regiments in the British Army still wore kilts into battle during the First World War. This and their fighting ferocity caused the German Army to honour them with the nickname, ‘The Ladies from Hell’.

‘We rode like bats out of hell’, is a proud achievement. ‘We’re in this till hell freezes over,’ is a determined vow of endurance and ‘we’re with you come hell or high water,’ is one of loyalty. Hell only starts to get nasty in those horror films with a touch of the occult in them, but—hey, they’re only films and you can come back to Earth with a beer and a curry afterwards. Hell only really gets a bit nastier with ‘restaurants from hell’—like the clip where the bloke complains and the CCTV shows the waiter in the kitchen peeing into his coffee. Or slightly worse, ‘neighbours from hell,’ but—hey, any bloke worth his salt would soon sort them out (if he wasn’t one himself—chortle, chortle).

‘Hell’ may not be nice but it’s not soft, fluffy, pale or boring either. Once you’ve chucked the worn-out joke version where little devils with tails run around pricking sinners with their forks, like unhappy barbecue sausages, what we’re left with  is challenging, exciting, dark red and crunchy. It’s definitely not for wimps or posh women.

My thoughts on all this weren’t helped a while ago when I sat through a sermon on heaven, meant for non-believers. As I write this I see that the phrase ‘sat through’ gives the game away. The preacher got very enthusiastic about heaven. He made out that heaven would be heavy on singing and a thing called praising, which was closely connected with singing. Everyone there would be full of joy because Jesus would be there. You wouldn’t be allowed in unless your sins were forgiven and got rid of. Perhaps the force of that might have been lost a bit by him saying that if you weren’t a Christian you wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. The logic that followed was—well, you’d better become a Christian so you could enjoy heaven.

The longstanding church goer in me who has been on the receiving end of ‘sound’ Bible teaching for years and years acknowledged that everything he was saying was true. The ordinary bloke in me, who steadfastly refuses to keep his thoughts to himself, thought the preacher had succeeded in making heaven out to be like an endless church service, which is another view of heaven which turns ordinary blokes off. It even turns some believing blokes off who have a boring or embarrassing experience Sunday by Sunday sitting passively in rows, listening to long monologues or singing songs they cringe to. But of course, it’s less likely to seem boring to the one bloke who gets a huge buzz standing up in front of them being 100% engaged in giving everybody else his message. That’s ironic—init.

It seemed to be one of the best examples I’ve heard, of preaching the Gospel mostly from inside your own mindset and not trying to put yourself much into the non-believer’s mindset. A likely result of this is a doctrinally accurate message, with no communication with the people you are trying to reach. Or worse, communication of a message you didn’t want to communicate. After all, if you won’t like heaven because you’re not a Christian, the obvious alternative to becoming one so you can enjoy it, is to say—well, because I can’t connect with this ‘heaven’ you’re talking about, I’ll do without both the heaven and the ‘becoming a Christian’ bit, thanks.  But perhaps I’m missing the point. Perhaps, on the subject of heaven, preachers in the UK today are only meant to be communicating with wimps and posh women. That can’t be right though, can it?

Heaven Is For Wimps And Posh Women is a 3-part blog. Part 2 will be published on Wednesday 17th November.

This week I will be living in a field surrounded by six thousand Christians all meeting together to find more out about Jesus and his church who stumbles after him. Though God describes himself as “Love” in his word, and Jesus explained how he would go to the ends of the Earth to reach a faithless human, there was something specific about crowds of people that provoked scepticism in the saviour.

Jesus was always more blunt with crowds of people than he was one to one. One of the most counter-cultural stories of Jesus’ ministry was his talk to five thousand people. During his message he spelt out the actual cost, challenge and sacrifice of calling yourself a Christian.

At the end of the talk, five thousand people walked away leaving him with the 12 disciples. He even questioned why the disciples bothered following him, considering it would cost them their pride, their money, their careers, their reputation and ultimately their lives.

Make no mistake about it, there is something about crowds of people nodding their heads which caused the Lord to raise an eyebrow.

Is it then wrong to attend New Wine in Newark next week? To partake in a corporate leap of faith that Jesus would work amongst us to develop our characters? No, but we have to come as ourselves.

Meeting together in Church, or at house group or even a huge Christian conference, is not the ideal opportunity to leave our thoughts and worries at home. We must attend group gatherings with our war wounds on show. We have to come as genuine sinners with our eyes fixed on the prize promised to us by the one they called Emmanuel.

