We often celebrate the “strong, silent type” in our churches—the man who has his theology squared away, his finances in order, and a stoic grip on his emotions. From the outside, he looks like a pillar of the community. But inside, many Christian men are living within a “superstructure” of their own making. This internal architecture is built on the belief that spiritual maturity is synonymous with absolute self-sufficiency. We’ve traded the biblical call to communal interdependence for a rugged individualism that looks like strength but functions like a prison.

The foundation of this superstructure is a subtle, modern form of self-righteousness. While most men would never claim they are “saved by works” in a theological debate, they live as if their standing with God is earned through their grit and competence. This “Pharisee in flannel” doesn’t look down on others for failing ritual laws; he looks down on them for being “weak”—for struggling with mental health, financial instability, or the “lukewarm” messiness of a normal life. In this world, the Gospel’s call to “become like a little child” is viewed as a threat to one’s masculinity rather than the gateway to the Kingdom.

The most devastating impact of this independence is felt at home. When a man’s identity is built on being “the man with the answers,” he becomes an unsafe person to be vulnerable with. His wife’s wisdom is often perceived as a challenge to his sovereignty, and his children quickly learn that to be loved, they must perform. He becomes a “Lone Ranger” in his own hallway—physically present but relationally distant. By refusing to say “I’m sorry” or “I need you,” he builds a fortress that successfully keeps conflict out, but it also keeps intimacy from ever getting in.

In the pews, the independent man often becomes a “ghost.” He may tithe and attend, but he is never truly known. He stays on the periphery of the church body because true community requires the very things his pride resists: submission to others and an admission of his own brokenness. He watches the struggles of his brothers from a distance, offering critiques instead of empathy. He remains “right,” but he remains utterly alone. He has forgotten that the Christian life was never meant to be a solo expedition, but a journey taken by a “body” where every member relies on the others.

The only way out of this isolation is a structural collapse. For a man to truly experience the Gospel, he has to come to the end of his own strength and realize that his “competence” is a poor substitute for Christ’s righteousness. The shift from “Independent Man” to “Gospel-Centered Man” happens when we stop trying to be a one-man army and start embracing the freedom of being a fellow beggar at the foot of the Cross. Only when we dismantle the fortress can we finally build a bridge back to God and the people we love.