In most of our At the Table blogs, we write for both women and men. But today, I want to speak directly to men—because too many of us have quietly slipped to the sidelines.
Stepping Back Into the Game
I’ve noticed something over years of ministry and mentoring: many men hesitate to join a group, let alone lead one. We hold back, unsure, often with a strange mix of humility and fear.
Some tell me, “I’m not an expert—I don’t know enough.” Others shrug, “I’m still learning myself; I’m not qualified to teach.” Once, I asked a veteran missionary, theologian, and Bible scholar to mentor me. He looked surprised and said, “I’m not capable of that. I need to be mentored by you.”
That moment taught me something: no one ever feels “qualified enough.” And that’s not the point. Many of us grew up in homes where emotion was hidden, pain was buried, and grief was “handled privately.” So when it comes to telling our story—the real one, with scars and losses—we freeze. Some of us still believe it isn’t “manly” to speak honestly about weakness or sorrow. Others feel disqualified by failure or haunted by the mistakes that make us human.
Busyness is how we live in our culture. Some work two jobs; many feel greatly burdened by the responsibilities of job, home, family, and marriage. Some have just adopted busyness as a way of life that becomes our modus operandi, which can justify withdrawal from our own spiritual formation.
And then there are those of us who simply stepped back, telling ourselves, “It’s time for younger men to lead.” But that’s a polite way of saying, “I’m done.”
Let’s be honest: those are excuses. Understandable ones, but still excuses.
The truth is, our world—our families, our churches, our communities—needs men who will re-enter the game. Men who will risk vulnerability. Who will tell the truth about their wounds. Who will listen deeply, love faithfully, and show others that humility and strength are not opposites.
Jesus didn’t call experts. He called fishermen, tax collectors, skeptics, and dreamers. He built His church with ordinary men and women who were willing to get up, follow, and fail forward.
So, if you’ve been waiting for the right moment, this is it. If you’ve been waiting until you’re wise enough, strong enough, or certain enough, you’ll wait forever. What the world needs now are men who are present. Men who say, “Here I am. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m in.”
Busy men discover a surprising vitality from meeting together in trusted relationships with others. We find that rather than being drained, we can be energized as our spirits, souls, and hearts are seen and filled with the Spirit.
If that’s you, find two or three other men. Grab coffee. Tell the truth about what’s hard and what’s hopeful. Pray together. Laugh. Listen. Learn. Then do it again.
Join a Journey group through VantagePoint3 or take a courageous step forward to lead one. Offer yourself to your pastor or community as a mentor of others.
You are needed.
You are capable.
Make yourself available.
Because the sidelines are comfortable—but they were never meant to be home.
The Beginning of Koinonia
It started, as most sacred things do, in an ordinary place—a coffee shop called 26th Street Market in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I had just stepped into unfamiliar territory, shifting from parish ministry to the unpredictable rhythms of campus life. The title on my door read Campus Pastor, but in those first months, I felt like a freshman in faith all over again.
Instead of a board of elders, I now had a boss—the president of the college. I knew enough to know what I didn’t know, so I said this to Owen: “I’m the campus pastor. You’re part of the campus. I can tell you that I have no idea how I might best be a pastor for you or provide any spiritual help.”
Over coffee one day, he said, “I need a group of men who can meet and talk about life, faith, family, leadership, and Jesus.” That simple sentence started what became one of the most formative seasons of my life. Seven of us began gathering every Thursday morning. We drank dark roast coffee and justified the calorie count of Glorious Morning Muffins by calling them healthy—they had raisins and nuts, after all.
We had no leader, no curriculum, and no plan other than to show up honestly. We simply began asking, “What do I need for my growth as a man of God?” And then we listened—to Scripture, to one another, and to the Spirit.
We didn’t start with an agenda; we started with a question: “What do I need for my growth as a man of God?” Owen gave us his vision, and we went from there. We had no leader. We had no “curriculum,” per se. We started telling our stories of faith, asked our questions, and listened to six other men do the same. The Journey process did not exist for us, although one of our group went on to create it. So we started with good coffee, good muffins, and probably stuttered our way through a few times together as we learned to become vulnerable and to trust the others.
What Happened Around the Table
We didn’t realize it then, but we were recovering something ancient. The New Testament word koinonia captures it: a deep fellowship that forms when believers share life, not just doctrine. We found in each other a rhythm of grace and truth—not advice-giving or competition, but honest presence.
“As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” — Proverbs 27:17
Our group wasn’t built on expertise or authority. It was seven flawed, finite men learning to walk faithfully with Jesus. In time, we began to recognize what John Wesley had discovered two centuries earlier: that transformation doesn’t happen in isolation but in small circles of accountability and grace.
Wesley’s class meetings were never just Bible studies; they were communities of confession, encouragement, and spiritual practice. He believed that the Spirit of God works through conversation—that we grow best when we confess our struggles, celebrate grace, and ask one another, “How goes it with your soul?”
We Were Never Meant to Grow Alone
Scripture is clear: men and women are not meant to grow alone.
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.” — Ecclesiastes 4:9–10
Jesus Himself formed a small group—fishermen, tax collectors, zealots—who would learn to live, fail, and be restored together. When they stumbled, they did so in community. When they triumphed, they did so as brothers. And when they scattered in fear, Jesus restored them not as individuals but as companions sent back into the world two by two.
To be accurate, Jesus broke the precedent of the day and welcomed women as followers as well; Scripture shows, however, that His smaller group consisted of a triad of Peter, James, and John.
