In a culture saturated with distraction and spiritual passivity, two Catholic men are urging their listeners to do more than memorized prayers. Get into a lived relationship with the Holy Spirit.

On a recent episode of Men Answering the Heroic Call, hosts Tom Hornacek and Dean Patterson challenged Catholic men to examine whether they are truly listening to God — or merely reciting words.

“We don’t pray as we ought to,” Patterson said, quoting Romans 8:26. “But the Holy Spirit is there to help us and guide us in prayer.”

The episode followed a series addressing pornography addiction — a struggle they described as requiring a decisive spiritual response. But rather than focusing on tactics alone, the hosts framed the deeper battle as one of disposition: surrender, attentiveness, and bold action when prompted by grace.

“The Holy Spirit’s a gentleman,” Hornacek said. “He won’t come in. We have to invite Him in.”

From Routine Prayer to Relationship

The hosts distinguished between reciting traditional Catholic prayers and cultivating a living dialogue with the Spirit.

Patterson praised the Church’s rich treasury of prayers — including the Our Father and the Psalms — as language that “helps us express ourselves to God at times when we may not have the language.”

But he pressed further. “What we’re called to do is pray in the Spirit,” he said. “It’s mystical.”

Listening, he argued, is often the missing element.

“If I had one challenge over the years,” Patterson said, referencing his own marriage, “it’s — are you really listening?”

That same principle applies to prayer. Asking God for help while never pausing for response reduces faith to a monologue.

“If you ask God something,” Patterson said, recalling advice from a ministry leader, “expect an answer. But you’ve got to listen and wait.”

‘You Used to Love Me. Now You Just Work for Me.’

Hornacek shared a story from a priest who once described a moment of conviction during early ministry. Overwhelmed with activity, the priest sensed the Holy Spirit saying: “You used to love me. Now you just work for me.”

The message struck Hornacek deeply.

“We can be involved in ministry and think, ‘Well, I’m doing the will of God,’” he said. “But if we’re not listening to the Spirit… a lot of the times I wasn’t.”

He now begins moments of uncertainty with a simple prayer: “Come, Holy Spirit.” Then he waits.

“Sometimes you’re not going to hear anything,” he acknowledged. “But a lot of the times it’s a thought you never had. A prompt to call someone.”

One such prompting led him to phone a neighbor he hadn’t spoken to in months. The man later told him he had been about to make the same call.

“That’s not a coincidence,” Hornacek said. “It’s a God-incident.”

At the Edge of Comfort

Hornacek described a turning point during a mission trip to St. Lucia, where he and his wife ministered inside overcrowded prison cell blocks.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he recalled. “By Friday, I wanted out of there.”

In desperation, he prayed silently: What do You want me to say, Lord?

A simple question came to mind: What do you think happens when you die?

The conversation that followed opened doors.

“That’s really where God wants you,” Hornacek said. “At the edge of the cliff.”

Later, on another mission trip, he awoke in the middle of the night with a strong impression that he would be asked to lead ministry inside the prison the next morning. He prepared Scripture passages in advance. The next day, the request came exactly as he had sensed.

“If it wasn’t for the Holy Spirit,” he said, “I was not in a good place. But I was ready.”

Boldness, Not ‘Frozen Chosen’

The hosts urged men to act when prompted — even when uncomfortable.

“When the decision makes you uncomfortable and stretches you,” Hornacek said, “that’s probably the Spirit.”

On a recent Catholic cruise, he felt prompted to pray aloud with a man who had confided personal struggles.

“I didn’t want to,” Hornacek admitted. “I was having a nice cigar.”

But he set everything down and went over to pray with him. The next day, the man publicly shared how that meeting and that prayer had brought peace.

“Lord… what if I wouldn’t have?” Hornacek reflected.

He cautioned listeners against becoming what he called “frozen chosen” — believers who sense a prompting but hesitate to act.

“Step over the chicken line,” he said.

Practical Tools: Lectio Divina and the Examen

Beyond personal stories, the episode offered practical methods for cultivating attentiveness.

Patterson described leading a group of Catholic men through Lectio Divina, an ancient practice of prayerful Scripture reading. After reading the call of Levi from the Gospel of Luke three times with pauses for reflection, conversation flowed for nearly 20 minutes.

“It never fails to amaze me how willing God is to meet you when you step out and trust,” Patterson said.

He also outlined the Daily Examen, a prayer practice developed by St. Ignatius of Loyola. The five-step reflection invites believers to:

• Place themselves in God’s presence

• Give thanks

• Review the day

• Reflect on moments of closeness or distance

• Look forward with hope

“It helps you attend all day to where God is present,” Patterson said.

Obedience and Surrender

The conversation returned repeatedly to surrender — entrusting outcomes to God while remaining obedient.

Hornacek recommended the Surrender Novena and emphasized that the Holy Spirit can “steer moving boats,” encouraging men to act while remaining open to correction.

Patterson cited Deuteronomy, where Moses reminds Israel that obedience brings protection and fruitfulness.

“At the very least,” Patterson said, “let’s commit to being obedient.”

A Relationship, Not a Formula

Throughout the episode, both men stressed that praying in the Spirit is less about technique and more about relationship.

“We are made for relationship with God and others,” Patterson said. “You speak to your friends. You listen.”

Hornacek added: “We won’t know our gift unless we start leaning into the Spirit and ask Him.”

Their message was direct: begin simply.

“Come, Holy Spirit,” Hornacek prayed at the close of the episode.

For the hosts of Men Answering the Heroic Call, that invitation marks the start of a daily battle — and, they believe, a path toward courage, clarity and communion with God.

Andrew Peloso, the filmmaker behind Heroic Men’s most recognizable recent video work, says the story of David isn’t about swagger — it’s about God using simplicity, vulnerability, and humility to animate real strength. It inspires his own recovery, where the turning point wasn’t willpower but surrender: admitting defeat, asking for help, and rebuilding life through connection with God and people.

Now married with a young son and another child on the way, he says marriage gives a concrete reason to sacrifice and forces a man out of isolation and into service. His message to young men is blunt: the strength you were given wasn’t for you, and every hour spent living someone else’s story online is time stolen from the adventure you’re meant to live.

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The man behind the camera

Peloso has been “in the trenches with us over the last couple of years,” De Souza says — producing the Be a Man series, a recap on “the future of Catholic men,” filming the Heroic Men summit in Orange County, and helping the team deliver what De Souza calls “some of the most epic and beautiful footage and production that we’ve ever had.”

But the episode, De Souza says, is about meeting the person behind the work: “Today is about meeting the man behind the camera, behind the mystery, hearing about Andrew’s story.”

A story of heroism that lights him up

Peloso goes straight to the Old Testament— and to a current show.

“Recently with the House of David series on Amazon Prime,” he says. “The story of David and Goliath is just what a mighty story for us men. It really captures your attention.”

He calls it “an example… of secular media telling a story that’s biblical and they did a pretty good job.”

What he loves about David isn’t a superhero vibe.

“David was not the right fit,” Peloso says. “He was so simple and God used his simplicity, vulnerability, and his humility to animate David with God’s strength.”

Peloso says his mind also goes to a different kind of hero.

“I’ve really been inspired by the stories of men behind the curtain who are working hard at their job, and are endeavoring to be good and present husbands and good fathers,” he says.

In an industry built around putting stories “in the public forum that’s online,” he says, he’s grown more excited about the unseen.

“The things that are not seen,” Peloso says. “The ways we live our life, the decisions we make, the sacrifices that we all try and make to glorify God and to be his sons.”

‘The mundane’ and the anointing

De Souza presses him: What, specifically, stands out in David’s story?

Peloso points to David as a shepherd — “fighting the lions,” he says — as evidence of courage and fortitude. But it’s “{articularly was when he was anointed by God.”

Peloso says he’s “often” tempted to reduce masculinity to performance. “I’ll fall into the trap that it’s what I’m doing on my strength alone that makes me a masculine guy,” he says.

David’s story undercuts that. “It’s in our vulnerability, it’s in our weakness that the real story of the greats emerges,” Peloso says.

He imagines a very human David: “Frustrated, feeling overwhelmed… like everything has become too much.” He imagines “feeling just terrified and afraid” with the lions, and then holding to faith that “moves him past his own handicaps, his own defects.”

“I imagine him being quite kind and gracious,” Peloso adds. “I imagine him having a good sense of humor… and I imagine him being deeply prayerful.”

Fortitude, surrender, and the ‘gift of desperation’

When life gets hard, De Souza asks, what does fortitude mean — and how do you practice it?

“For us men maybe the ability to suffer and to suffer well,” Peloso says. “To sacrifice… to delay instant gratification. To put yourself on hold and maybe what you want most for a greater good.”

His definition is personal. “I really struggled with substance abuse actually in my earlier days, my young adult life,” Peloso says. “It was like torture… and I could not stay sober. I could not sober up.”

The first action, he says, wasn’t “heroic” in the way young men might expect.

“The first action was surrender,” he says. “The first action was admitting defeat.”

He says it “doesn’t sound very courageous… at first glance,” but he describes surrender as the start of humility.

“In a statement or action of surrender… I acknowledge that I’m not God,” Peloso says. “That I have no business managing my own life. And that I desperately need the Father’s help… to just take it one moment at a time.”

De Souza asks about the darkest decision he’s ever made.

“The darkest moment was… I had to admit defeat,” Peloso says. “I use pride as a safety net… a wall of defense to protect myself.”

He says he kept working and “was still able to keep a job,” but “there was this darker part of my life that many people didn’t see that was taking root in me.”

Doing the same thing over and over without change became unbearable.

“You see your own inadequacy just right there in the mirror,” he says.

Friends, he says, call it “the gift of desperation” — “the first gift that acknowledges that I’m not God and I need him.”

A ‘quantum leap’ into a different life

De Souza asks how he moved from desperation into hope.

“It’s seeing it work,” Peloso says — seeing “a godly life where God is at the center as best as we can.”

He describes a “proper hierarchy” of service, where you put God first, then serve others.

“God’s going to take care of me,” he says, “and it’s in those little mundane moments of life… that I started believing that this is working.”

What changed, he says, wasn’t his outer life.

“It all probably looks the same,” Peloso says. “I’m still working a job… still have the same family… same friends… same interests. But it’s an internal job.”

He describes “more peace,” “a little less anxiety,” “a little less chaos,” and a calmer voice in hard moments: “It’s okay… I can just breathe. One day at a time.”

He says the people he looks up to now often appear ordinary.

“They’re so ordinary, yet they’re so strong and filled with so much conviction,” he says. “You feel so peaceful being around them… Those are the greats. Those are the legends in my life today.”

‘Connection is the antidote’

De Souza asks how much loneliness played a role in his struggles.

“I do really think addictions of all forms are… an isolation of sorts,” Peloso says. “It encourages isolation and loneliness, which only makes the problem worse.”

His answer comes in a simple equation. “What solves addiction is connection,” he says. “Connection — spiritual connection with God the Father. Connection with our friends and family — that is the antidote to the chaos.”

He says addiction drives a person to “burrow away,” lose self-respect, and “not want to be seen.”

“And I don’t think it’s a winning strategy… to having beautiful relationships of connection that you lean on when you are living that way,” he says.

“I’m blessed now — I have a wife, I have a one-year-old son, and we’re expecting our second in May this year,” he says.

“How do you connect with people?” Peloso asks. “Well, you ask them questions. You listen to their stories, and you actually listen… You try and serve.”

Humility and the limits of stoicism

De Souza pivots to humility, and asks about stoicism — a popular path for young men seeking discipline.

Peloso says stoicism “has very good principles,” especially in “building virtue, rooting out vice,” and “tampering the appetites.” He says it can “build resilience” and “delay gratification.”

But he says it “still falls short” when taken on its own.

“With knowledge of the resurrection, stoicism actually still falls short,” he says. “It kind of just leaves it flat.”

He argues that Christianity doesn’t flatten life; it gives it drama.

“Stoicism… is almost for… to almost cut out all the emotions, to cut out the drama,” Peloso says. “And that’s where… Christianity breathes life into stoicism — not taking it all, but taking what works and putting that into this drama of Christ’s revelation.”

Then he defines humility in a way that’s personal and concrete.