Many of my mates attend festivals to “get away from things for a while”. Though that seems pragmatic, I think it would be far more helpful to take your

burdens to the foot of the Lord. Every single worry and bad memory. The misery of childlessness, the heartache of singleness, the anger of betrayal and the haziness of everyday life. Take it all. Take it to your seminars, worship meetings, prayer groups and late night fire talks.

Jesus said when two or three Christians are gathered, he would be there amongst them. Funny how he used the numbers two or three and not two or three thousand. Could Jesus be more interested in the individual that you are than he is with a crowd of nodders?

Have you ever driven 100 miles with a torn muscle in your back and arrived home only to find you’ve left your keys in York, 100 miles away? It’s about as annoying as working on Bank Holiday Monday. I couldn’t even punch my front door in anger, because my shoulder would have probably come away from the muscle I damaged playing Frisbee…don’t ask.

It was a Saturday night. In the distance I could hear a drum beat surfacing. Students peaking on homemade vodka red bulls passed me on my doorstep as I prayed for a miracle. In the end I phoned my vicar. He’s a good friend of mine and we both love Welsh rugby, port and Jesus. We have insight into our ourselves to identify how average, predictable and sinful we actually are. He was happy to let me crash at his home, despite it already housing his wife and five children.

The next day I woke to the sound of silence. The family had left for the morning service whilst I rolled out of bed trying to forget about the pain searing through my spine. I boshed two cuprofen and another pain killer so strong I levitated for an hour. In my suffering I was then treated to a huge Sunday lunch before being driven to church in the evening.

In Texas the phrase “love on” is used when people go out of their way to care for someone. Members of the congregation loved on me. It was amazing. In less than 20 minutes of being in church, I had been given another place to sleep until my keys were posted, medical advice from a GP, a sci fi novel to keep my mind occupied, prayer for healing and restoration, pain killers, an invitation to a party and about 30 messages of sympathy. The miracle I was looking for on my doorstep was unfolding before me.

Jesus gave his church the Holy Spirit, so that they may know love, grace, joy, hope, forgiveness and become more like him. The pain in my back has been wrapped up in the love of Jesus this week. If the scriptures are right when they say that the church is the body of Jesus engaging in the world, then it is fitting that love should be buzzing out of every pew.

I am staggered by some people’s perception of church. I urge anyone who feels they would benefit from that sort of love, care and attention to check out their local churches.

Peace.

Within ten minutes of arriving in London, I found £20 on the floor. I knew it would be a good weekend. As I strolled down Great Portland Street to meet a good friend I had not seen for years, I saw a homeless gentleman sitting up against a red letter box. He looked like Bob Dylan.

I asked him if he had eaten, he said no. I nipped into Tesco and bought him a cheese sandwich and a bottle of Lucozade. He smiled and for a minute I thought he was Bob Dylan.

I enquired if he was plugged into a local church – but he wasn’t. But then he told me that he did however meet up every week with a group of Christians who “made sure he was alright’. He guessed I was a Christian and showed me his bible. He held it like a trophy. I smiled and left him to devour his sandwich paid for by the poor sod who dropped £20 earlier on.

Five hours later I was humming Bob Dylan songs in London’s most prestigious nightclub (according to some fancy magazine).

It was breathtaking and so were the prices. I didn’t fit in at all. I was surrounded by tory boys with expensive haircuts and pink shirts. I felt like an undercover miner looking for revenge on Margaret Thatcher for closing down the Welsh Valleys. I only kicked off once though. It was after being charged £2 to keep my coat and bag in the cloakroom. “That is a scandal” I said. “This is the best club in London” he said. “Its got nothing on Preston’s Wetherspoons” I said. The security guards glanced over at me. I didn’t say anything else.

As I stood in the 6th floor heated gardens overlooking the nation’s capital, illuminated by night light, starlight and moonlight, I became aware of something which had been niggling at me for about two years.

It was this: I have no interest in earning copious amounts of cash. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be seen in fancy clubs by women who laugh the same, dress the same, eat the same and dance the same. I couldn’t give a toss about the latest Paul Smith range of after shaves. Nothing inside me wants to be known as a friend of the celebrities. I don’t want some idiot pretending to be my mate by kissing me on the cheek whilst splurting out how good I look.

If the best this world can offer is yuppy utopia, then it can shove it right up its arse.

Get this: in the toilet of this a-list club I was told by a stranger that I wouldn’t find anything better. He said, “this is what it’s all about bro.” As I washed my hands under the silver taps I looked at him in the mirror, square in the eyes, and said “no it’s not”.

