You don’t feel ready to preach.

You desired to be more prepared, to spend much time in the text and prayer, to enter the pulpit with full health, but life had other plans. God had other plans.

The last song has started; it is nearly time for you to speak. You look around and notice a visitor. This is not usually how thin my outline is. You see a wandering sheep who chose this Sunday to return. Why didn’t he come last week? The people seem hungry; the Spirit seems present. Will you now let them down?

You ascend the pulpit. Eyes gaze up at you. And then you say it. “Good morning . . . I beg your forgiveness beforehand. My oldest son was sick all week, and I had less time to prepare than I hoped.” Or, “Good morning . . . please excuse my voice. I’m just getting over a cold.”

Is anything wrong with such remarks? Hopefully not. But that hasn’t been the case with me. I have found that we might offer excuses beforehand, not because we are full of love for God and the souls before us, but because we are too full of self. Pride makes us anxious and insecure of what they will think of us.

Now, is it always wrong to highlight obstacles you’ve faced during the week of the sermon? I doubt it. Is it always from self-love that you explain a lacking ingredient? No. I do not bring a new law, “Thou shalt never disclose setbacks.”

But is this not sometimes a whimpering, flesh-pleasing, pride-pampering, excuse-making introduction that betrays an unworthy sensitivity to what man thinks about you, your delivery, and your sermon? And wouldn’t it be more faithful and manly to simply pray that the Lord would increase his name — however much you decrease — and get straight to what God has for you to tell the people? Let each man answer for himself, but for my part, I answer yes.

What Swims Beneath

This conversation may not rise to the level of alarm for you. It may seem rather harmless either way. But when a sailor sees Leviathan surface in the distance, he is troubled not because the beast merely came up for air (as opposed to devouring a ship). He is troubled because he sees Leviathan. To rise for air is innocent enough, but what swims below destroys without warning. The apology may be meaningless, but self-importance never is. Pride is to be killed, not allowed to apologize for itself.

Making excuses for our leaner sermons is but one possible expression of being drunk on self. Shattering at negative feedback is another. Salivating after compliments still another. Richard Baxter described it:

Were it not for shame, [some preachers] could find in their hearts to ask people how they liked them, and to draw out their commendations. If they perceive that they are highly thought of, they rejoice, as having attained their end; but if they see that they are considered but weak and common men, they are displeased, as having missed the prize they had in view. (The Reformed Pastor, 126)

A man wanting to be thought great is in great danger. A high esteem of self is frightened by low opinions of others. Secret pride makes a man fragile. Such a heart is that of an actor performing before a critic, not a herald concerned with delivering his Master’s message. What would you think of this town crier?

Hear ye, hear ye, my good citizens. I have a message from the King of kings that demands closest attention. But before I deliver that which is your very life or death to receive, I want you all to know that I’ve had a stressful week, less time to polish as I’d like, and (I hate to mention it) but I’ve developed a bit of a sniffle since yesterday. Please excuse my ensuing performance. Truth be told, I have been more than a little anxious about it.

Sit that man down and get someone else to speak to the people. Such a heart would, if not rightfully ashamed, meet everyone at the door after the sermon, fishing, not for men, but for compliments and asking what they especially loved. And should anyone offer an opportunity for improvement, the man would begin to sink. Such a man is an ingrown toenail, burrowing deeper and deeper into himself. Lord, have mercy on all of us heralds.

Excusing Weakness

The apostle Paul renounced the need for head pats and belly scratches. For him, man-pleasing and ministry couldn’t coexist (Galatians 1:10). And while Paul did mention setbacks and difficulties in his ministry, he presented them altogether differently. He boasted in his weaknesses rather than angling for excuses.

Paul really was someone great; he really was that man the demons knew by name. Yet hear how he went about his business in the Lord:

If I should wish to boast, I would not be a fool, for I would be speaking the truth; but I refrain from it, so that no one may think more of me than he sees in me or hears from me. (2 Corinthians 12:6)

Paul let himself be known for his weakness because he wanted people to know God’s strength. I, on the other hand, mention my weakness only to highlight my usual strength. I don’t boast in my weakness; I explain it away. My pride wants others to know I am usually much better than this. Yet Paul hid his accomplishments and boasted in his weaknesses; he didn’t want boasting in his strengths to eclipse God’s strength. He didn’t want others to think more of him than what they saw.