“To be a humble man is to be on the journey of seeing myself the way God the Father… sees me,” he says. “That’s not more than or less than — it’s as I am.”

He calls that “a sober, realistic view of oneself,” and says humility makes room for God where pride does not.

“There’s very little room to work with pride,” Peloso says.

Practices: small prayers, gratitude lists

De Souza asks how he actually tries to live that definition.

Peloso describes “little check-ins, little prayers throughout the day” — and remembering place in the “authority structure.”

“Okay, God, your will be done,” he says. “Thy will be done.”

He says gratitude is another practice that reshapes the heart.

“A mentor of mine… tasked me with starting to do a gratitude list of at least five things every morning and it really works,” he says.

De Souza laughs and offers his own low-bar moment. “At least the chair didn’t collapse. Praise the Lord,” he says.

Peloso agrees: “It could be as simple as that.”

Marriage as ‘a concrete reason to sacrifice’

De Souza asks what’s changed for Peloso in the last two years as a husband.

Peloso says he already loved his work and had “a beautiful network,” but marriage gave him something more specific.

“What changed when I got married is I had a reason,” he says. “I had a very concrete reason now on what I’m sacrificing for.”

He calls marriage “a mutual call to sacrifice,” “to will the good of the other,” and “to endeavor to love your spouse, even when that’s really challenging.”

“It gives a real daily practical way to see where you can endeavor to sacrifice,” he says, “to try and be a heroic man for the glory of God, to serve your family, to build a good family.”

He says it simply: “It’s just such a joy to be married.”

De Souza calls marriage a “container” that forces focus. “There’s nowhere to hide and you can’t run,” De Souza says.

Peloso agrees, laughing. “There’s nowhere,” he says. “It is… painful… when you have some of your glaring defects… and just how your wife sees that and that there is literally nowhere to go.”

Heroes: his father, Peterson, and a priest who talks about crowns

Asked about heroes, Peloso begins at home. “My father,” he says — a business owner with nine kids, “still married to this day,” who was there.

“I can’t even remember him not being there for a family dinner,” Peloso says. “He’s just really cared about that accompaniment.”

His father’s backstory, he says, includes pain. “Youngest in a family… that suffered divorce,” Peloso says. “He saw his family get ripped apart.”

He says his father experienced “a reconversion of sorts in his 20s,” put “bad habits aside,” and “focused on building an authentically Catholic life.”

The lesson: “He knows what’s at stake,” Peloso says — and “he knows what life is like without… a present father.”

Peloso also names Jordan Peterson as an early intellectual guide during recovery.

“Listening to him… gave me a lot of hope,” he says, especially in the early days: “Cleaning my bedroom and doing simple things… getting things in check.”

He adds another influence from the spiritual side: Father Chad Ripperger. A talk about heaven and “winning the crown of glory,” Peloso says, helped him reframe his struggles.

“Look at your vices… the things that you just profoundly struggle with,” Peloso says, describing the idea. “It is an invitation to go on the adventure of your life… in heaven you will be known for… having built the virtues… that were the exact opposite of the vices you struggle with.”

Who he wants to be a hero for

De Souza closes with the question he calls the “final question that everyone loves to hate”: Who do you want to be a hero for?

Peloso aims past the obvious.

“I’d like to grow in heroism for the young men that are coming up right now,” he says.

He describes young men who have “felt robbed by the culture” and by what they’ve been told masculinity is.

“I would like to be one of… many men who encourage them to develop a life of virtue and discipline and service to others,” he says, until that becomes “the popular narrative.”

Asked what he’d tell them, Peloso doesn’t offer a pep talk. He offers a charge.

“They’ve been given a lot of strength, and it doesn’t look like what the world tells you strength is,” he says. “And it wasn’t given to you for you. It was given to you to give to others who are more vulnerable.”

He urges them to stop living someone else’s life online.

“Every moment they spend on the sidelines, living someone else’s story online, on social media, they lose some time to go on their own adventure,” Peloso says. “They’re worth going on that adventure.”

He calls it a pilgrimage.

“God promises us the fulfillment of all desire in heaven,” he says. “And this is ultimately a pilgrimage.”

Where to find VEK Labs

Peloso describes his role simply. “I’m a film director and producer and I like to make films, documentaries and commercials,” he says. He credits “the most incredible, hardworking, humble, sacrificial team out there.”

His company: “VEK Labs.”

“And in addition to working in the marketplace… we have as our aim to try and be a part of the cultural story of breathing truth, goodness and beauty wherever possible into the conversation,” he says.

See VEK Labs

Sebastian was trained as one of Rome’s most dangerous men: the Praetorian Guard. Eight thousand elite soldiers, handpicked from across Italy, paid three times the wage of a legionary, drilled until their faces were stone.

They weren’t just warriors; they were the emperor’s shadow. To be Praetorian was to live in a furnace of loyalty and paranoia. They guarded the most powerful (and often whimsical) man-gods in the world, knowing he might order your death before sunset.

The Guard had a long record of king-making. Claudius was hauled from hiding in a palace hallway and proclaimed emperor by the very Praetorians who killed his nephew. After they murdered Pertinax, the Guard did something that horrified the Senate—they auctioned the empire to the highest bidder (Didius Julianus). That memory never left Roman political culture.

You could command 20 legions on the Rhine, but if the Guard inside Rome turned against you, you were finished before the frontier generals even heard the news. So emperors lived in a paradox. They doubled the Guard’s pay, showered them with gifts, built them a walled camp inside the city—the Castra Praetoria—yet never trusted them.

That was Sebastian’s life. Discipline in every gesture, sword always in reach, silence mastered like an always-on SEAL Team 6. The Castra Praetoria was its own city inside Rome. Every man there knew the truth: emperors feared them as much as they trusted them. The Guard had murdered emperors, auctioned the throne, and turned dynasties to dust when a powerful leader united them. Power and suspicion pressed on them like armor that never came off.

Now imagine being a Christian and an officer in that cage. Sebastian wasn’t a desert father. He wasn’t a Christian farmer hiding in catacombs. Some sources say that he deliberately enlisted to act as a sleeper for the resistance, and help Christians where he could. He slept in the palace, armored up in the barracks, and stood beside Diocletian himself. He and his brothers in the Guard him kept safe the pinnacle of Rome’s power. But he’d promised his soul to Christ. That double life probably tore at him. In the heart of the world’s greatest empire, guarding the back of a brutal god-king, a Praetorian couldn’t shake his conviction that Christ rose from the dead, the Kingdom of God was at hand, and the Beatitudes were a call to holiness.

That takes nerves of iron. Every day was a rehearsal in courage, every prayer a silent mutiny, every march to put down a problem a challenge to his duty and his faith. Perhaps he hoped to keep his mouth shut and keep it all a secret.

We’ll never know for sure, but stories from the 11th Century say he was secretly strengthening Christians awaiting martyrdom. We can imagine him in the shadows under the Coliseum, encouraging them not to recant. He even converted others inside the Guard.

That’s was the breaking point. Diocletian learned that Christianity was festering inside the Praetorians, a wildfire his Edict of Persecution promised to stamp out.

The order came down. Tie him to a post in a public field, turn him into a warning. According to Roman law, every condemned criminal must be buried. It seems Sebastian was condemned with the highest form of treason: denial of burial.

They stripped him of his Praetorian armor. He’s a man lashed upright to a post, wrists bound behind him, chest bare to the air. The very soldiers he once drilled beside now form a ring around him, faces impassive, bowstrings groaning under tension. And they fire.

The air fills with the hiss of arrows. Imagine the body of this Praetorian officer turned into a pincushion, his torso bristling like a shield full of broken spears. His brothers-in-arms form up, turn their backs on him, and march off. They will leave him for the sunlight, the vultures, and for a slow, grisly death.

But somehow he survives.

Did his soldiers miss vital arteries and organs on purpose?

Did the Christian woman who found him after dark, Irene, have miraculous healing powers?

It seems unbelievable that he would live, and yet he did.

After some unknown period of time, his wounds probably close up, and he now has a choice what to do with his mangled life. He could have disappeared. He could have taken that second life and vanished into the underground church.

Instead, he limps back into Rome. Tracks down Diocletian in a public place, and perhaps on the stairs of the Palatine hill, challenges him for persecuting Christians. I would imagine his voice that once roared commands, now found a way to roar again, despite the scarring through his windpipe and shot-up lungs.

Diocletian would have to assume he resurrected from the dead. He swiftly orders that Sebastian be recaptured, bludgeoned to death with clubs (so that any resurrection would be impossible), and then thrown into the Cloaca Maxima, the great Roman sewer fed by latrines and waste water, specifically to prevent Christians from retrieving and venerating it.

And even then, a Christian woman hauled out his body and safely secreted him in the catacombs on the Appian Way.

The Sebastian Challenge

Sometimes you don’t get to quit the job, walk out of the system, or tear down the walls. Sometimes life pins you where you are, and you feel stuck. But that doesn’t mean you’re powerless. It means the battle shifts inside.

The habit is this: pick one practice that’s yours alone: prayer, journaling, cold water, push-ups. Do it daily, and don’t let anyone know. That’s your hidden allegiance. Every time you practice that rep, you prove to yourself that you’re in control of yourself, and your inner life. You’re not a pawn of the emperor, of the algorithm, or someone you resent. You belong to something higher. You are a son of the Father.

Interior freedom starts from ordering your soul when you can’t order your circumstances. Start small, guard it fiercely, and grow into it. Because one day the arrows will come, or the moment to confront power will arrive, or the moment to leave will happen. Many of us miss the opportunities to do good, because we’re numbed out.

You’ll need to know and feel that you are already free, and you’re paying attention.

Sebastian had that freedom.

You can train it, too.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

See the full series

Let’s be honest—most of us don’t think we struggle with sloth.

We’re working. Providing. Building. Staying busy. If anything, the problem feels
like the opposite.

But in The Noonday Devil, Jean-Charles Nault makes a sharp distinction: sloth isn’t
just laziness. It’s avoidance. More specifically, it’s a flight from God.

That changes things. The question isn’t, “Am I doing enough?”

In fact, sloth often shows up as constant motion. Work, projects, podcasts,
responsibilities—good things, even necessary things. But if every spare moment is
filled, when exactly are you standing still before God?

Sloth, at its most dangerous, isn’t laziness but in quiet substitution.

Nault describes sloth as a preference: action over presence, noise over silence,
projects over encounter. And for a lot of men, that lands uncomfortably close to
home. It’s entirely possible to build a life that looks disciplined, productive—even
faithful—while still avoiding the one thing necessary (cf. Luke 10:42). The thing
that bears fruit, which is union with God.

As we’ve finished Lent, a time where we often think about what we’re “doing for
Lent,” are we in fact closer to God?

If this is hitting close to home, and if you’re effort isn’t yielding closeness, it’s ok.
Start today. Take a minute to pause, and ask God what’s on his to-do list. Spend
just a few minutes doing nothing but paying attention to the Lord. It may be
uncomfortable, but it always leads to fruit, not just effort.

Watch this Summit on Heroic Men

Many conversations about forming young men begin with what boys lack. What they need to learn. What they need to be taught. “But one of the things that we’ve discovered,” he says, “is that the secret ingredient of forming the next generation of men is the brotherhood of the current generation.”

Initiation Is Not Optional.

“What we propose is that it is essential for all men to be initiated into manhood.”

Craig frames this as something deeply human. The desire to be shown how to live, to be guided, to hear the words: “You’ve done a good job,” or even more deeply, “You’re my beloved son.”

He pushes further. Boys and men are not interchangeable categories. “We have separate words for those,” he says. “They’re separate things. They’re different things.” Boys must become men, and that transformation requires men.

“A rite of passage is not just some profound experience.” Jumping off a cliff, traveling somewhere intense — those are experiences. They are not initiation. How does a person move from outside a group to inside it? How does someone become someone new?

“A rite of passage,” Craig says, “is a radical change in the whole understanding of your life.”

The Three Stages of Becoming a man.

Craig identifies three stages.

• First: the old life must die. “You can’t enter that new state of life if that old one doesn’t die.”

• Second: the threshold. A moment where something is given. A line is crossed.

• Third: incorporation. “On the other side of that initiation,” Craig says, “there is a body to welcome you in.”