You could offer me a lifetime membership at this place and I would still choose to spend my Friday nights with my bread-stealing flatmate Mark talking about Jesus. And why? Because the best of the British is farcical compared to the message of Jesus, who says to be free, and free indeed. He says do not to be slaves to culture, do not bow down at the cloakroom of the famous, do not orgasm at the idea of being liked by pretty people with fluffy hair.

Jesus says plant yourself on his promise. Root your heart on the Scriptures and give yourself to loving your friends ferociously. The sight of the homeless Bob Dylan tucking into his lunch, and the knowledge that this week a group of Christian brothers will meet with him to express love, IS what its all about. That’s life to the full. That’s where joy can be found. That’s where freedom can be seen. That’s where hope can be held.

Do not be deceived.

In an article from the 9th of February Steve Doughty of the Daily Mail picks up on the problem of male attendance in the church, as highlighted by the Church of England.

Dwindling numbers of men at Church of England services have resulted in a ‘testosterone deficit’ among the faithful, leaders have been warned.

Speaking at the Church’s General Synod meeting in London yesterday, Canon Simon Bessant, from Sheffield, said there was ‘plenty’ of evidence the gender balance in congregations was getting ‘seriously out of line’.

Read more: dailymail.co.uk/

By current accounts the problem is still acute and poses a threat to the church. CVM want to see healthy, balanced churches up and down the UK and that’s why as a ministry we are focussing our efforts on the men. Somewhere along the line church stopped connecting with men and we need to address the problem quickly and effectively if we want to see balance reintroduced to the church.

For more about why we do what we do, check out Why We Do Men’s Ministry or read Carl’s ‘Real Men Don’t Do Church’ articles:

• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part One
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Two
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Three
• Real Men Don’t Do Church, Part Four

“He was always rough around the edges”.

We all agreed. For about half an hour we summed up the exact reasons why Rik had decided to stop reading the bible, going to church and believing in Jesus. Like farmers tossing the lame sheep to the side for destruction, we set the world to rights.

Looking around the table I saw something that terrified me. I saw that I was sitting with people just like me. Average. Human Christians stumbling through life, yet giving the impression our faiths were complete.

I took an unwanted trip to the men’s room for a change of scenery.

When I returned to the table I confessed I hadn’t text, called or emailed Rik since he stopped coming to church. I then asked the group who was the last person to speak with him, after all, he might have died.

It turned out that none of us had bothered to check in with our friend we used to pray with. But, all of us had the audacity to write him off as a man of little faith.

We decided to get in touch with him a few weeks ago. As it happened, we found out that for various reasons Rik had put his faith in Jesus to one side. Some of the reasons for this were immensely complicated, and some, he admitted, were of his own doing.

Rik started to come to church again not long after our conversations, and is now slowly turning his wayward eyes back to Jesus.

Men, Paul makes it clear in his letter to the Corinthians that  “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”

Consider this:

Luke 15:3-7 (Jesus to his disciples)

“Which of you men, if you had one hundred sheep, and lost one of them, wouldn’t leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one that was lost, until he found it? When he has found it, he carries it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbours, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!’ I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.”

So, we need to follow that example when it comes to our friends and family who fall away from faith. We need to lead the chase. How easy it is to sit around pub tables surrounded by Christians after the evening service and discuss those who have tossed away the Bible. This Christianity thing is not a a secret society with a code of conduct. Its a body. A big fat body with room enough for us all. And we need all parts for it to move forward. Lets go looking for the amputated bits.

Lets go into the nightclubs, the pubs and cinemas, the fancy restaurants and beyond. To the ends of the earth we need to search for our friends who have become entangled, because Jesus did the same for us. And the beauty of it, the majesty of it, the clarity of it, can come down to one simple action.

“Hey man, where are u? I miss u fella, (not in a weird way). Let’s meet this week sometime for a beer and some food. Text back, Alex.” Text message sent at 0934 hours.

Two of the most influential people in my life have recently walked away from the Church. Though these two men have never met each other, they have both left for the same reason. Both men honestly believe the Church in their city has taken its eye off the prize.

One of these men taught me the Bible in such a way that I used to leave his classroom jumping like a Bull Terrier, 12 inches underneath a steak and kidney pie.

The other guy took me into his family when I was 19 years old and inspired me to start a student church movement in Scarborough without an atom of fear. He taught me the beautiful lesson of risk taking and persuaded me to search for life in all its fullness.