Don’t Let Pride Apologize

Paul knew what it was to put confidence in the flesh and despise weakness. But it seems he quit campaigning for himself when he exchanged his righteousness for Christ’s. Remember, he was that guy all the Jewish men wanted to be before coming to Christ. But now he writes, “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ” (Philippians 3:7–8).

All-important me is replaced by all-worthy Christ.

Pastors, as you mount the pulpit, stand confident in Christ and don’t give any provision for the flesh. If you have no business up there, don’t be up there. But if God still calls you to preach, stand up with whatever notes, voice, or limitation you possess and herald Jesus Christ. If he wants you low, go forth on your knees. If he wants you to stumble more than usual, bless his name in that ruggedness! But don’t stoop to justify why you’re not as impressive as usual. Forget about yourself and preach the Savior to saints and lost souls, especially in weakness, for these are the times Christ’s power will best rest upon you.

One of the most fruitful places to see the intersection between Puritan theology and the glory of God is the first question of the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

Question: What is man’s chief end?

Answer: Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.

Puritan fingerprints are all over the Westminster Standards, which is not surprising since among the Westminster divines were the likes of Thomas Goodwin, Jeremiah Burroughs, and Samuel Rutherford.

The implications of the way this first question is answered are more far reaching than some of us realize. We will see that the formulation “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever” touches on the nature of God’s glory, the nature of the human soul, the aim of creation and redemption, and the consummation of all things. The implications of this formulation are vast and worthy of our most careful meditation.

Man’s Happiness, God’s Glory

B.B. Warfield gave himself to this kind of careful meditation on the first question of the Westminster Catechism. Let’s launch us into our own reflections by listening to his.

He highlights the peculiar content of the first question by contrasting it with Calvin’s Geneva Catechism.

Question 1: What is the chief end of man?

Answer: It is to know God his Creator.

Question 2: What reason have you for this answer?

Answer: Because God has created us and placed us in this world that he may be glorified in us. It is certainly right, as he is the author of our life, that it should advance his glory.

Question 3: What is the chief good of man?

Answer: It is the same thing.

Question 4: Why do you account the knowledge of God the chief good?

Answer: Because without it, our condition is more miserable than that of any of the brute creatures.

Calvin is content in his catechism to define the chief end of man and the chief good of man in terms of knowing God. This doesn’t mean there’s no place in Calvin’s theology for the enjoyment of God. In fact, he says in the Institutes, “The ultimate happiness is to enjoy the presence of God” (On the Christian Life, 52). But it does seem to mean that he doesn’t put the same weight on the subjective experience of God’s glory — namely, the enjoyment of it — that the Puritans did.

Warfield takes note of this and says that the Westminster divines “improve on” Calvin’s answer (The Works of Benjamin Warfield, 6:396).

Then he explains,

The peculiarity of this question and answer of the Westminster Catechism . . . is the felicity with which it brings to concise expression the whole Reformed conception of the significance of human life. We say the whole Reformed conception. For justice is not done that conception if we say merely that man’s chief end is to glorify God. That certainly: and certainly, that first. But according to the Reformed conception man exists not merely that God may be glorified in him, but that he may delight in this glorious God. It does justice to the subjective as well as the objective side of the case. The Reformed conception is not fully or fairly stated if it . . . conceiv[es of] man merely as the object on which God manifests his glory. . . . It conceives man also as the subject in which the gloriousness of God is perceived and delighted in. No man is truly Reformed in his thought, then, unless he conceives of men, not merely as destined to be the instrument of the divine glory, but also as destined to reflect the glory of God in his own consciousness, to exult in God: unless he himself delights in God as the all-glorious one.

Then Warfield brings his meditation to a close with these ringing words about the relationship between glorifying God and enjoying God:

The distinction of the opening question and answer of the Westminster shorter catechism is that it moves on this high plane and says all this in the compressed compass of felicitous words: “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Not to enjoy God certainly without glorifying him, for how can he to whom glory inherently belongs be enjoyed without being glorified? But just as certainly not to glorify God without enjoying him, for how can he whose glory is his perfections be glorified if he be not also enjoyed?

But if you look at those words very carefully, you realize that Warfield does not come right out and say what some Puritans were saying and what Jonathan Edwards made crystal clear — namely, that God is glorified by our enjoyment of him.