He describes this as being brought into a living group, a family, an order, a brotherhood. Without that final stage, the process collapses. “It would be like going through boot camp… and then just being sent back out into the world.”

1: Boys Becoming Men.

“The first stage is that his boyhood has to be left behind. He has to stop being a boy.” This includes separation from the world of total maternal care.

“He’s been a boy his entire life. He’s never been a man.” A mother can give everything, but not masculinity. “She doesn’t have that to give.”

Craig describes early life as protected. “In our mother’s womb… we’ve got everything we need.” That protection continues after birth. It is good, and necessary. “Until it’s not anymore.”

When strength grows, staying in that environment causes a problem. “Boys are going to be diminished in their potential as men.”

2: Trial and Formation.

The second stage introduces hardship. “Sacrifice. Danger. Pain.” He explains why many cultures require endurance or difficulty.

“It acquaints them with their ability to sacrifice.” A coach demanding “110%” is not speaking mathematically. “He knows that there’s something in the boy that he doesn’t know is inside of him.”

3: The Missing Stage.

Craig says the third stage is where modern life fails most. “On the other side of their initiation is a brotherhood of men to welcome the boy.” Without it, initiation never completes. “We men don’t belong to one another… and it’s crippling to us.”

“When we’re baptized we become God’s children.” And if we are sons, then brothers. “We are actually brothers. We’re not symbolically brothers.”

“If we’re going to be fatherly men… there has to be a son.” Identity flows both directions. “You can’t be a father if there’s no son.”

He challenges men directly. “There’s a guy over there, he’s 15.” Go tell him. that he is needed, wanted, and he matters. “We raise our sons for 18 years and then tell them to go find out who you are.” Instead, he says, identity must be given. “They are beloved sons of the Father… called to virtue.”

“If there’s a problem with boys today… you’re the first problem.” The work begins with us men. In some groups, men spend months or years rebuilding their own brotherhood. “Your brotherhood is not a nice option. It is necessary.”

Watch this Keynote on Heroic Men

The theme of intimacy can feel foreign, especially for men. “We don’t go around and say, how’s your intimacy with the Lord,” he said. Instead, conversations tend to stay at the level of “how’s your prayer life” or “how’s your walk.”

Shanks grounded intimacy in the nature of God Himself. Within the Trinity, he said, there is total self-gift: “The Son gives all of Himself to the Father, the Father gives all of Himself to the Son, and out of that love comes the Holy Spirit.” Intimacy, in this sense, is not sentiment but oneness, a deep relational unity that reflects both divine life and human relationships, especially marriage.

He emphasized that God is always the initiator in that relationship. “When you think about the movement of God throughout salvation history, it’s always towards us,” he said. Each step of Christ’s life reveals a deeper movement toward humanity, from incarnation to crucifixion to resurrection. Yet, Shanks argued, the Eucharist represents an even further step. “I’m going to remain hidden in the bread and in the wine… so that every time you come to Mass, you can receive Me,” he said, describing it as the fullest expression of divine desire for intimacy.

Despite this, Shanks said modern life resists that relationship. He described what he called “practical atheism,” where belief exists intellectually but fails to shape daily living. Cultural pressures—success, independence, self-sufficiency—pull people away from dependence on God. “You wouldn’t tell your wife, I told you 20 years ago I loved you,” he said, underscoring that intimacy requires ongoing attention.

He pointed to the Sermon on the Mount as the starting point, particularly “poverty in spirit,” which he described as detachment and radical trust. Referencing St. Thérèse of Lisieux, he highlighted the idea of becoming small, allowing God to lift the soul like an elevator. “How hard is that for us,” he said, emphasizing the difficulty of embracing weakness.

After contracting COVID-19, he was hospitalized with what doctors described as one of the worst cases they had seen. Before being sedated and intubated, he called his wife. Rather than offering final words of affection, he recalled giving practical instructions: “Here’s where the life insurance is… here’s how the bills are paid.” At his wife’s insistence, he spent 15 minutes sending farewell messages to each of his five children, an experience he described as deeply clarifying.

Shanks was placed under sedation for weeks, during which his condition worsened. He developed sepsis, pneumonia, and kidney failure, requiring dialysis. At one point, doctors prepared his wife for the likelihood of death. During this period, he experienced ICU delirium, describing it as “another world, another life, where time no longer exists.”

He recalled a moment in that state when he told God he was finished. “I can no longer go… my time is up,” he said. According to Shanks, the response he perceived was direct: “You have five little kids. Keep fighting.”

A novena to St. Jude was initiated on his behalf, spreading among friends and community members. Shanks said his condition improved each day of the novena. “Every day I got better and better and better,” he said, crediting intercessory prayer as decisive. He later reframed the Gospel story of the paralytic lowered through the roof, saying the focus should be on “the friends at the top” whose faith made the healing possible.

When he eventually regained consciousness after roughly 45 days, unable to move or speak, reliant on others for care, he felt humiliated. That experience, he said, led him to understand the Eucharist differently. Christ, present in the tabernacle, is similarly hidden, immobile, and dependent on others. “He’s relying on us to come visit Him,” Shanks said. “That’s how much He wants to abide with us.”

This realization reshaped his understanding of participation in the Eucharist. Previously, saying “Amen” meant belief in Christ’s presence. Now, he said, it also signifies total self-offering: “I give myself to You, Lord.”

Faith is not about perfection but persistence. “Your families don’t have hope in your perfection,” he said. “Their hope lies in that you’re here and you’re fighting.”

He urges continued effort, humility, and reliance on God. Don’t see weakness as failure but as the entry point into divine intimacy.

Men across North America are being challenged: pray daily, and pray for 3-10 men by name, connect with one of them each week, and invite someone new each month. The Heroic Pledge is a direct response to rising loneliness, addiction and isolation, and that change begins with 30 seconds of prayer. With a goal of reaching 1 million men by 2033, the movement is built on what they call a “shield wall” of brotherhood, not competition with other ministries. “With just this pledge,” they say, “Watch what happens when men band together.”

Take the Pledge

An alliance of Catholic leaders is calling on men across North America to commit to a simple spiritual habit. They believe could ripple outward to families, parishes and communities: pray daily, and pray for 3 men, connect weekly with one, and invite one new man each month into the same commitment.

The initiative, known as the “Heroic Pledge,” is the latest effort from Heroic Men, founded by the Catholic Men’s Leadership Alliance. Its organizers say the pledge is intentionally simple — and deliberately scalable — with a goal of reaching 1 million men by the year 2033, the 2,000th anniversary of the Resurrection of Christ.

“We need an accelerating solution,” said Dominic De Souza, from Heroic Men. “If we have an accelerating problem of the culture collapsing and falling apart, and families falling apart, and men unable to step up and be who God created them to be… well, we need an accelerating solution.”

A response to loneliness and decline

Chris Mann, who joined De Souza in presenting the pledge, described the effort as a response to what he sees as widespread cultural distress.

“We are the wealthiest, we’re the best off that we have ever been as a species,” Mann said. “America is just ridiculously wealthy. Food, shelter, water — yes, there are people who have challenges with those — but when you look at the macro level, we’re better off than we’ve ever been. And at the same time, we’re somehow more depressed, more lonely, more addicted, more medicated and more suicidal than we’ve ever been. It’s not working.”

He pointed to research on what has been described as a loneliness epidemic, citing studies from major institutions and federal health agencies that warn of the physical and psychological costs of isolation.

“This pledge is designed to be so simple to draw men in who are just ready to do something,” Mann said. “You start orienting yourself toward the things that are truly going to make you happy and make a difference in your life.”

According to the organizers, the pledge rests on three tenets: daily prayer, brotherhood and outreach.

“Return to prayer every day,” De Souza said. “It could be a single Our Father, but it’s a return to the Father so that we’re not just trying to solve these problems on our own.”

Participants are asked to write down the names of 10 men important to them and pray for them by name each day. They are encouraged to connect with one man each week and invite one new man each month to take the pledge.

“We can’t be connected by ourselves,” Mann said. “You have to go out and invite other men.”

‘Shield wall’ vision

De Souza often describes the group of 10 men as a “shield wall.”

“When you take this pledge, these 10 men, they’re your shield wall. You’re locking arms with them. You’re standing shoulder to shoulder with them,” he said. “You’re proactively stepping up on their behalf before the Father. You’re offering them up, and you’re daily asking for help and guidance and support for them, and their families.”

He said that after personally practicing the pledge for two months, he has seen deeper conversations and more vulnerability among the men he prays for.

“They have been more confident to share the fact that they’re going through something difficult — a loss, family difficulty,” he said. “Suddenly they start saying things like, ‘I don’t feel so alone.’”

Mann said even being told that someone is praying for you can have an impact.

“When you approached me and said, ‘Hey, by the way, you’re one of my guys,’ I’ve known you for years. It was still meaningful,” he said. “It meant something to me.”

The pledge, he added, is “not performative, it’s transformative. It’s saying, ‘Look who I am. I am a son of the Father. I am a man who looks out for my brothers.’”

An alliance, not a competitor

Heroic Men leaders stress that the pledge is not meant to replace existing men’s ministries.

“There’s a ton of groups out there who are doing great work,” Mann said. “This isn’t business, this is ministry. Why would you try to get somebody to stop doing something that’s working so they can do your thing? We’re workers in the same vineyard of the Lord.”

He said successful ministries tend to share common principles centered on discipleship: closeness to God, real brotherhood and personal outreach.

“What if we all took this pledge?” Mann asked. “Whether I’m part of the Knights of Columbus, That Man Is You, Men of Christ, Man Up — group after group doing great work — what if we all came together on this central theme and made this commitment in our personal lives?”

De Souza said the organization has spent years studying why some ministries thrive and others struggle, especially since the pandemic.

“We think we’ve distilled it down to the three that matter most,” he said. “Daily prayer, building a brotherhood — no man goes through life alone — and then regular outreach.”

Heroic Men provides a downloadable pledge form, a 30-day email series to help build the habit, and access to video content and training for men who want to start or strengthen local ministries.

“We’re here to serve and support you to build up your ministries,” De Souza said. “We’re not asking you to come and build up Heroic Men.”

A million men by 2033

The organization’s goal is to reach 1 million men by 2033.

“To go from one man to a million men, it’s only six steps,” De Souza said, describing how each man praying for 10 others could eventually create exponential growth if those men also take the pledge.

Mann acknowledged that exponential curves “are pretty flat to start with,” but said the math “stacks quickly.”

“It’s one of those beautiful things where we can feel like the weight of the world’s not on our shoulders,” he said. “Just own this pledge, but you’re going to see an avalanche of difference.”

2033 carries matters deeply for many Christians.

“As we head toward that year — 2,000 years after the Resurrection of Christ as it’s traditionally held — there’s a lot of energy, a lot of momentum,” Mann said. “What are we hoping to be able to say once we’re there? Let’s start working toward it now.”

De Souza invited men to imagine the long-term effects.

“What is it going to be like 7 years later after you’ve been praying for men for 10 years every single day?” he asked. “What kind of friendships are you going to have? What happens to your parish?”

The pledge is the beginning of a broader journey.

“Every hero has a journey, because we do believe that life is an adventure,” De Souza said. “Here’s where you start.”

At its core, he said, the commitment is small.

“It literally starts with 30 seconds of prayer a day,” he said. “That’s it.”

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A story about a Nazi prison cell sits at the heart of Deacon Joe Grote’s understanding of heroism.

The story centers on St. Maximilian Kolbe, the Franciscan priest who volunteered to die in another man’s place at Auschwitz. For Grote, the moment carries another layer of meaning: Kolbe holding starving prisoners together through prayer, endurance, and human dignity.

“He sat with those men and held them together,” Grote said during a conversation on the Heroic Stories podcast. “Literally, mentally and physically, for as long as humanly possible.”

The example shaped Grote’s view of courage. Heroism, he believes, rarely appears through battlefield drama or national headlines. It shows up in kitchens, parish halls, youth sports fields, and living rooms.

“We have to be heroic where we’re placed,” he said.

That idea anchors Grote’s book, “Where Have All the Fathers Gone? Daily Thoughts for Dads, Dads-to-Be, and Papas.” The book grew from decades of ministry, family experience, and one unsettling pattern he saw across American life: children growing up without fathers.

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A Teacher’s Gesture That Changed Everything

The turning point arrived during a bakery tour in the mid-1990s.