When I think about these two great leaders spending Sundays on their own, I feel two things:
Grief stapled to Anger.

I remember the moment they both told me they were pulling their lives away from the Churches they had led and served for decades. They spoke for hours about serious disagreements and horrible disillusions that had plagued them week in week out. They had been hurt, betrayed and often persecuted by the congregations they had given their lives to.

During both conversations my reaction was pretty much the same; I shook my head, cried like a boy who missed a penalty, and urged them to have more patience with the Church. As a last ditch effort to keep them inside, I reminded them both of what God was doing through them and how their qualities injected life into their Christian communities. During both conversations their reaction was pretty much the same; they smiled, told me how proud I had made them, and quietly confirmed they had made up their minds.

Unfortunately, since the Apostolic movement of the early Church, Christianity has seen an exodus of men walk away for a hundred and one different reasons. Admittedly, some of these men became disillusioned with the message of Christ, and the seeds of faith that once brought them great joy, become starved and desolate.

However, a lot of these men left because they could no longer draw a parallel between their personal walk with Jesus and the vision of their local Church. During my nine years of being a Christian, I have watched this condition infect men across the UK.

Vicars dotted all over England and Wales have told me about men of great faith, oozing with leadership potential, retreating from their Christian community. I call this condition Island Syndrome. It is when the thought of being a Christian on your own becomes irresistible.

Because these two friends of mine were decades older and three stone heavier than me, there was no way of beating them into changing their minds. And though I can see every reason they had to leave their seemingly backward, half-hearted, often predictable local Church, we need to be reminded of the truth;

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the most holy place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Hebrews 10 v. 19 – 25

Unfortunately, though I have only been a follower of Jesus for a short space of time, I have seen Christian men become bible cowboys many times. And when a cowboy falls off his horse, he is so far from his brothers and sisters, the joy of his salvation is usually the first thing to die. Then its a bitterness that sets in before faith itself starts to morph into scepticism.

Whether we like the church or not is irrelevant, because we need to her to keep our faith alive.
We need her to pick us up when life throws us off the horse. Let us not give up meeting together, even if the quiche and weak squash leaves a lot to be desired.

I want to turn some attention to men and worship culture, writing from the perspective of one who is in the arena and not carping from the sidelines.

I do have things to say but all my comments and thoughts come from a passion to see blokes not only become full on followers of Jesus but to see them integrated into healthy, vibrant, life giving, radical, dangerous churches that are good for everyone involved.  These blog posts are about evangelism … not about the Christian ghetto.

So here we go.  Time to put a head above the parapet!  And boy is this dangerous territory.  If worship is our highest calling then it is no wonder that it’s the area in most churches that causes the most debate, ungodly aggression and immature reaction.

Important: when you start engaging with this, please don’t think from your personal perspective. Remember, these posts are about missional thinking (i.e. doing stuff that isn’t about what we like) so, think for the rest of this article about your bog standard average bloke who walks into church; try to think from his perspective.  It might be useful as well to think about what God likes.  There’s a radical thought!  (More on that point later.)

Here are some subjects I will be commenting on:

• Volume
• The Sexualisation of worship
• Recasting the language of intimacy
• Worship styles
• Alternatives to singing
• The working class and worship
• Who should lead worship
• Small groups and worship

We begin by looking at “volume” a seemingly harmless issue but the cause of so much tension and ungodly reaction in congregational churches.

Volume

I was once invited to go to a classical music event called “Prom Praise” at Christmas with a contingent from my church.  Some of the party were people who were being quite forthright in their complaint that the worship in church was too loud. However, that evening I saw the light! It was so loud in the Royal Albert Hall that I couldn’t hear myself sing!  Man, the hall was rocking! So why weren’t the complainers complaining?  Why were they glowing after?  Why wasn’t the volume in this context offensive?

Of course, the whole time they hadn’t really found the volume in church worship offensive.  They couldn’t have!  After all, I had the evidence in front of me.  What they were finding offensive in church was the style! Drums, bass, lead guitars, jeans etc.  But where there was an orchestra causing the noise by people who were classically trained, that was ok!   It’s amazing how often we aren’t aware of what is really upsetting us and blame something else.