Spiritual Affections

For example, Puritan pastor John Howe (1630–1704) wrote a long treatise titled Delighting in God, in which he said,

We are to desire the enjoyment of [God] for his own glory. And yet here is a strange and admirable complication of these with one another. For if we enjoy him, delight and rest in him, as our best and most satisfying good, we thereby glorify him as God. (The Works of the Reverend John Howe, 1:559)

There is debate about how the Westminster divines understood the connection between glorifying God and enjoying God (even though John Howe was clear on it), but it is provocative, to say the least, that their formulation was singular, not plural: man’s chief end (not ends) is to glorify him and enjoy him. If that singular word “end” doesn’t unite the two, it at least makes them inseparable. Some Puritans — and Edwards after them — make explicit that we glorify God by enjoying him. More on that later.

What is obvious at this point from the first question of the catechism is that the affections of the human soul are elevated to a place of importance that is far higher than most people realize. The enjoyment of God is essential to the right worship of God and thus the end for which God created the world. We are in another world from those who treat spiritual emotions, spiritual affections, as marginal or incidental or secondary. That is not the Puritan world.

According to the Westminster Catechism, the Puritans, and Edwards, spiritual affections are as important as the glorification of God himself, because they are part of that glorification, which is the reason that the universe exists.

It’s not surprising then that, as the Reformed movement matured and deepened, the Puritans became keenly aware of the centrality of the workings of the human soul in the glorification of God. And they instinctively then became doctors of the soul as well as doctors of theology. This is one of the things that puts them in a class by themselves. They put such a high premium on what’s going on in the human heart. And it’s not surprising why they would do that given the answer to the first question of the Westminster Catechism: glorifying God and enjoying God is the end for which man was created. That is, what’s happening in the soul makes or breaks the purpose of creation and redemption!

Essential Reflection of God’s Glory

What I want to do in the rest of our time together is to press into some implications of the first question of the Westminster Catechism as it relates to God’s glory. Warfield referred to the objective and the subjective side of God’s glorification. God is glorious whether anybody sees it or enjoys it. That’s the objective reality of God and his glory. He is infinitely great, infinitely beautiful, and infinitely valuable. This is true objectively. And God created the world to set forth and manifest that objective glory. “The heavens declare the glory of God” (Psalm 19:1). Isaiah 43:6–7 says, “Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the end of the earth . . . whom I created for my glory.”

Then there is the subjective reflection of that glory in man’s perception and enjoyment of it. Ephesians 1:5–6 says, “He predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace.” He objectively manifests the glory of his grace, and we subjectively praise the glory of his grace. And in that objective and subjective glorification, God’s purpose in creation is achieved.

“The enjoyment of God is essential to the right worship of God.”

What the first question of the catechism does not make explicit is that the right enjoyment of God presumes the right knowledge of God. Calvin made this explicit when he said that the chief end of man is to know God. The Westminster divines assume that and put all the emphasis on the enjoyment of God. Edwards makes both ways of glorifying God explicit:

God glorifies Himself toward the creatures also in two ways: 1. By appearing to . . . their understanding. 2. In communicating Himself to their hearts. . . . God is glorified not only by His glory’s being seen, but by its being rejoiced in. When those that see it delight in it, God is more glorified than if they only see it. His glory is then received by the whole soul, both by the understanding and by the heart. (The Works of Jonathan Edwards, 13:495)

Implicit in that statement of Edwards — which I think is fully biblical and is also implicit in the Westminster Catechism — is the implication that the glory of God is the ground of the mind’s certainty and the goal of the soul’s satisfaction. In other words, if you ask, “How does the human mind come to know God with certainty?” the answer is, “By the revelation of the glory of God.” And if you ask, “How does the human heart come to enjoy God with satisfaction?” the answer is, “By the revelation of the glory of God.” The glory of God reveals itself to be inescapably real to the mind and incomparably rewarding to the heart.

The Place of God’s Glory

This has an amazing implication concerning the place of the glory of God in the Christian life, and I’ll state it three ways:

The quest for truth and the quest for joy turn out to be the same quest.
The path to unshakable conviction and the path to unending contentment are the same path.
Knowing for sure and rejoicing forever happen by the same discovery of the glory of God in the word of God.