Grote’s family operated a large Cincinnati bakery supplying hamburger and hot-dog buns across the region. One day a local school asked for a tour. Grote prepared a simple lesson on baking ingredients.

“I said, ‘If mom calls dad and asks him to bring home a dozen eggs…’”

A teacher standing nearby began shaking his head.

After the demonstration, Grote asked why.

“Over 50 percent of these kids don’t have a dad in their life,” the teacher told him.

The realization struck with force.

“I’d always been loved,” Grote recalled. “I came from a big family. I couldn’t understand that.”

Years later another event deepened the conviction. In 2010, eight young men between ages 18 and 21 were killed during a single week in Cincinnati. Newspaper coverage told the stories of grieving mothers, relatives, and neighbors.

Yet one detail never appeared.

“Seven articles in a row,” Grote said. “There wasn’t a grieving father mentioned in any of them.”

He wrote a letter to the editor arguing that education and job programs would never address deeper wounds without fatherhood.

The article ran on the front page of the newspaper’s editorial section. Within days a minister from Cincinnati’s inner city called him.

“This is the biggest problem in my church,” the minister said. “We need to talk.”

A Foundation Idea — and a Growing Alarm

Grote began collecting research and articles about fatherhood. The binder grew thicker each year.

One statistic still stops him cold.

“In 1960, five percent of kids in America lived without a father,” he said. “By 2000 it was fifty percent.”

During conversations with addiction counselors he heard another troubling figure: a large share of youth entering drug recovery programs came from homes without fathers.

A pattern appeared again and again.

Children craved the presence of a father. When that presence disappeared, the consequences rippled through families, schools, and communities.

The challenge pushed Grote toward writing.

A Business Collapse — and a Long Walk Home

Before the book came the collapse of a family legacy.

Grote’s father built the family bakery after serving in the U.S. Navy. By the 1990s the business employed 135 people and produced millions of hamburger buns each year.

Then consolidation swept through the grocery industry. Large chains began producing their own baked goods.

Revenue fell, bank financing evaporated, and by 2001 the company faced closure.

During the crisis Grote suffered a severe anxiety attack that landed him in a hospital. A psychiatrist offered blunt advice. “You need to close your business.”

The suggestion felt impossible: the bakery carried a half a century of family history, blood, sweat, and effort.

And then one morning the final bank rejection arrived.

Grote remembered the doctor’s guidance to stop everything and just take a walk whenever pressure became overwhelming. He stepped outside and began moving down the road.

The bakery stood 26 miles from his house.

He walked the entire distance.

“I started the rosary,” he said. “And the farther I walked away, the better I felt.”

By the time he reached home, the decision had formed.

“We had done enough. It was time to close.”

Looking back, he believes the choice saved lives.

“I’m convinced either I or one of my brothers would have died if we kept it open.”

Reinvention and a Call to Ministry

After the closure, Grote entered a string of new careers: insurance sales, nonprofit work, and eventually a one-man remodeling business.

During that period another calling began forming.

Years spent in men’s faith groups and parish ministries drew him toward pastoral work. Two separate people suggested the same idea: becoming a Catholic deacon.

Today Grote serves in Cincinnati while continuing to promote fatherhood through speaking and writing.

“I finally told the Lord, lead me where you want me,” he said. “I haven’t felt freer in a long time.”

The Book Written in Forty Days

The book that grew from these experiences came together rapidly.

On Ash Wednesday three years ago, Grote delivered a homily encouraging people to add a positive habit during Lent rather than surrendering something.

That evening he began writing.

He sorted hundreds of articles from his fatherhood research binder into categories and started drafting reflections.

Within forty days he completed 140 entries.

Some nights inspiration arrived in bursts.

“One night I wrote ten in about an hour and a half,” he said.

By July he completed 365 reflections — one for every day of the year.

Each entry ends with the same six questions:

• Did you tell your wife you love her today?

• Did you tell your kids you love them today?

• Whose day did you make today?

• Who did you pray for today?

• Who did you send a message of hope to today?

• Who did you thank today?

Readers often say those closing lines impress them more than anything else in the book.

Brotherhood Before Advice

Grote also credits decades spent in a fathers’ accountability group founded nearly forty years ago.

Members meet weekly, they pray, they share struggles. They break into small groups where friendships develop over decades.

“Some guys have been meeting together for thirty years,” Grote said. “They’ve watched each other’s kids grow up.”

The structure remains simple: prayer, conversation, mutual encouragement.

Yet the impact runs deep.

“I’ve had men tell me, ‘I have to be there. That’s my strength for the week.’”

Heroism Close to Home

Grote’s definition of heroism rarely involves drama. Instead he describes a steady commitment to three roles.

“Husband. Father. Friend.”

When those roles function well, he says, families flourish and communities gain resilience. When they fail, damage spreads quickly.

“Guys think they can skip a game or recital,” he said. “But years later, their kid remembers every single one you missed. And everyone you came for.”

One memory still moves him deeply.

His son once told him he attended nearly every sports game through childhood.

“I didn’t remember that,” Grote said. “But he did.”

A Goal Measured in One Family

Despite speaking invitations and media appearances, Grote measures success through a far smaller lens.

One man. One family. “One father coming back,” he said.

What is the outcome he hopes his work might spark?

“I want one young person to say, ‘I’ve always been loved because my father came back.’”

For Grote, that single story would mean the mission succeeded.

It was early morning in Kabul, Afghanistan, and the day began with what I mistook for distant fireworks—until the unmistakable roar of incoming rockets shattered the illusion.

As an MRAP truck commander yelled “INCOMING!” I dove for cover, feeling the pressure waves from the missiles pass overhead before they exploded just 200 yards from our CH 47 helicopter staging area.

After tense silence and a cautious hour, we finally radioed the helicopters into the landing zone and boarded for what would be a harrowing four-hour journey south to Forward Operating Base Lightning/Thunder in Gardez, Paktia Province.

During the flight, we stopped at seven bases, “hot fueling” helicopters and shuffling troops in and out amid the cold December air. As we approached our destination, we crested a treacherous mountain saddle. As both helicopters were struggling and laboring to make the elevation height of the pass, the lead CH-47, which I was on, lurched violently to the right and then back hard to the left as all three door gunners opened fire on multiple targets below, and our pilot maneuvered us through the pass.

When we landed, shaken but safe, my shipmates and I collapsed in the bitter cold on that desolate LZ, trying to process what had happened.

One teammate asked, “Commander Hersch, WHAT were you thinking?”

He related how everyone else was making as small as they could get and he saw me sitting up straight against the fuselage with a very peaceful and content look on my face. He had noticed my calm demeanor amid chaos and wanted to know the secret behind it.

With a laugh, I explained that my first thought was that we were not going to get out of this situation alive. The mountain we were cresting was made of the sharpest and sheerest rock I had ever seen and there was no way we were going to survive if we went down.

My second thought was that I hoped the pilots and crew were good at their jobs. I mean, really good.

My last thoughts had turned to God, Family, Country, and Friends. As a devout Catholic, these four pillars guide me in moments of prayer and crisis. I felt ready to meet God, confident after a good confession the day before.

I knew my family, though heartbroken, would find strength in their faith. I knew my wife would be generously compensated and that she would be able to continue her life in a manner and direction she chose. My country, which I serve proudly, gave me a sense of purpose.

And my friends, men of faith, would remember me fondly, knowing I died for something I believed in.

Brotherhood and Transformation

Fifty years ago, I graduated from Cathedral Preparatory School for Boys in Erie, Pennsylvania. Transferring in after ninth grade from the public school system, I was welcomed by classmates who had 9 years of strong Catholic education and formation.

Overwhelmed at first, I soon found myself embraced as a prodigal son, joining a Band of Brothers that changed the course of my life. I married a classmate’s sister, fathered six children, and am now blessed with six sons- and daughters-in-law and seventeen grandchildren.

At my 40-year class reunion, I was devastated to learn that half my classmates had drifted away from the faith.

It was a painful realization—how could those who had embraced and taught me the Catholic faith so well leave it behind?

Renewal and Hope

Today, thanks to the Catholic Men’s Leadership Alliance (CMLA), we are in a unique position to help men rediscover their faith.

Through dedicated evangelization and support, we strive to bring those searching for meaning back to the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

God bless and fight hard.

Matthew James Hersch
Founder – Roman Catholic Knight

“Out of every one-hundred men, ten shouldn’t even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior and he will bring the others back.” Heraclitus

This is ancient Babylon. Walls thick enough for chariots to race along the top. Temples layered in gold and gods. Priests hunched over tablets of stars and omens, claiming to command fate. When they sacked Jerusalem, they took more than treasure, they gutted her future. They took teenagers, the sharpest, strongest, brightest, and remade them. Daniel was one of these teens, dragged from the smoke and ruins of his sacred home into the palace school, renamed, reprogrammed, and brainwashed in Babylonian science and sorcery.

It’s astonishing he didn’t disappear like all the others. He learned their language, their myths, their mathematics, their astrological arts, the best knowledge of the age. But he never gave Babylon his soul. A young man, cut off from family, separated from everything sane and good, he was offered survival and prestige if he only conformed.

Every drive in him, to belong, to rise, to prove himself, was weaponized by an enemy empire. But Daniel drew a line in his soul. He refused the king’s food. He kept his rhythm of prayer when prayer was outlawed. He used his stubbornness to build self-mastery.

Daniel found a way to do something incredibly hard with concentration camp-style guards outside his dorms and brutal taskmasters bulked to keep rebels in line. He stayed faithful in small things, every day, until it became unbreakable habit. That’s why the lions’ den mattered. For the Babylonian peoples, it was a theatrical execution, and a ritual sacrifice: defy us, and you’ll be devoured by the sacred lions of Ishtar, the signs of the king’s might and power over nature.

For Daniel, it was simply the next test. He had already faced lions—the lion of compromise, the lion of ambition, the lion of fear.

By the time they actually hurled him into a dark pit of lions, he had spent a lifetime becoming lord of himself. He didn’t fear the beasts snarling in the dark, because he’d already conquered them inside himself.

And in that moment, these monstrous, starving servants of the pagan gods, miraculously bent their heads, and brushed up against his hands. In that moments, God wanted the Babylonians to see something that would haunt their dreams for decades.

How can we become a man like Daniel?

His prayer life had forged him into iron. Each knee bent to the floor was another rep, another layer of spiritual armor. So when the real trial came, he didn’t have to search for courage, he had rehearsed it.

A lot of men right now are being sold a version of masculinity that looks like a lion pacing the cage: flashy cars, loud bravado, dominance at all costs. It’s bold, yes, but shallow. That’s not mastery, that’s performance. It’s power as theater.

If you stop there, you’re still ruled by the very thing you think you control. Daniel’s story shows a deeper path. He didn’t slaughter the lions, he mastered them.

Real manhood is being dangerous and disciplined—having the capacity for strength, but the clarity to keep it leashed. Not striking out at the wrong people. Not mistaking aggression for leadership.

The Daniel Challenge

Here’s the thing about anger, and aggression, and power. Men have it. They need it. If you have no capacity for aggression, you are not virtuous, you are harmless. And harmlessness is not strength. The question is: can you control it? Can you aim it?

So here’s the challenge. Pick one place in your life where the lion usually gets out. Maybe it’s traffic. Maybe it’s the way your child pushes back. Maybe it’s at work, when someone interrupts you. Don’t pick everything. Pick one. That’s where you’ll practice mastery, like your training ground.

Write it down on paper, in a journal, in a note-taking app. What will you do the next time you flip out and lose your temper?

When it next trips you up, stop. Don’t act immediately. Breathe for three full seconds, in through the nose, out through the nose.

This is not about suppressing your anger. You’re confronting it. You’re staring directly at the lion inside you, and you’re saying: I will decide where this goes.

Then, choose your action. Don’t default it. Maybe you excuse yourself to leave the room, or say “Let’s handle this later,” or “We’re doing something different this time.”

The key is this: choose the action that means strength under control, not strength out of control. It may mean speaking slowly instead of yelling. It might mean letting the insult pass because it isn’t worth answering. It might mean walking away.

But you choose. Not your temper. You.

And at the end of the day, write down how it went.

And re-read your commitment for seven days.