So what about blokes and volume? (Be aware that I write as someone who isn’t always into high volume.  I appreciate peace and quiet! For example I appreciate the subtle tones at the start of Barber’s Adagio for Strings, although I like the volume cranked up later!).  Here are some brief thoughts:

High volume levels are bloke friendly because I suspect that most men don’t like to hear themselves sing. This is because most men can’t sing very well.  When the volume is up it feels safer and better for all concerned!

We will talk about style later but for now I also want to make the point that men like songs that have objective truth in them that speak about who God is and what he is about.  We don’t like stuff that tries to tell us how we feel! The sort of songs that men like to sing need to have a bit of welly! It’s no good singing the praises of the living God who made something as outrageously huge and spectacular as the Eagle Nebula at reduced volume.  What’s that all about!?

When William Booth of Salvation Army fame wanted to use music to reach poor, white, working class blokes he used brass bands.  Loud, distinctive and from the street with many colliery bands already in existence, it was the sort of sound that the working class loved.  The rich weren’t the biggest fans but that didn’t matter to Booth.  He wanted to go to those who the church had passed by.  If we were to employ the same tactic today we would have very loud drum and bass music or progressive rap on the streets and in church.  We need to get that kind of missionary perspective back.

Is there a time for quiet?  Yes of course.  Is there a time for reflective worship?  Yep!  Do we need to crank the volume up more and adopt styles that allow for it?  Absolutely.

Getting men into the Kingdom is a topic in itself.  But for now here are a few things we believe as a ministry are crucial if we are to win men for Jesus.  Make sure your church:

• has a long term strategy to reach the men outside the church.
• recognises that in the UK today it takes a man on average five years to come to Christ (three for women).
• realises that men today are miles from the Kingdom and need to hear the Gospel at least 30 times before making a commitment to follow Jesus.
• understands that 80% people who come to Christ are brought by a friend.
• realises that many men struggle with small talk but will open up in the context of activity.
• sets in place a programme to deal with these realities.

Perhaps the biggest lessons I have learned about reaching men have been whilst riding my bicycle.  A couple of years ago, in an effort to transform my life from being an overweight unfit pastor, I took up cycling.  Always being one to go the extra mile I decided to respond to the challenge to cycle from Lands End to John O’ Groats in under 9 days.

After a bit of training, I along with 6 others guys (half of whom weren’t believers) did it.  All the guys who weren’t believers ended up in a weekly bible study. The following year we did the same with 16 guys but this time from Calais to Nice over the Alps. The same positive spiritual outcome took place.  Some of my most effective conversations about Jesus have taken place while side by side with other men in the context of cycling.

In fact, sometimes the most intimate and personal things have been shared.  Why?  Because we are side by side, exerting ourselves, struggling though the pain barrier together with all the guards and defences torn down.  We also used the cycle ride to raise money for a worthy cause thereby igniting men’s hearts with the chance to do something positive for those less fortunate than themselves (in this case, a work in Africa).  The efforts that some went to in order to raise money was extremely humbling.

I’m not suggesting we all go out and cycle crazy distances but perhaps if we in some way made a small effort to walk and journey with men, rather than expect them to come into our world, we may see some startling breakthroughs.

So in conclusion let’s unashamedly gear some ministry towards the men.

Some things to consider:

For believing men:

• Prayer triplets – weekly if possible; 45 minutes will do; accountability among members
• Termly breakfasts – give them some fellowship time, saturated fat, and teach them some relevant Biblical truth
• One on One mentoring by mature men for younger men

For Not Yet Believers:

• Well organised social/sports events with no overt Christian content
• A termly breakfast with a good speaker who gives his testimony and a clear Christian statement.
• “Enquirers’’ courses such as Alpha but occasionally run for men only.  We need to understand that as Jesus shines his light into a man’s heart, the issues that he will be struggling with (perhaps gambling, pornography or hidden stress) won’t be discussed in front of Jane but will be talked about with John and Steve.  Especially if he has been doing some stuff shoulder to shoulder with them.

For Both groups:

• How about a semi retired/retired man being released to serve as an encourager and pastoral worker amongst men, carrying out work visits and giving wise counsel.

That’s far from all and as I have previously said, we have painted broad brush strokes and made inevitable sweeping statements and generalisations.  Hopefully however there are some useful thoughts in the above to get us all thinking and see some more men introduced to Jesus.  There’s a big job to do and a bit of up hill boulder pushing to engage in but when you consider that according to “evangelicals now” in 2003 that when you lead a man to Jesus, 93% of his family follow to Jesus (as opposed to 3.5% for children or 17% for women) we need to get serious about the way we reach out and minister to men.