This was simply astonishing to me — that the self-authenticating revelation of the glory of God turns out to be both the ground of my most confident knowing and the ground of my most satisfying enjoyment.

Ground of Enjoying God

Let’s take these one at a time. First, consider the glory of God as the ground of our most satisfying enjoyment.

The Bible makes clear that the fullest and longest pleasure is found only in God. Psalm 16:11 says, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” There is nothing fuller than full, and there is nothing longer than forever. Therefore, the enjoyment of the presence of the all-glorious God cannot be exceeded. It is inconceivable that there be a joy greater than full or a pleasure longer than forever.

Therefore, the Bible continually tells us not to be idiots, but rather commands us, “Delight yourself in the Lord” (Psalm 37:4). “Be glad in the Lord” (Psalm 32:11). “Rejoice in the Lord” (Philippians 4:4). It tells us that when a man finds the treasure of God’s glorious kingdom hidden in a field, “then in his joy he goes and sells all he has and buys that field” (Matthew 13:44). And so, it tells us to long for the Lord:

As a deer pants for flowing streams,     so pants my soul for you, O God.My soul thirsts for God,     for the living God. (Psalm 42:1–2)

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;     my soul thirsts for you;my flesh faints for you,     as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. . . .Because your steadfast love is better than life,     my lips will praise you. (Psalm 63:1, 3)

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,     that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. (Psalm 90:14)

What is obvious from the Bible is that God intends for his glory — himself — to be the ground of our fullest and longest happiness. Human beings were created with an insatiable desire to be happy. This is because God designed that he would be the end of that quest. And being the end of that quest, he would thus be shown to be supremely glorious. Being satisfied in the glory of God is not icing on the cake of Christianity; it is the essence and the heart of experiential Christianity. It is the end. The chief end of man is to enjoy God and thus make plain his all-satisfying glory.

Christianity is not a religion of willpower and decisions to do things we don’t really want to do. We are not more virtuous for overcoming our real preferences to do what we don’t want to do just because of some pressure to do what is right. That is not Christianity. That is Stoicism. Christianity is a life lived from a supernatural new birth of the human heart to want God more than we want anything. Desires for God are not peripheral. They are demanded, and they are essential.

And what makes the universal human quest for happiness God-glorifying rather than self-exalting is that, by the new birth, the glory of God becomes the ground of our joy. We do not make a god out of joy. We show to be God what we find most joy in. And when the glory of God is the end of our quest for joy, God is exalted, not us.

Ground of Knowing God

That’s the first half of the amazing implication implicit in the Westminster Catechism and in the Puritan mind — namely, that the glory of God is the ground of both knowing and enjoying God. Knowing God for sure and rejoicing forever happen by the same discovery of the glory of God in the word of God. And we have seen that the glory of God is indeed the ground of our most satisfying enjoyment. It is the end of the human quest to be happy.

Now we turn to the other half of the implication — namely, that the glory of God is also the end of the human quest for assured knowledge. The glory of God is the ground of our most confident knowing. The way that God has planned for us to know for sure what is true, and the way he planned for us to find our all-satisfying treasure, are the same — namely, by seeing the glory of God in the word of God.

Let me try to show what I mean by this and how I came to see it.

From 1751 to 1758, Jonathan Edwards was pastor of the church in the frontier town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, and was a missionary to the Indians. His concern for Indian evangelization extends back into his pastorate at Northampton. And you can see this in these comments from Religious Affections, which were written about ten years earlier. His concern is this: How can they come to a justifiable knowledge of the truth when they know so little?

Miserable is the condition of the Houssatunnuck Indians and others, who have lately manifested a desire to be instructed in Christianity, if they can come at no evidence of the truth of Christianity, sufficient to induce them to sell all for Christ, in any other way but the [path of historical reasoning]. (Works of Jonathan Edwards, 2:304)

What then?

The mind ascends to the truth of the gospel but by one step, and that is its divine glory. . . . Unless men may come to a reasonable solid persuasion and conviction of the truth of the gospel, by the internal evidences of it, . . . by a sight of its glory; it is impossible that those who are illiterate, and unacquainted with history, should have any thorough and effectual conviction of it at all. (2:299, 303)

Edwards is arguing that the path to a well-grounded conviction of the truth of the gospel, and of the Scriptures that tell that story, is a path that the poorest people in your country, with little education — and the Papuan tribesmen and the “Houssatunnuck Indians” of the eighteenth century — can follow. It is the path of seeing the glory of God in the word of God.