If you do that, day after day, you will become frightening in the best sense. Because a man who knows his own capacity for danger, but refuses to aim it at the undeserving, is not just safe. He’s trustworthy.

He’s the kind of man other people can rely on when the lions really come.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

See the full series

In today’s culture, discipline is often viewed as a burden rather than a blessing. The world urges us to follow our impulses, chase comfort, and avoid hardship. Yet Scripture reminds us that discipline is not only necessary but essential for the life of faith. The heroic man stands firm in the midst of chaos, cultivating habits of virtue that root him in Christ.

St. Paul knew this struggle well. He wrote, “Do you not know that the runners in the stadium all run in the race, but only one wins the prize? Run so as to win. Every athlete exercises discipline in every way.” (1 Corinthians 9:24-25). Just as an athlete trains with focus and discipline, the Christian man must train his heart and soul, resisting the pull of a world that glorifies instant gratification. The race we run is not for a fading crown of worldly success, but for the imperishable crown of eternal life.

Discipline begins with the daily battle over the small choices. Whether it’s rising early for prayer, turning away from sinful temptation, or choosing patience in moments of frustration, each decision strengthens the soul. Jesus Himself warned, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matthew 26:41). Without discipline, our good intentions collapse under the weight of distraction and weakness. But when we anchor our will to God’s grace, our weakness becomes the very place His strength is revealed.

Scripture constantly links discipline with love. St. Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews reminds us, “for

whom the Lord loves, he disciplines; he scourges every son he acknowledges.” (Hebrews 12:6). God’s discipline is not punishment but formation, shaping us into men who reflect His holiness. Just as a father trains his son, the Lord molds us through trials, teaching us endurance and trust. To resist discipline is to resist His love; to embrace it is to walk as true sons.

The undisciplined world around us craves shortcuts, easy pleasures, and freedom without responsibility. But the Gospel calls us to a different path: the way of the Cross. Jesus tells us plainly, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me” (Luke 9:23). Discipline is the daily denial of self so that Christ may reign more fully in us. It is heroic because it resists the current of culture and proclaims, with St. Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).

To stay disciplined in an undisciplined world is to choose Christ again and again. It is to guard our eyes, hearts, and actions so they align with the Kingdom of God. Prayer, fasting, and acts of charity become the weapons of our spiritual training. And when we stumble, discipline means getting back up, going to confession, and pressing forward.

The heroic man is not the one who avoids all failure, but the one who rises with Christ each time. In a world that celebrates disorder, he becomes a living sign of order, strength, and holiness. His discipline shines as a witness, drawing others toward the true freedom found only in Christ.

Andy Sonnier
Executive Director, Christ In You – CMC

Men, let’s be real for a minute.

Persistence isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t draw applause or accolades, and it often goes unnoticed. Yet, as Catholic men, persistence is the very ground we walk on. It’s the quiet refusal to give up — whether in our prayer life, in family life, in our ministry to men, or in the battles we face as husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers.

Lessons from the Field and the Home

I’ve learned this deeply in two places: my work as a detective and in fatherhood.

As a detective, I’ve seen how the difference between justice and defeat often comes down to persistence — turning over one more stone, making one more phone call, reviewing one more piece of evidence, knocking on one more door. Evil doesn’t rest, and neither can we.

But becoming a father brought that truth home in a new way. When my son was born, I thought persistence meant long, sleepless nights and long, exhausting days at work. What I’ve learned is that it’s more than endurance — it’s love in motion.

It’s getting up at 2 a.m. to feed him and rock him back to sleep when I’ve got work in the morning. It’s putting the phone down after a twelve-hour shift and getting on the floor to play. It’s choosing to be fully present for my family, even when I feel drained or inadequate.

That’s what persistence looks like at home: showing up again and again, even in the smallest moments.

Brotherhood That Holds You Up

There are times I feel stretched thin, questioning if I could be both a strong detective and a present father. What carried me through was the persistence of brotherhood — real, authentic friendship.

The men in my parish, in the Knights of Columbus, and in our ministry to men reminded me that I wasn’t alone. They checked in, they prayed with me, and they helped me keep going. That’s the beauty of Catholic brotherhood: we don’t let each other quit.

In our men’s group, we’ve spent a lot of time praying over the words from Mark 1:11:

“You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

Before Jesus ever began His ministry or carried His Cross, the Father declared His love for Him. That’s where true persistence begins — not in our own strength, but in knowing who we are and Whose we are.

The Cross: The Ultimate Act of Persistence

Persistence doesn’t mean never falling. It means never staying down.

It’s rooted in the Cross — the greatest act of persistence the world has ever seen. Christ endured betrayal, humiliation, scourging, and the full weight of the Cross. At any moment, He could have turned away. Instead, He persisted — for you and for me.

Men today need this reminder. The world tells us to quit when it gets hard. Quit the marriage, quit the Church, quit the fight for virtue.

But we are called to something greater. When we persist in prayer, in brotherhood, and in fatherhood, we echo Christ’s own endurance on Calvary.

Keep Showing Up

So, brothers, don’t grow weary. Keep showing up. Keep fighting. Keep praying.

Because persistence — especially when we’re forged in faith and anchored in Christ — is how we become real heroic men.

By Dylan Johnson
Grand Knight, Council #7821
Saint Malachy Catholic Church, Tehachapi CA

As we conclude the March Heroic Challenge, a month dedicated to renewing men through the virtues of St. Joseph, congratulations to all participants! We are thrilled to share that we have received an Apostolic Blessing from Pope Leo XIV, a profound affirmation of our mission to foster heroic manhood in Christ.

Walking Into Holy Week Like St. Joseph

Now, as we enter Holy Week, we walk alongside Jesus through His Passion, Death, and Resurrection. How can we, as men, carry forward the lessons from St. Joseph’s virtues his obedience, courage, and silent fidelity into this sacred time and beyond

The 2033 Mission: One Million Men

Pope Leo XIV’s pontificate inspires us to look ahead to 2033, the 2000th anniversary of Our Lord’s Death, Resurrection, and Ascension. Heroic Men is committed to commemorating this milestone by reaching at least one million men. We invite you the men who joined the challenge to help make this possible:

Continue the Challenge: Even now, invite other men to participate. Our daily videos remain available as a gentle entry point into living a virtuous life.

The Heroic Pledge: Simple. Demanding. Transformative.

Launch the Heroic Pledge: Commit to this simple yet powerful structure:

1. Pray daily to deepen your relationship with God.

2. Pray for at least three men whom God is calling you to support.

3. Meet weekly with a brother in Christ to build the Kingdom together.

4. Outreach monthly: Invite one man to take the pledge, encouraging him to pray for three brothers in turn.

This multiplication strategy, as highlighted in our video, positions us for an incredible mission. Through handshake outreach, we prepare for a tsunami of souls seeking Christ.

A Surge Is Coming — Are We Ready?

Many dioceses report rising numbers of people entering the Church this Easter, a trend building over recent years. From France, where baptisms are surging in unprecedented numbers, to our own parishes across North America, God is drawing souls to the Roman Catholic Church, the true Body of Christ. In my parish alone, we are welcoming 40 new members, including 15 baptisms, at the Easter Vigil. This echoes worldwide.

Prepared Like Guardians

I liken this to my days in the crowd control and public order unit in Calgary. We prepared rigorously for events like the G8 Summit, the World Petroleum Congress, and the Red Mile of 2004. Our city hosted these major gatherings without incidents or riots because we were ready for whatever came. Men, let us prepare our hearts, minds, and souls with the same diligence. God is sending these souls to you to guide, walk with, and mentor them on their heroic journey.

Easter Is Not the End, It’s the Beginning

God bless you and your families. May you have a blessed Easter, filled with the joy of the Risen Lord!

Listen now on the Heroic Men App

Download these Songs

I grew up loving certain kinds of movies and music. Gladiator. The 13th Warrior. If you’re here, that’s probably you too.

A great deal of Christian music is made for families, parish life, mixed crowds. There is real goodness in that.

But where’s the album for men who are out walking before dawn, lifting heavy things, climbing hills, running roads, going to work with tired shoulders, trying again to become solid men before God? So I gave it a shot.

This album “Heroic Prayer Chants for Men” is my attempt to give men a prayer soundtrack with deep voices, memorable lines, and a sense of heroism.

These are our everyday prayers. The kind we repeat in cars and churches and hard seasons. Now here, they are set to themes that men can hum after a workout, on a hike, during a drive, in the middle of an ordinary hard day.

Masculinity comes from God. Before masculinity becomes visible in fathers, builders, soldiers, workers, protectors, saints, and brothers, it comes from Him. Strength, focus, endurance, courage, sacrificial love, rightful force, protective tenderness, clean authority, the power that builds rather than devours. These things begin in God.

Good and honorable men do because God is.

This album is like a prayer retreat into masculinity. A way of remembering that male strength, rightly ordered, is good. The body of a man is good. His capacity for endurance is good. His desire to strive, guard, build, and overcome is good.

There is something healing in hearing prayer carried by deep male voices. Something in the chest answers. Some part of the soul sits up straight again. Songs include:

• Christ with me

• I Arise Today

• Our Father

• Ave Maria

• Glory Be

• Oh My Jesus

• Come, Holy Spirit

• St. Michael Prayer

• Prayer to the Guardian Angel

• Jesus, I Trust In You

• St. Joseph’s Walking Song

Prayer rumbles through the body as well as runs through the mind. Heroic music can help awaken heroic habits.

See Garret's Iconography

A story “most men and most Catholics don’t know”

“Let me tell you a story about a guy that most men and most Catholics don’t know… and that’s Beninus,” Hines said.

It starts with St. Patrick in a duel with druids, in an Irish castle trying to convert a king.

“For those that don’t know, druids in ancient Ireland — basically like magicians, religious leaders,” Hines said. “They’re the ones in charge of the spiritual practice of Ireland.”

The king agrees to hear Patrick out, but only if there’s a test. “The only way to know if your God is greater than the God of my druids,” Hines said, “is to have a test.”

A well-known druid challenges Patrick to a contest — a series of events to prove whose god is real.

First, the druid demands snow. “He tells St. Patrick, he says, ‘Call on your God and cover the land in snow.’”

“St. Patrick looks at him and he says, ‘No, I’m not going to act against God’s will. I will not do that,’” he said.

The druid does it anyway. “He calls on whatever he calls on and he casts his incantations and he covers the entire land in snow,” Hines said. “The whole land is now covered in snow.”

Patrick answers with a direct challenge. “‘Make the snow go away.’”

The druid stalls.

“And the druid says, ‘No, I can’t do that. I can’t do that until… tomorrow afternoon.’” Hines laughed at that. “You’re just waiting for it to get hot. That’s cheating.”

Patrick draws the line between death and life. “All you can do is bring death,” Hines said, again voicing Patrick. “But my God brings life.”

He said Patrick prays and then— “the whole land is right back to just how it was before snow.”

The contest escalates.

“Okay, well cover the whole land in darkness,” the druid demands.

Patrick refuses again. The druid summons darkness anyway. “He casts his spell, calls forth a series of demons, covers the whole of the castle in darkness,” Hines said.

Patrick tells them to end it. For some reason, the druid can’t.

“Then St. Patrick prays,” Hines said, “and of course the light returns and the demons flee and the darkness is gone.”

The king pushes for an ultimate test.

“We’re gonna have a contest by water,” Hines said, describing the plan. “We’re gonna take both of your holy books. We’re gonna throw them in the lake. Whoever’s book comes out unharmed, their God is the real deal.”

The druid refuses. “Nope, I refuse, absolutely not, not gonna do it,” Hines said. “This guy serves the God of water. Not gonna play around in his game.”

So the king offers fire instead. “We’ll have a trial by fire. We’ll throw the holy books under fire and whoever’s book comes out —”

The druid refuses again. “Absolutely not,” Hines said. “Every other season, this guy serves the God of fire. I’m not gonna compete with that.”

Beninus and the test men don’t want

In Hines’ telling, Patrick finally proposes something the druid thinks he can win.

“We’re gonna build a hut,” Hines said. “Half of that hut is gonna be brand new green wood. The other half is gonna be completely dry, kindling.”

Then Patrick sets the terms. “You [the druid] get to go into the green part,” Hines said. “And I’ll tell you what, you can even wear my cloak.”