The apostle James reminds us:
“Therefore, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” — James 5:16
This healing comes not from professional counseling or moral superiority, but from mutual honesty. Healing is born of humility. It is formed in the diversity of experience, background, age, and life lived. We came to value the wisdom each brought to the table. I needed to hear what others thought and to listen to their questions for me. Sometimes big, worthy questions become the portal to our growth.
What I Learned from Those Men
Around that table, I learned that faith matures when we tell stories in the open. Our conversations became sacred ground—not because we had the right answers, but because our shared questions led us into Scripture, prayer, and discernment.
We discovered that Christian friendship is not a casual accessory to faith; it is one of the main ways grace travels. Wendell Berry, the Kentucky farmer-poet, once wrote, “The real work of planet-saving will be small, humble, and humbling, and (insofar as it involves love) joyous and rewarding beyond measure.”1 The same could be said of soul-saving. God’s most transformative work often happens in small, faithful gatherings—not in crowds, but in circles.
John Ortberg once said that spiritual formation is not primarily about trying harder but training wisely—and the training ground, more often than not, is found in honest relationships where grace and truth are allowed to do their slow, steady work.2
An Ancient Practice Worth Recovering
John Wesley called his groups “bands” and “classes.”3 Richard Baxter, the 17th-century Puritan pastor, called them house-to-house visitations. Baxter believed that a shepherd’s work was not to preach from a distance but to know his people personally—to walk with them in the ordinary details of life, faith, and doubt. He once wrote, “The work of conversion and edification must be done upon particular persons.” In other words, the gospel takes root person by person, conversation by conversation.4
In our own way, that’s what we were doing. We were modern-day pilgrims reenacting the fellowship of Acts 2:
“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” — Acts 2:42
There is a pattern here—teaching, fellowship, breaking bread, and prayer. Those four actions form a trellis for growth. They don’t require expertise, only willingness. Our group did not have a leader or a curriculum, per se; we had something more immediate: life lived in vivo, a Latin term that simply means life as it actually emerges in time and space, in beauty, glory, and amazement, and in darkness, failure, and grief.
The Presence That Holds It All
Over the years, I’ve learned that what we most need as men is not better answers, but deeper presence—presence to God, to our families, and to one another. Henri Nouwen called this the ministry of presence:
“More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. … But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”5
Being with each other as God is with us: That is what we experienced around that table.
No one fixed anyone. No one preached. No one postured. Instead, we learned to sit in the tension of each other’s stories, trusting that the Holy Spirit was doing the slow work of transformation in each of us.
Eugene Peterson described it well when he said that Christian maturity is like growing a tree—it takes a long obedience in the same direction, the title of his first book. That kind of obedience is almost impossible without companionship. Lone oaks fall in storms; forests stand because roots intertwine beneath the surface.
The Practice of Brotherhood Today
So what does this mean for us now—for men living in an age of isolation, productivity, and quiet exhaustion? It means we must recover the holy habit of gathering. Not to compete or compare, but to confess and connect. Not to prove we are strong, but to admit that we are weak and yet beloved.
A Practice for Men Who Want to Grow:
- Gather a few men. Start with two or three who share a desire for spiritual depth.
- Meet regularly. Choose a simple rhythm—weekly or biweekly—over coffee, breakfast, or a walk.
- Ask real questions. Try: Where did you see God this week? Where did you struggle to love well? What are you learning from Scripture or prayer? John Mark Comer has published a resource called Table Conversations, which comprises two sets of questions labeled “Start Small” and “Go Deeper.”6 In time, most groups will not need the prompts, but it’s a great place to begin. The questions are also a valuable resource for family times.
- Pray for each other aloud. Keep it simple and sincere.
- Let Scripture speak. Read passages like Psalm 133, John 15, Philippians 2, or Colossians 3 and talk about what resonates.
- Practice honesty and confidentiality. Trust grows slowly, but it is the soil of transformation.
“How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity!” — Psalm 133:1
An Invitation
When I look back on those mornings at 26th Street Market, I realize how much of my spiritual life was shaped by the sound of men telling the truth about themselves in the presence of grace. We didn’t just share coffee; we shared our lives. We found Jesus at that table, sitting quietly among the muffins, laughter, and tears.
If you have been walking alone, this is your invitation. Find your table. Invite others to your table. Start small, but start. God delights in ordinary places becoming holy ground.
And who knows? You might just discover that glorious morning muffins taste even better when shared among friends becoming brothers.
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Keith Anderson, D.Min., is a Faculty Associate for Spirituality and Vocation at VantagePoint3 and President Emeritus of Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. He is the author of several books, including his most recent: On Holy Ground: Your Story of Identity, Belonging and Sacred Purpose (Wipf & Stock, 2024). His other works include Reading Your Life’s Story (IVP, 2016), A Spirituality of Listening (IVP, 2016), and Spiritual Mentoring (IVP, 1999). In his writing, teaching, and mentoring, Keith seeks to set a table for people looking to enter the “amazing inner sanctuary of the soul” in the most ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.
1Wendell Berry, Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community, p. 24.
2John Ortberg, The Life You’ve Always Wanted: Spiritual Disciplines for Ordinary People, p. 47.
3John Wesley, A Plain Account of the People Called Methodists, 1746, pp. 256 and 267.
4Richard Baxter, The Reformed Pastor, pp. 46–47, 101–102, 147–148.
5Henri Nouwen, quoted in a PDF collection titled “More Ministry of Presence—Several Articles,” which attributes the quotation to Nouwen.
6John Mark Comer, Table Conversations, https://www.practicingtheway.org/tableconversations
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