Am I the only man who is lonely? I don’t think so.

For many men, forming and sustaining deep, meaningful relationships with other men can be difficult.

Faith does not require us to deny this problem. Scripture is filled with men who experienced isolation, grief, rejection, longing.

David cried out from caves and wilderness places. Elijah sat alone beneath a broom tree, exhausted and despairing. Job longed for someone who would understand his suffering. Even Jesus, in Gethsemane, asked his friends to remain near him and keep watch. When they fell asleep, he faced his anguish in painful solitude.

Loneliness is not evidence of weak faith. It is part of the human condition and a reminder that we were created for relationship.

From the beginning, God declared, “It is not good that the human should be alone.” This truth extends beyond marriage.

Yet many men hunger for connection that they struggle to name.

Society teaches boys to conceal their fears, restrain their tears and measure their worth by strength, independence, success and self-control. They learn that vulnerability is dangerous, that asking for help is weakness and that emotional pain should be endured in silence. These lessons can harden into walls.

But the gospel offers a different vision of strength.

Jesus gathered companions. He ate with others, traveled with others, prayed with others, allowed others to care for him. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus. He expressed sorrow, tenderness, frustration, compassion, fear. He welcomed children, touched those who were suffering and called his disciples not merely servants but friends.

Can the church heal our loneliness? Even there, men may find few places to speak honestly without pressure to appear spiritually certain, emotionally composed or morally victorious. Fellowship can become a performance rather than a place of grace.

The healing of male loneliness begins when we acknowledge that independence is not the highest Christian virtue. Jesus did not say the world would recognize his disciples by their self-sufficiency. He said they would be known by their love for one another.

This love requires more than friendliness. It requires presence.

It may begin with one man asking another, “How are you, really?” It may grow when someone listens without quickly offering advice. It may deepen when a man risks saying, “I’m struggling” or “I’m afraid” or “I feel alone” or “I need someone to walk with me.”

Such words can feel like weakness in a culture of masculine invulnerability. Within the kingdom of God, however, they can become acts of truthfulness. And truthfulness creates room for grace.

Christian friendship is not built upon having all the answers but upon faithful presence. Job’s friends served him best before they tried to explain his suffering, when they sat beside him in silence.

Sometimes the most sacred thing one can offer is not a solution but companionship: a listening ear, a shared meal, a prayer, a walk, a phone call or the assurance that “you do not have to face this by yourself.”

The Incarnation itself teaches us that love becomes present. God came near.

Faith communities must create spaces where men can move beyond performance. Men need places where they can speak about grief, aging, marriage, singleness, fatherhood, work, failure, faith, doubt, ­mental health, regret, hope. They need communities where tears are not ridiculed, weakness is not exploited, honesty is not punished.

Such spaces may emerge around a breakfast table, a workshop, a service project, a hiking trail, a prayer circle or a gathering in someone’s home.

Healing loneliness involves learning to receive care. Some men love to help others but dislike being helped. They offer rides, repair homes, serve meals or solve problems while refusing to reveal their own needs. But Christian community depends upon mutuality. To belong to the body of Christ is not only to serve but to allow oneself to be served.

Peter resisted when Jesus knelt to wash his feet. Perhaps receiving love made him feel exposed. Yet Jesus insisted. There are moments when humility means kneeling to serve and moments when humility means allowing another person to kneel beside us.

Loneliness can become intertwined with depression, anxiety, trauma, addiction or despair. Seeking professional counseling or medical support is not a failure of faith. God’s healing might come through prayer and scripture. But it might also come through therapists, physicians, support groups, medication and trusted companions.

Deep friendship rarely appears fully formed. It grows slowly through repeated presence. It begins with small acts of courage: sending a message, accepting an invitation, joining a group, returning to church, admitting the truth to a friend or asking someone to meet for coffee.

Perhaps the opposite of loneliness is not simply being surrounded by people. Perhaps it is belonging: knowing that our presence matters, that our story can be spoken, that our burdens can be shared, that we are held within a community of grace.

No man should be required to walk alone behind a mask of strength.

God is already present on the road. Jesus walks beside the lonely, often unrecognized, as he walked beside the disciples on the road to Emmaus. The Spirit continues to gather strangers into friends and friends into a beloved community.

Keith Lyndaker Schlabach is co-pastor with his wife, Rachelle, at Millersburg Mennonite Church in Ohio. He is co-founder of PeaceGrooves.com, a creative peacebuilding project that uses stories, music, art and games to nurture cultures of peace. His writing explores spirituality, relationships, nonviolence and the work of creating spaces where men can form meaningful friendships.