“And my student,” he continued, “a guy named Beninus, he’s going to go on the other half with all the dry kindling and he’ll wear your cloak.”

“Then they will set the whole thing in fire,” Hines said.

The druid agrees, guessing it’s an easy win.

“But then all the green wood burns to the ground— nothing of the druid, not an ash is left, except for St. Patrick’s cloak,” Hines said.

“And Beninus stands in the dry wood,” he said. “The dry wood’s completely untouched. He’s untouched, but the druid’s cloak is gone and it’s completely burned off him him.”

“As men, like we want to be St. Patrick,” he said. “We want to go toe to toe and duke it out with evil and be supermanly. And we are called to that. And that’s a hundred percent legitimate desire.”

But Hines kept insisting on the other role. “There are other times where we’re called to be the student that’s like asked to do the crazy things,” he said. “I can’t imagine how hard that would be.”

“I think we miss those opportunities where we’ve been asked as men to just say yes to a task,” he said.

“That’s the story of Beninus,” he said. “I love that story. I love the conflict with a druid, but the whole of it is just, I wanna be the guy that says yes to what God asked me to do.”

Why Patrick mattered to him

“When we [Garret and his wife] converted to Catholicism, and I needed to choose a patron saint for confirmation, I landed on St. Patrick,” he said. “In part because he’s Irish and that’s amazing. And I have Irish ancestors.

“But it wasn’t the Irish part so much,” he said.

He wanted someone who understood darkness. “Because I needed somebody that understood what it meant to be asked to go and be a light in dark places,” he said.

“St. Patrick is not Irish, he’s English,” he said. “At the age of 16, he is captured by a bunch of Irish raiders, taken off and sold into slavery where he basically serves as a shepherd for six years.”

“At the end of that six years, he receives a vision from God,” Hines said, “and after receiving the vision from God runs 200 miles across the island to a boat he’s never seen before.”

He said Patrick escapes, recovers, then gets asked to go back. “While he’s there recovering, he has a vision in which God basically asks him to go back to the land of his enslavement, to share the gospel for the rest of his life,” Hines said.

He said Patrick commits.

“If you read his confessions, he is adamant,” Hines said. “Basically, they’re going to have to bury me here because I’m not leaving.

“And St. Patrick showed up to Ireland and drove Satan out of Ireland,” he said. “It is the real light stepping into the darkness.”

“We sold everything we had”

Dominic asked him for one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever made.

Hines said the first, hard-seeming decision was actually easy. “Before my wife and I were Catholic, we were non-denominational evangelical missionaries,” he said. “And it was actually a rather easy decision to sell everything we own.”

They had a young son, and his wife was pregnant.

“We took our then four-year-old son and our five-month in the womb daughter,” he said. “We were somewhere in five to six months pregnant and we sold everything we had, rehomed two dogs, sold our house, and moved overseas for mission work.

“That was actually really easy because we knew in our gut that’s what God was asking us to do,” he said.

Then it went bad. “About six months in, we were there and things started to go really badly,” he said.

“We were in Southeast Asia,” Hines said. “I loved it,” he said. “It’s amazing and it’s a beautiful country and a beautiful place. But It was also the first time I’d ever been warned about which parts of town you go to because you’re American,” he said. “If the police figure out you’re American, they’ll probably force you to pay exorbitant bribes. So don’t get caught.”

Then came the verdict.

“About six months in, we were basically pulled aside and said, hey, you’re not good enough to do this,” Hines said. “And that was quite a punch to the face.”

“I would probably pin it as: I was not submissive enough,” he said. “I don’t handle authority really well.”

He laughed at the category. “How many creative people out there do authority very well?” he said.

“Wrestling with God”

Dominic said it sounded like a Christian pattern: rebels wrestling with authority.

Hines agreed, and he defended the fight.

“I think there’s real value, as hard as it is, the wrestling with God is in part what God wants,” he said.

He used a father-and-son image. “I would rather my son fight it out with me over something,” he said. “I would rather have that fight with him than him walk off and not talk to me.”

That leads to a line he can’t shake.

“My three favorite words in the Bible,” Hines said, “Jesus is talking and he says, ‘you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your kids. How much more?’”

He said he wants that tattoo. “I really want that tattoo on my body,” he said. “How much more does God know how to give good gifts to his children?”

Then he made the connection.

“So when I think about things like I would rather my son fight it out with me — well, how much more does God want me to fight it out with him?” he said.

He refused the polite version of faith.

“I think we underplay wrestling in the faith a lot because we wanna go, we wanna be pious, we wanna do the things, we wanna check the right appropriate boxes,” he said.

He named the wrestlers.

“Every major player in the Bible — Abraham, Moses, Isaac, Jacob, Peter, Isaiah, David, Paul — they all wrestle with God,” he said. “They all go toe to toe.”

He said the purpose is authenticity.

“They want to know that the thing that they’ve put their everything in is authentic,” he said. “And I think you can’t get there without the wrestling.”

“We were undertaking a task that… was wrong”

Hines said the mission work wasn’t only hard; it felt misdirected. “We were undertaking a task that in my heart, I really believed was wrong,” he said.

He said the pattern was common: short-term teams arriving, declarations of belief, no support after.

“Groups of people would come in, take over established kind of a religious beachhead,” he said. “The people in the area would be like, yeah, sure, we totally believe. And then nothing about their life would change.”

He described what he feared they were building. “It became this ‘parfait’ of religious beliefs,” he said. “I became vocal that what we’re doing, we’re not doing it the right way,” he said. “We could be doing this better.”

Looking back, he said he didn’t have the wisdom to handle it privately. “I didn’t have the wisdom or the prudence to realize this is a conversation I need to have in private,” he said.

“We were basically told… you’re not equipped for this,” he said.

He described the next month as one of the darkest. “I had a brand new baby. She was a month old,” he said. “My son is four.” They were exposed to the community burning trash round their home all the time.

His wife was breaking under stress.

“My wife is staying up basically 24/7 because she’s so stressed out, and she couldn’t nurse our daughter well enough to keep her body weight up,” he said. Their daughter nearly went to the hospital. “She’d lost 15% of her body weight in the first two weeks,” he said. “Thankfully some things got put in place.”

He started thinking survival, not vision.

“We got to go back home,” he said. “But I don’t have a job. We don’t have anywhere to live. I don’t even know if we’re going to have any money,” he said. “I started drinking NightQuil at night just to get a few hours of sleep,” he said.

They made it home, found a job, but it was a dark time. Their counselor later helped them realize they’d endured spiritual abuse.

“We came home and we sat in the back”

Dominic asked if their faith community back home wanted them back.

“Well, normally, when missionaries in that community come home, it’s a big deal,” he said. “They’re brought up in front of the whole church, they’re prayed over, they’re celebrated, they’re touted as heroes.”

“And we came home and we sat in the back and… nobody knew we were there,” he said. “And nobody said, welcome home.”

“It was just miserable,” he said.

He said they didn’t want to stay.

“I think I would have tried to out of pride,” he said, “just to stick it out. But a really good friend of mine told me that I need to pray and ask God to just open one door.”

He said God did. “He gave us one door and that brought us to where we are now.”

“As a Protestant, I hated prayer”

Hines said the door didn’t just change his geography. It changed his interior life.

“I love what I’m doing right now,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to be a professional artist.”

He said he pushed his art harder when he started teaching and became a father. “When I’m painting, I feel alive the most,” he said.

“I’m an iconographer,” he said, “and iconography is an ancient, sacramental art form that really at the heart of it is about helping people pray.”

Which was ironic. “As a Protestant, I hated prayer,” he said. “I mean, with every fiber of my being.”

“One of my avenues for creative expression is poetry,” he said. “Prayer a lot of times for me felt like trying to craft just the right words.”

He described the mindset.

“I have to get the right words in order,” he said. “If I can just get the right words in order and I do it at the right time with the right feeling and the right expression, then God will do the thing I need.”

Public prayer made it worse.

The mission crisis broke it.

“I remember talking with the team leader telling him that prayer doesn’t matter,” he said. “If I pray, nobody cares. Because you’re gonna ‘pray’ and we’re gonna do what you wanna do,” he said. And God’s gonna do what he wants to do anyways,” he said. “So why should I even ask?”

He quit.

“And it was at that point I completely just quit,” he said. “No prayer, I’m done.”

Then he described the reversal.

“And now my whole world revolves around prayer,” he said.

He explained how icons reframed it.

“Icons are really windows into heaven,” he said, “that help us to see the glory of God. Through those windows, we get pulled into the reality of who God is so that it shapes us,” he said. “And the whole purpose of that is a life of prayer.”

“Becoming Catholic is what changed me.”

“What I discovered was all the written prayers,” he said. “As Catholics, we have written prayers like we have the stars.

“It was like a cold drink of water in a Texas summer,” he said, “because I don’t have to think anymore. I can just attach the intention of my heart to these beautiful words that somebody (infinitely smarter than me) came up with,” he said. “And I could just say that.”

He said the Jesus Prayer anchored him. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,” he said, calling it “the prayer of the heart.”

He quoted Evagrius as a daily habit. “Prayer doesn’t have to be all that complicated,” he said. “All you really need to say is, ‘Lord, as you will, and as you know, have mercy.’”

“And then he goes on to say, if things get really hard, just say, ‘Lord help,’” Hines said.

He said one line can change you if you mean it.

The rosary: quitting, then coming back

Hines said the rosary was his “gateway drug for converting.”

After a first intense year, he hit a wall.

“I remember going really hard,” he said, “like four rosaries a day.”

Then he quit that. “After 30 days, I thought, man, I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m not seeing any fruit from this. This is crazy.”

“For a whole year, I quit the rosary and just did the Jesus Prayer,” he said.

Then he described what came back, and how. “This last summer, I have no clue what happened,” he said, “but it’s like a rhythmic hum in my soul. I realized I need to pray the rosary,” he said.

He commissioned a rosary from a woman at his parish — and she refused payment. “She would absolutely refuse to let me pay her for it,” he said. “And it is my favorite rosary.”

He named a Marian title that stuck. “Our Lady Undoer of Knots,” he said. “That’s probably my favorite title for the Blessed Mother actually. My past and my background have a lot of knots,” he said. “And so it’s a real joy to go to her and to say, mother, I need this stuff to be undone.”

Who are your heroes

Hines said he prays the Irish circling prayer every morning, and he starts by asking a small group of saints to pray for him.

He listed them without a strict order: St. Augustine, St. Charles de Foucauld, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. George the Dragon Slayer, St. Maximus the Confessor, St. Peter Julian Eymard, Blessed Fra Angelico.

He added St. Valerian — “the lesser known half of the partnership with St. Cecilia.”

Cecilia gives her heart to Christ early, takes a vow, is forced into marriage, and warns Valerian that an angel protects her. He can’t see it unless he’s baptized.

“St. Valerian agrees to be baptized then and there” he said. “In the moment of his baptism when he comes up from the water, he sees her angel.”

“I imagine a fierce, fiery, multi-winged behemoth of an angel that would make every man pee their pants,” he said.

After that, Valerian, Cecilia and Valerian’s brother roamed at night to bury murdered Christians. “They would go out and they would find the bodies and they would give them a Christian burial,” Hines said.

The men were caught and martyred. “They refuse to give up anybody and they are martyred.”

Hines said he wanted Valerian in his circle because of what he saw as husbandly protection. “He was so dedicated to Cecilia,” he said. “Very much a St. Joseph figure: ‘I’m gonna protect this woman.’

“To me, that is quintessential masculine husbandry,” he said. “First and foremost, it’s protecting the beauty of your wife.”

He explained why he calls the group an honor guard.

“I imagine it a lot like an honor guard,” he said. “I need people around me who know what they’re doing far more than I know what I’m doing to be on my protection.”

Roosevelt, Lincoln, Aragorn, and Musashi

Hines didn’t stop with saints.

“As a man and as a leader,” he said, “I highly respect Theodore Roosevelt.”

He framed Roosevelt as the man who refused comfort.

“If you look at the list of things he has done in his lifetime,” he said, “you’d be hard pressed to find somebody who took very seriously the call to make the most out of every minute of your life.”

He said he wants his own life to look like that.

“When I finally pass through the veil,” Hines said, “I want people to look back at my life and be like, my gosh, this guy never sat down.”

