As the world struggles with a global financial crisis, and Australia stands on the brink of a recession, my own masculinity index tumbled yet another full percentage point today reducing it to almost record lows (the record occurring in 1990 when at the age of 13 i was eagerly awaiting the departure of our team bus full of around 50 boys from my footy club, when my Dad stopped the bus from taking off to check whether i had packed a hankerchief).
In a scene invoking those repressed memories, i had to make an unexpected stop at the local hardware store. Unlike most Aussie blokes, a trip to the local hardware store creates more apprehension, as opposed to eager anticipation. I’ve always been more at home in the kitchen than in the tool shed (you can see how my Ocker rating is already low). It seems every time i venture to the hardware store something conspires to, in the words of Spike from Notting Hill fame, shrink my balls to the size of raisins.
My fall from the land of ‘beer and brawn’ was inevitable when i entered the store to buy, of all things, my Mum’s birthday present. A conscientious gardener, Mum was keen on a getting a small trowel and a small weeder. OK, so they aren’t chainsaws or cordless drills, but they are not overtly feminine i hear you say? Well, unfortunately, the only brand left in stock for both items was the ‘DIY WOMAN’ range, resplendent with delicate pastel green and purple handles.
Standing there with my somewhat metrosexual slip-ons, striped shorts and almost fashionable T, i scanned the aisles next to me for any men likely to be called Bruce, Barry or Davo (or for that matter any women called Shazza). Seeing no prosecutors to challenge my now controversial masculine status, i quickly grabbed my DIY WOMAN products and sheepishly headed for the counter.
Carefully weaving past a selection of tradies and handymen who were suitably attired in various dirt-covered overalls and boots, accompanied by generous 3-day growth and the odd plumbers crack, i made it to the sales counter. Even the female attendant (Brenda i think her name was) offered a wry grin as i placed my DIY WOMAN weeder on the counter. But that i could handle, as long as it wasn’t one of my own.
To my surprise i was the only customer in line. It appeared i was going to get away with it…until the roll of paper used to print receipts ran out. In the time that it took Brenda to reload the printer, another customer stood right next to me in the queue.
6 foot plus tall, 3 day growth with added fertiliser, overalls whose original colour was indistinguishable through the paint, mud and grease, and a plumbers crack more aptly described as a canyon…you guessed it…the epitome of Australian manhood stood there to witness the defining moment of me paying for my DIY WOMAN weeder and trowel.
I collected my receipt as a fallen man, my flame of masculinity almost snuffed, and i walked out the door with head bowed and shoulders stooped. Forget raisins, i was now reflecting on the parable of the mustard seed for all the wrong reasons. Next time i might just hand them in at the door as i go in!
For a Jesus-following, peace-lovin’, green-eatin’ guy, you can understand that I’d want to keep as much masculinity as i can. Perhaps this has lead to my unhealthy passion for AFL football?
Either way, todays crushing moment again gave me cause to reflect on a few things…
What does our culture view as masculine?
What truly constitutes masculinity?
If masculinity is defined by popular culture (and Christians are by and large slaves to this culture), is our view of God (usually limited as male) skewed by false stereotypes? Do we promote his power, strength and wrath above forgiveness, compassion, and powerlessness? A thirst for war and self-preservation rather than reconciliation and self-sacrifice? Perhaps, i could ask Mr. President?
Conversely, as the ‘bride of Christ’, have we skewed the church to embrace the negative stereotypes of femininity? Have we been submissive to our culture, flirting with it for acceptance in an unequal marriage, outwardly beautiful but inwardly shallow, to quote a Palinism…’a pig with lipstick’?
As always, for those who dare to identify with him, the answer must begin and end with Jesus…the perfect embodiment of positive masculinity AND femininity.
Uncompromising nonviolence.
Costly compassion.
Anger against injustice.
Uplifting the lowly.
Liberation of the oppressed.
Self-sacrifice.
To me, that is a picture of true manhood. When i aim to rise to the challenge to ‘be a man’ as a husband, father, friend, or worker, that is the image i look to. That image is the one i need to uncover amidst a sea of imperfection and weakness. Indeed, that is the image originally stamped deep within me. My true self.
So the next time my level of superficial masculinity is challenged when i purchase DIY WOMAN products at the hardware store, I hope I’ll remember Jesus and strive to live with a deeper, truer masculinity (and femininity).
If all women and men who identify with Jesus would collectively dare to live this way together in a world of distorted masculinity and femininity, we may no longer be seen by many as a ‘pig with lipstick’. Rather, the deeds of our lives may shine a light towards Jesus dream of peace for all, especially for those whose light has grown dim.
And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to develop my plumbers crack 😉
(apologies to all plumbers and masculine women named Brenda).
Hear, hear, I concur…
Tho I would add that manhood is seen in the ability to purchase whatever one needs/wants to purchase without concern about other’s opinion. This applies in equal measure to the clothes you wear, the music you listen to, the foods you eat/cook, any of these ephemeral things which people place far too much emphasis on. A male who thinks “I can’t wear that shirt because I’m a guy” is weak, lacks integrity and self-determination.
Guys, stand up, be who you are and dare these macho idiots to try to remember what they used to like before they got whipped!