Edwards bases this contention on 2 Corinthians 4:4: “The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” The gospel — the story of how God came to save sinners — emits a “light” (Edwards calls it a “divine and supernatural light”) to the eyes of the heart. Paul calls it “the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ.” Christ’s self-authenticating glory shines through the gospel. To make it possible for the darkened human heart to see this, God shatters the blindness. Paul describes how God does this in 2 Corinthians 4:6: “God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”

That is what happens in the creation of a Christian. We are given eyes to see the glory of God in the gospel. This is how the most uneducated person, with the least background in history, logic, or biblical doctrine, can be so convinced of the truth of the gospel that he is willing to die for it and not be a fool. He is not a fool, because he sees real grounds for the divine truth of the gospel. His faith is warranted on good grounds. He sees “the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ.” Thus, the gospel is vindicated by the divine glory it reveals.

Door to Certainty and Satisfaction

Thus, the glory of God proves to be both the ground of the soul’s grateful satisfaction and the ground of the mind’s deepest certainty. I said that this is implicit in the Westminster Catechism and in the Puritan mind. I base that on question 4 of the Larger Catechism, which says this:

Question 4: How does it appear that the Scriptures are the Word of God?

Answer: The Scriptures manifest themselves to be the Word of God, by their majesty and purity; by the consent of all the parts, and the scope of the whole, which is to give all glory to God; by their light and power to convince and convert sinners, to comfort and build up believers unto salvation: but the Spirit of God bearing witness by and with the Scriptures in the heart of man, is alone able fully to persuade it that they are the very Word of God.

I think that phrase “the scope of the whole, which is to give all glory to God” is essentially what I’m saying — namely, that the glory of God stands forth from the Scriptures in a self-authenticating way that gives the regenerate mind good evidence of divine reality. The glory of God becomes the ground for solid conviction as well as the ground of solid satisfaction.

I conclude, therefore, that seeing the glory of God with the eyes of the heart is the door to full satisfaction in God and full certainty of God. The glory of God is the ground of both. In creating a Christian, God reveals to us in the gospel his glory in the face of Christ, which becomes both the ground of the mind’s certainty and the goal of the soul’s satisfaction.

In one miracle moment, the sight of his glory implants solid conviction and sweet contentment. The quest for the fountain of truth and the fountain of joy is over. They are the same fountain — the glory of God.

Here’s one last observation: when the first question of the Westminster Catechism parallels the glorification of God and the enjoyment of God rather than paralleling the glorification of God and the knowledge of God, it is choosing, I think, to say that the knowledge of God is not man’s chief end. Knowing is a means to enjoying, not the other way around. The chief end (final, eternal end!) really is the happiness of the people of God in the glory of God.

God requires much of men. Men are called to go, subdue, lead, labor, serve, and sacrifice. Whether they believe it or not, husbands are heads endowed with covenantal responsibility before God for their families (Ephesians 5:23). Work, children, wives, aging parents, churches, and more — God calls men to bear peculiar responsibility in each of these areas. And none are insignificant. By way of success, negligence, or failure, a man’s leadership carries present and eternal consequences.

In short, masculinity demands men to take responsibility and sacrifice for the people and places under their care. This is no small task.

Burden of Atlas

For many men, the weight of such responsibilities can feel overwhelming, like a great stack of burdens poised to crush at any moment. Many who take their duties seriously may feel a kinship to Atlas, the Greek Titan of myth. As Hesiod wrote,

Atlas through hard constraintupholds the wide heaven with unwearying head and arms,standing at the borders of the earth. (Theogony 517–519)

Doomed by the judgment of Zeus, Atlas must bear the weight of the heavens on his shoulders.

Now, maybe that comparison sounds a bit melodramatic. But the responsibilities and burdens men carry are real and sometimes overwhelming. Some men abdicate, following Adam in his neglect. Others bear the work, suppressing the difficulty, only to crack under the strain.