He talked about the artist stereotype — flaky, unreliable — and admitted he sometimes needs a day with “complete lack of structure.”

Then he described Roosevelt as the corrective.

“If I took my energy seriously and I took the things that God has given me to do seriously,” he said, “would I rather be sitting down watching TV or would I rather be out there writing or out there painting or out there chopping firewood or out there practicing this craft?”

He named Lincoln next.

“I admire Lincoln a great deal,” he said, “partly because he was willing to put people around him who disagreed with him.”

He described Lincoln’s leadership amid conflict as a character test.

He said his wife gave him a book of Lincoln quotes and he keeps going back to how Lincoln talked about masculinity, faith and leadership. “I think he was a once in a century human being,” Hines said.

Then he turned to fictional role models. He named Aragorn, and told men to actually read Tolkien.

“If you’ve only experienced Lord of the Rings in the movies,” he said, “you are not getting the real Aragorn. You’re getting a very watered down Aragorn.”

He described the book moment he loves: Frodo commits to the fellowship in Rivendell, Aragorn swears his sword, then turns to Elrond. “Time for me to be the king,” Hines said, quoting the posture. “Give me the sword.”

He said Aragorn has doubts but doesn’t stop being who he knows he is.

“This is who I am and this is what I’m called to be,” Hines said. “Give me the sword.”

Then he named Miyamoto Musashi, calling him both historical and legendary. “He’s a real life Japanese swordsman,” Hines said, describing the two-sword style and the discipline that made Musashi compelling to him.

“He wrote a book called The Five Rings,” Hines said. “If you’ll just be disciplined in how you live, you will live well.”

He summarized the ethic he’s drawn to.

“Forget comfort, pursue difficulty,” he said.

Who he’d sacrifice for

Dominic asked the final question: who does Garret aspire to be a hero for — and wouldn’t allow the “God card” or “family card.”

He pointed to a men’s community called F3. “If you’re out there and you’re looking for something very manly, I would encourage you to look up what’s called F3,” he said. “It stands for faith, fitness, fellowship.”

He said he trains with the group “two or three days a week” and would “absolutely lay down and sacrifice” for them.

He described a workout that very morning. “It was just the most terrible suffering,” he said. “And I loved every minute of it.”

He focused on the detail that mattered: men finishing together.

“Guys would jump in and they would keep doing the workout next to the guy who wasn’t finished just so he wasn’t training alone,” he said.

“And he would finish and then he would do his last circle run,” Hines said, “and all the guys got in line with him to run with him.”

He said the group always ends in a Circle of Trust. “We literally stand in a circle together,” Hines said. “If you’ve got a prayer request, if you’ve got something in your life that is awful,” he said, “this is now a sacred time where I’m gonna get to say the things out loud that I’ve been holding.”

He compared the feeling to confession — not the sacrament, but the seriousness.

“I’ve said things in the Circle of Trust, I wouldn’t say to anybody else,” he said. “Because I know it stays in that circle.”

Then the boundary. “Once the prayer is over, Circle of Trust is over,” he said. “Even as a group, we won’t talk about it again.”

He said he prays for what he’s heard but doesn’t pry. “I don’t text them about it. I don’t ask them about it,” he said.

He said men carry too much alone.

“There are a lot of guys in the world who are holding onto a lot of things,” he said, “simply because they don’t have somebody in their life who bonds with you over shared suffering.”

He compared it to the closeness formed by military suffering, while saying he wasn’t equating them.

He said he’d respond immediately if any of them needed help. “If those guys ever said they were down and out and needed help, I would be right there.”

Closing advice: “Go all in”

Dominic asked for 60 seconds of closing advice.

“Go all in,” he said. He said men are “too easily distracted and comfortable.”

“If you really, really want to suck the marrow out of life and grow in your faith,” he said, “go all in.”

He made it practical.

“Whatever that looks like for you — whether it’s getting up early, whether it’s exercise, whether it’s prayer, whether it’s scripture — whatever the thing is, don’t settle for ‘this is okay,’” he said.

Then he raised the standard.

“Anything other than sainthood will not be enough for me,” he said. “Whatever that takes.”

“If you’re out there and you’re thinking ‘I’m stuck, how do I get unstuck?’” he said. “Go all in, go absolutely full throttle, pursue God completely unabandoned.”

He promised difficulty and meaning. “It will suck, it will be hard and it will not be fun all the time,” he said. “But it will be absolutely meaningful.”

“And that is worth more than comfort,” he finished.

Jerusalem isn’t calm. It’s humming, tense, like storm‑air. Temple courts echo with arguments. Roman soldiers loiter with that bored cruelty soldiers get when they’re waiting for trouble. The Sanhedrin and Pharisees sit tight in their stone chamber, protecting order, protecting prestige, trying to get past the memory of that executed Galilean.

It’s been almost three years, and the rumors won’t die. The tomb story keeps resurfacing. Pilgrims keep slipping in to Gethsemane to touch the rocks blasted with Resurrection radiance. The city is like a powder keg, and Rome is itching for an excuse to march in and restore order.

Into that pressure cooker comes Stephen. He’s not one of the Twelve Apostles. He’s a deacon, and literally chosen to fix a food fight: Greek‑speaking widows say they’re getting shorted at the daily distribution of bread. You don’t get that assignment unless the community trusts you, unless you can read a room and keep fair when people are angry.

Stephen’s name is Greek—Stephanos, probably a Diaspora Jew, bilingual, sharp with Scripture in the Septuagint, at home in the Hellenist synagogues where rhetoric is a sport.

He’s feeding people and keeping mini riots under control in the morning, and by afternoon he’s debating scholars from the Synagogue of the Freedmen, former slaves. And of course, he’s talking about Jesus, the New Kingdom, and that the Temple didn’t stand a chance.

So the Pharisees shaped charges, staged a hearing, drag him into the same kangaroo court that condemned Jesus. Most of us know this only ends one way. Probably pinned to a cross. We would think of the widows, the Freedmen just starting to get it, all our responsibilities. We would bargain. Play for time.

Stephen doesn’t. He tells them their own story: Abraham’s promise, Joseph’s exile, Moses’ call, the prophets’ rage, and then he flips the mirror toward them: Our fathers resisted the Holy One then. You’re resisting Him now.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. Someone has to do it. And in that moment, there’s no one else, there’s nowhere to go, and the right words are on the tip of his tongue.

Then he says he sees the Son of Man at God’s right hand. The chamber erupts. It’s a Hellenist’s case, built from their Scriptures in the Greek he breathes. He’s trying to wake them up. To them, that’s not poetry. It’s a direct claim that the crucified rabbi shares God’s life and power.

They drag him outside the city. Rocks fly. Bone shatters. Dust fills his mouth. And here is the part that brands itself into history: Stephen prays for them. Not for rescue. For them. “Don’t hold this against them.” Blood in his teeth, mercy on his lips. And the sun disappears from sight under a wall of stones.

A young Pharisee watches the coats. Saul of Tarsus. He’s a brilliant Hellenist of his own kind, fluent in Stephen’s same world. He sees the whole thing: the calm, the speech, the prayer. He signs off on the killing and then tries to scrub the movement out of the city. His crackdown scatters the believers into Judea and Samaria—exactly the expansion Jesus promised, triggered by the death of the man he just watched die.

I think Stephen’s voice was already living rent‑free in his head, asking God to forgive him before he even met Him.

What kind of man dies the way Stephen did? Not a fanatic, that’s for sure. A bridge‑builder who refused to bend the truth to keep the bridge. A servant trusted with widows and money, because integrity showed up in his daily life before it showed up in a courtroom. A thinker whose longest recorded speech in Acts is not a flex but a through‑line: Israel’s story fulfilled in Jesus. A Hellenist who proved from day one that this faith wasn’t locked to one language or one province.

He knew the likely outcome and stepped in anyway, because conscience drew a line he couldn’t ignore.

The Stephen Challenge

Don’t hold this against them. In that moment, when everything is pain and ending, that level of self-mastery and forgiveness means only one thing. Training. That’s the kind of line you only get if you’ve practiced forgiving on the small scale a thousand times before. In the bread line, when someone shoves. In arguments, when someone sneers. You let things go, again and again, until mercy is muscle memory. And when the stones finally fly, it’s already loaded on your tongue.

Here’s the challenge: forgive where it is needed. Usually in the small things that we rage-out over.

Write down one thing that ticks you off, and you know it shouldn’t. Tiny is fine. The colleague who undercut you. The friend who ghosted. The driver who made you see red. The person who treats you badly over and over.

Say it aloud anyway: I release this. I refuse to carry this. I forgive them.

Forgiveness does not mean being a doormat. We have to be smart about forgiveness. You must not roll over and continue taking their abuse. Forgiveness is not a ‘get out of jail’ free card for an abuser, because they will spam it to get their way. Be wary of anyone who mix up ‘turning the other cheek’ and letting abuse continue.

When you let a grudge live rent-free in your head, it eats energy. You rehearse conversations, you build imaginary takedowns, you replay the offense like a bad highlight reel. That constant loop keeps your nervous system jacked—higher stress, shallower sleep, quicker temper.

Practicing forgiveness, even privately, snaps that cycle. The brain stops firing the same “enemy spotted” alerts. Cortisol drops. Space opens up. Psychologists call it “emotional regulation,” but it feels simpler: your chest unclenches. You reclaim bandwidth for joy, creativity, prayer, focus.

And here’s the weirdest part: even when nobody hears you say I release him, your subconscious does. You’re re-wiring memory. Instead of the wound being tagged with anger, it gets paired with mercy. Over time, the sting fades. You’re not erasing what happened: you’re changing your relationship to it.

So forgiveness isn’t always for the other person. It’s for you. It frees your nervous system and your soul from being held hostage by yesterday. It keeps you light enough to move forward without dragging chains behind you.

Do that daily and you build Stephen’s reflex. He had practiced being free on the inside, no matter what happened to him, or what people said about him.

He didn’t set out to be a martyr. He set out to be faithful. And when the storm finally came, the man he had been in the small rooms is the man who stood in the big one.

About Hero Theory

Hero Theory isn’t about being the toughest guy in the room. It’s about being the most ready—ready to do the right thing when no one else will. Ready to speak up, step in, and stand firm, even if your hands are shaking. All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage to change a moment… and maybe even your life.

You can practice that kind of courage. Let's explore what that looks like: the habits, the mindset, the mentors, the fictional heroes and the real-life ones. So when your moment comes, you don’t hesitate. You act. Because that’s who you’ve trained to be.

See the full series

John Henry Westen didn’t convert because faith felt comforting. He converted because it was true and demanded a choice. He watched a daily-Mass father get mocked, abandoned, and ignored, then realized that endurance under suffering was proof he couldn’t hide from. A teenage courtroom confession forced him to choose truth over self-preservation, and he never stopped making that trade. That same refusal to give way now defines LifeSite News: tell the truth, absorb the fallout, and don’t apologize for it.

John Henry runs LifeSite News, a public-facing role that brings with it conflict, criticism, and constant visibility. But when he is asked about heroism, he does not begin with journalism, pressure, or controversy. He does not reach for public victories or visible sacrifices. Instead, he speaks about something far closer to home.

“For me, it’s very personal,” he said. “It’s my father.”

“He Didn’t Waver”

Henry’s father, Henry Weston, lived a Catholic life that demanded endurance. He was, as Henry describes him, “a daily Mass, daily rosary kind of Catholic.

“A lot of people would probably think that’s extreme,” Henry said. “My mom certainly thought it was extreme.”

That constancy did not soften over time, and it did not bend under pressure. Weston did not negotiate his faith to keep the peace or make himself more palatable.

“He didn’t waver,” Henry said. “Not when my mom pushed back. Not when his colleagues at work made fun of him for being an ‘extreme’ Catholic. He didn’t waver.”

He also did not waver when his children walked away.

“He had three kids,” Henry said. “And we all eventually, in our teenage years, rebelled against the faith.”

Henry remembers those years clearly. He would come home late at night or early in the morning after being out drinking or at clubs, passing quietly through the house.

“I’d be coming home at one, two, three in the morning,” he said. “And I’d walk past his room and see him kneeling there. Sometimes he was awake. Sometimes he had fallen asleep, slumped over, but still kneeling by his bed.”

