Strenuous and spiritual

In the past few decades, America’s young men have been falling into a crisis that few seem willing to acknowledge, let alone address. The statistics are clear and deeply concerning. Suicide among men is four times higher than among women. Depression, loneliness, and addiction have reached epidemic levels. This despair is not born in a vacuum. The dominant cultural narrative has painted masculinity as something toxic, something to be restrained, softened, or erased.

A generation ago, it was common to discuss the crisis of fatherlessness and the increasing number of boys raised without male role models. Today, the problem is even broader. Many young men question not only what it means to be a man but also whether there is any purpose in being one at all.

Yet, in the midst of this crisis, something unexpected is happening. Young men are attending church at higher rates than their female peers, a reversal of the trend seen in previous generations. Historically, women have outnumbered men in congregations. But now, the script has been flipped.

For many of these men, it isn’t just Christianity in the abstract that appeals to them. Instead, it’s a specific kind of faith that emphasizes strength, resilience, and duty.

I am talking about Muscular Christianity, a movement that took shape in the 19th century as a response to the growing perception of Christian men as meek, passive, and domesticated. It rejected the idea of faith as timid. Instead, it championed a vision of manhood rooted in courage and righteous action. Figures like Thomas Hughes, the author of Tom Brown’s School Days, championed an ideal that blended moral integrity with a warrior spirit. For Hughes, a man’s body was neither a burden nor a mere tool for indulgence. Instead, it was an instrument of purpose, designed to protect the vulnerable and uphold justice.

Likewise, Theodore Roosevelt spoke passionately about the strenuous life, a philosophy that linked physical hardship with moral integrity. He believed that struggle was essential for achieving greatness. A man who trained his body wasn’t just preparing for physical battles; he was sharpening his will, toughening his spirit, and cultivating the character required to lead, protect, and endure. Roosevelt viewed weakness—both physical and mental—as a danger not just to individuals but to the nation as a whole. He was right. Weak men do not create strong households, communities, or nations; instead, they undermine them.

To clarify, this does not mean that those who are physically limited, whether due to disability or other circumstances, are inherently weak or lack spiritual strength. Absolutely not. After all, strength is not merely a function of muscle. It also stems from resilience, discipline, and an iron will. Take Franklin D. Roosevelt, for instance. Paralyzed from the waist down due to polio, he led America through the Great Depression and World War II. Roosevelt refused to let his physical condition define his leadership. John Milton, who was blind for much of his life, wrote “Paradise Lost,” one of the greatest works of English literature. He displayed a clarity of vision that went far beyond physical sight.

I’ve come to recognize the reality of real strength in a different manner. Having been immersed in combat sports, primarily boxing, for over 17 years—nearly half my life—I understand this well. There is no faking resilience in the ring. A weak mind crumbles just as quickly as a weak body. The exhaustion that comes in the later rounds is a test of something deeper within. When your lungs burn, your legs feel like concrete, and your opponent is still pressing forward, the only thing that keeps you standing is will. And that will is forged through suffering—through years of drilling the fundamentals, pushing past limits, embracing discomfort, and enduring failure.

This is why the strenuous life cannot be reduced to a workout regimen or a self-improvement slogan. It is a worldview that recognizes the inextricable link between body and mind.

The ideal of muscular Christianity declined in the late 20th century as mainstream churches became more feminized, emphasizing inclusivity and emotional introspection over discipline and strength. But today, the pendulum is swinging back. Thank God!

Across the country, churches are embracing physical challenges alongside spiritual devotion. Jiu-Jitsu ministries, weightlifting groups, and faith-based fitness programs are on the rise—not as gimmicks, but as a revival of an older, truer form of Christian manhood.

The predominantly secular left will undoubtedly laugh and sneer. They will label it primitive, silly, and even absurd. But, I ask, who is the joke on really? The men sweating under the weight of a barbell, testing their endurance on the mats, forging brotherhoods built on shared struggle? Or the progressive critics, fragile in both body and spirit, who deride the very idea of masculine discipline while wilting under the slightest adversity? The latter, I suggest.

Strength is contagious. Discipline shapes character. Men who have spent years being told that their instincts are dangerous, their ambition oppressive, and their masculinity a problem are beginning to see through the lie. With faith as their foundation and iron in their hands, they are shaping themselves into what they were always meant to be: men of character, men of substance, men of America.