All throughout our world, men are looking for answers and guidance. Much of the online “manosphere” exists to help men take responsibility. Deep down, men are drawn to such responsibility and know it’s what they are made for. So many of our stories (including the backyard fantasies of little boys) testify to our knowledge of this. We sense that a meaningful life is filled with good stewardship and Atlas-like work. Yet the everyday dragons appear mundane, faithfulness so easily becomes drudgery, and drudgery often gives way to defeat.

So, how can men persevere in their responsibilities? Are we left to our own devices — or that of masculinity gurus — to shoulder the burden? No, God did not give men such weighty obligations without providing a way to uphold them well. The biblical path to bearing responsibility is deep and enduring gladness in the God who made us and redeems us.

Mature Masculinity Is Glad

Mature masculinity must be glad. God made mirth to mark the task of men. Rooted men do not simply love and fight, lead and lay down their lives for the weak. They do so happily. Glad gravitas flavors all their working, serving, and sacrificing.

Consider Adam. When he first sees Eve, how does he respond?

This at last is bone of my bonesand flesh of my flesh;she shall be called Woman,because she was taken out of Man. (Genesis 2:23)

Adam’s joy erupts into poetry. Note that Adam is not ignorant of his particular calling. He is man and she woman; he the head and she his glory (1 Corinthians 11:3–12). He is God’s king in the newly created world, the namer of all creatures, and the gardener given dominion over the earth. He is responsible for Eve, he knows it, and he is glad. Duty was given to man not to be a burden but to be a work of delight.

Even better, recall the second Adam, Christ. All of his life and death perfectly pictures mature masculinity. In unflinching obedience to his Father, Jesus assumed responsibility for his people and fulfilled his divine calling. In all these things, duty was not drudgery to Christ — not even his death.

“Masculinity demands men to take responsibility and sacrifice for the people and places under their care.”

Christ’s death on the cross was a sacrifice of immeasurable cost, for the sinless Son of God bore the weight of the sins of the world and the wrath of God. No burden could be greater; Atlas pales in comparison. Jesus served his people and sacrificed for them, though it cost him everything. In the hours before his trial, Jesus prayed, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39). Yet Jesus did not fail to embrace the will of the Father. He did not shrink back from the terrors of his responsibility.

So, why did he suffer? How did he persevere and accomplish the greatest of all sacrifices? “For the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus did not take responsibility begrudgingly. He did not sacrifice out of mere duty. Jesus sacrificed and served his bride for joy. Joy gave Christ the strength to assume the sins of the world and bear the wrath of God.

Unshakable Joy

Men who take responsibility without God-fed gladness are missing the heart of masculinity. At root, masculinity in men is meant to image God. Without joy, our work is but a half-portrait of God, misrepresenting his character. Gladness is the overflowing heart of God that colors all his good works, for he is a gloriously happy God (1 Timothy 1:11). God sings over his children with gladness (Zephaniah 3:17) and rejoices in doing good for his people (Jeremiah 32:41). The Father delights in the person and work of his Son (Matthew 3:17). And Jesus endured the cross for the joy set before him — the reward of his people redeemed and his exaltation at his Father’s right hand (Hebrews 12:2).

Because we are made in the image of the gloriously happy God, masculinity is to be glad-hearted. Mature masculinity takes responsibility, forgoes sleep, works hard, serves selflessly, gives generously, sacrifices freely, even changes diapers, and does all gladly.

Does this mean men must plaster on a smile while they work, no matter how they feel? No. The serious gladness of mature masculinity is not forced or affected but genuinely joyful. The calling of masculine mirth is not a command to pretend but to know what God has made you for, to know he has given you responsibilities and he is with you in success and failure, in life and death. It is a joy rooted in the Rock who never moves so that, no matter what comes, a man can laugh and labor because he trusts God. All will be well. God is on the throne. Jesus is Lord. God wins. So, we can really and truly pour out our lives with gladness in our hearts.

Sacrifice and service are hard responsibilities. But we can bear them because God carries the load with us. With God, you can say with the apostle Paul, “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls” (2 Corinthians 12:15). Jesus has suffered for us with indomitable joy, and he bids us follow (Matthew 16:24; Hebrews 12:2). He walks with us and bears us up by his Spirit so that our labors are not alone. Masculinity that accepts responsibility really is like Atlas — but Atlas with a smile. So, bear and be glad. Sacrifice and smile. Hold up the corner of your world that God has given you and be happy in him.