At the time, Henry said, it barely registered as anything admirable.

“My response was, ‘What a silly old man.’”

When Everything Fell Apart

When Henry was 18, his mother left his father, a rupture that marked the end of any balance in the household.

“She left him partially because of this,” Henry said, referring to his father’s spiritual life.

“That example,” Henry said, “that heroism, is what eventually made it possible for me to turn around.”

But in the immediate aftermath, Henry did not turn around at all. His life accelerated in the opposite direction, becoming more chaotic.

“I was living a life of craziness,” he said. “Going the way of the world. Trouble with the law. Trouble with relationships. Super unhealthy.”

By that point, he had already rejected belief itself. “I had convinced myself for a number of years that God doesn’t really exist,” he said.

The Courtroom

The moment that forced a reckoning did not come in a church or during prayer. It came in a courtroom.

Henry had been caught shoplifting. The case went to court when he was 17 or 18 years old, and a lawyer was prepared to plead not guilty and make the situation disappear.

“I was guilty,” Henry said. “And pleading not guilty would have been a falsehood.”

When the police officer entered the courtroom, Henry made a decision.

“As soon as I saw the officer, I went up to him,” he said. “I confessed. Not just to the crime — he already knew that. I just apologized.”

He is careful to explain that the decision was not tactical or performative.

“I wasn’t trying to gain favor,” he said. “I just needed to set the record straight.”

He knew the consequences could be serious.

“I thought this might cost me my future,” he said. “I didn’t know what would happen. I was a kid.”

The court found him guilty and assigned community service. Looking back, Henry says the punishment itself was not devastating.

“The consequences weren’t as bad as I feared,” he said. “They were actually strengthening.”

What stayed with him was the choice.

“The decision to act despite possible negative consequences,” he said, “had a huge impact on the rest of my life.”

A Cold Calculation

Henry does not describe his conversion as emotional or sudden. “I’m black or white,” he said. “All or nothing. I wanted the most from life.”

What changed was how he understood what “most” meant.

“It became a calculation,” he said. “What is true?”

He points to Pascal’s Wager, the argument that if eternal life is even possible, no finite pleasure can outweigh it.

“If heaven is real and it’s eternal bliss,” he said, “and if hell is real and it’s eternal suffering, nothing on earth compares. Not even living 110 years with the best of everything.”

At the time, his father’s life looked bleak from the outside.

“I looked at my dad and thought, ‘That’s a crappy life. Everybody hates him,’” Henry said.

But persistence under pressure became its own kind of evidence.

“If he put up with all of that and didn’t quit,” Henry said, “this must be the truth.”

“The Joy Is Here Too”

Henry is careful not to romanticize what came next. He does not claim that faith erased difficulty or insulated him from pain.

“The suffering is real,” he said. “The pains are real. The betrayals are real.”

What he insists on is that joy is not deferred until death.

“The beauty of eternal life isn’t only in eternity,” he said. “It’s here as well.” He compares his return to faith to the prodigal son, expecting rejection and finding generosity instead.

“I should have been like, ‘I’m not worthy to be your child,’” he said. “But God was super generous.”

Today, Henry is married and the father of eight children. He founded LifeSite News and Sign of the Cross Media, building a life he once would not have imagined.

“When you live for the truth,” he said, “that feeling of living a lie goes away.”

A Childhood Forged by War

To understand why his father never bent, Henry goes back to an older story, a story his father told him later in life. It begins not with faith as an idea, but with survival as a daily problem.

His father was born in 1928, one of six children in a German Catholic family that had immigrated to Canada in the early 1920s. After the family had already crossed the Atlantic and started again, Henry’s grandfather died. His grandmother, suddenly a widow with young children, made a decision that would shape everything that followed.

“She took the kids back to Germany,” Henry said. “This is right around the early 1930s.”

The timing could not have been worse. Europe was collapsing into economic depression and then into war. The family settled near the Dutch–German border, a place that would become a corridor of fear, hunger, and improvisation.

“They nearly starved to death,” Henry said. “That’s not an exaggeration.”

To stay alive, the children learned how to trade. They would line their jacket pockets with cigarettes and ride bicycles across the border to German farmers, exchanging the cigarettes for potatoes. There was no rubber on the tires.

“All the rubber was being used for the war effort,” Henry said.

On one of those trips, they were stopped by Nazi police.

“They never made it to the farmers,” Henry said. “They were stopped at the border.”

The police took everything. The cigarettes. The bicycles. And then they took his grandmother.

“They threw my Oma in jail,” Henry said. His father, then around 13 or 14 years old, was left standing there with no bike, no food, and no mother. He was told to leave.

It was winter. He had a long walk ahead of him, following a river road, knowing he would have to make it back to his siblings alone.

“He honestly thought he was going to freeze to death,” Henry said. “And starve to death.”

At that point, his father prayed with a seriousness that only comes when there are no options left.

“If you think you’re actually at the end of your life,” he said, “imagine how you’d pray.”

And then something happened that, even decades later, his father could not explain away.

“A car came along,” Henry said. “And there shouldn’t have been any cars.”

The driver was an army officer. He stopped, asked where the boy was going, listened to the story, and invited him to get in.

They stopped at a restaurant. Henry’s father ate like someone who had not eaten properly in years. Before leaving, he stuffed his napkin and his pockets with bread and whatever food he could carry.

“He brought it back to the other four siblings who were waiting at home,” Henry said.

For his father, that moment settled something permanently.

“Not only that God is real,” Henry said, “but that even when you are completely lost, even when it looks like there is no way out, He’s there.”

From that point on, Henry said, his father never doubted. The rest of his life would be lived out of that certainty, quietly, relentlessly.

Constancy

What followed for Weston was not a dramatic conversion story but a lifetime of repetition and fidelity.

“He lived his life for one thing,” Henry said. “You could tell.”

Before he died, Weston saw the outcome of that constancy.

“He watched all of his children return to the faith,” Henry said. “He met seven of our eight kids. He saw my brother’s children. He saw my sister come back.”

That, Henry said, was his father’s joy.

Who He Looks To

When Henry is asked who his heroes are, he does not hesitate to return to his father. But he says there are others who helped orient his sense of courage, particularly when it comes to public witness and the cost of telling the truth.

One of them, he says, is Mother Angelica.

He traces that influence back to 1993, shortly after his own return to the faith. He traveled from Toronto to Denver for World Youth Day, hoping to meet other young Catholics who were serious about what they believed.

“That was hard to find,” he said. “I grew up in Toronto, and I didn’t really see many young people in the Church.”

While in Denver, he watched the Stations of the Cross from inside a stadium. What stood out to him was not the scale of the event, but one particular choice in the presentation.

“They had a woman depicting Jesus,” Henry said. “We were kind of scandalized by that.”

Mother Angelica, the founder of EWTN, had been watching the broadcast live. “She told her sisters, ‘Turn the camera on me,’” Henry said. “They said, ‘But Mother, it’s World Youth Day.’ She said, ‘Turn the camera on me.’”

What followed became one of her most well-known moments on air.

“She went off,” Henry said. “She’d had enough.”

He describes it as a line being drawn. Instead of backing down in response to pressure from bishops and church officials, Mother Angelica went in the opposite direction.

“She changed the habit,” he said. “They went back to the traditional habit. They went back to the traditional Mass, facing the altar. They basically went hardcore.”

When church authorities later tried to take control of the network, she refused outright.

“She said, ‘I’ll burn it down first,’” Henry said.

For Henry, that moment represents something rare in modern Catholic life: a willingness to speak truth to power without calculation.

“She probably inspired more Catholic media apostolates than anyone else,” he said. “Even beyond EWTN itself.”

He places her in the same category as another woman he considers heroic: Mother Teresa.

“When Mother Teresa spoke at the UN in 1994, with the Clintons sitting there, condemning abortion,” he said, “that took the same kind of courage.”

What strikes him is not only that these confrontations happened, but who carried them out.

“These were women,” Henry said. “Religious women.”

To him, their example shows a form of heroism that does not seek approval, avoids spectacle, and accepts consequences without flinching.

“That kind of courage,” he said, “you almost never see.”

Who He Works For

When Henry answers the question of who he wants to be a hero for, he first explains why it is a difficult one. The question, as posed, explicitly sets aside God and family, and he says that matters. Those are the first obligations, and removing them changes how the rest of the answer has to be understood.

“That’s a tough question,” he said. “Because you exclude God and you exclude your family.”

He says he actually has two answers, and he deliberately gives them out of order. The second one, he says, is the one everyone should start with.

“In the reality of things, in the reality of the spiritual world,” Henry said, “there is a group of people that we are all called to work for, to strive for, to sacrifice for.”

He is referring to the holy souls in purgatory. He stresses that they are not an abstract idea or a metaphor, but real people in a real state of suffering who depend on others.

“They’re real people,” he said. “They’re in a place where they need your help, my help, to be able to come to eternal life faster.”

Henry takes time to explain what that means. Purgatory, he says, is not hell, and it is not eternal separation from God. But it is also not mild or symbolic.

“They’re not going to hell by any means,” he said. “But they also can’t yet enter heaven. And the suffering there is harder than the hardest suffering you’ll ever have on earth.”

He reaches for an image to make the point concrete, then immediately limits it.

“It’s like being in a long cleansing,” he said. “Like an elongated shower, where you’re scrubbing off the dirt of the world so you can enter heaven purely.”

The reason this matters, Henry says, is that the souls there cannot shorten that process on their own.

“God has made it so that the angels can’t help them,” he said. “The saints in heaven can’t help them. And they can’t help themselves.”

That leaves the living with a responsibility that applies to everyone, without exception.

“You don’t have to be a scientist,” he said. “You don’t have to be smart at all. You can be super disabled. But you still have to work for these people, because you’re the only ones who can.”

Only after laying that out does Henry turn to the work he does day to day. He describes it as the other group of people he tries to serve, knowing that it is secondary but still urgent.

“At LifeSite News,” he said, “we work for Catholics who are either not practicing their faith, don’t know their faith, or are confused about the faith.”

He says the level of confusion now is unlike anything he saw when the organization began.

“When LifeSite started in 1997, there was confusion,” he said. “But nothing like what we’ve had for the last 13 or 14 years.”

The mission itself, he says, has stayed the same: to give people the truth as fully as possible, even when doing so brings consequences.

“It’s about giving people the fullness of the truth,” Henry said. “And that comes at a cost.”

That cost, he adds, is not theoretical. He points to colleagues who carry it personally.

“Doug Mainwaring is one example,” Henry said. “He writes on LGBT issues. He defends marriage between one man and one woman.”

What makes Mainwaring’s work especially difficult, Henry says, is his own history.

“He lived in homosexual relationships for about a decade,” he said. “And now he lives as a faithful Catholic.”

That does not mean the struggle disappears, Henry says, and he is explicit about that.

“The temptations don’t always go away,” he said. “But that’s okay. We all struggle with this stuff until we die.”

He rejects the idea that the difficulty invalidates the goal.

“If it was meant to be a walk in the park,” Henry said, “the prize wouldn’t be so great.”

Last weekend, I attended my parish’s new men’s ministry launch event.

My parish has about 850 families and at least 700 men. Hosting the event was renowned speaker, author and designer of men’s ministries, John Edwards.

John began advising our church parish months ago, and a strong plan was adopted and a ministry team was prepared. Saturday, John powerfully spoke on the need for men to engage and actively participate.

The event was compelling for the 35 (5%) men who attended the kickoff.

While 5% of the potential audience is a disappointing turnout to me, it’s not unusual. Catholic men’s conferences across North America consistently see a fraction of the pool of men attending.

Why don’t we men want to join in these events and commit our time to faith-based events that help us all get off the couch and grow as disciples, husbands, fathers and leaders?

I’m not sure I have all those answers. But I do know we can’t get discouraged.

God’s plan for Brotherhood

If you are reading this, no doubt you are familiar with the mission the Heroic Men ministry for creating and growing brotherhood in Christ.

Given the current loneliness and isolation crisis men face, building brotherhood is more essential now than ever. But it isn’t our idea; it’s God’s plan. God made us for relationship, and brotherhood is all about that.

Regardless of how low or high men may be responding to invitation to engage, for those of us whom God has called to respond, it’s a matter of obedience. We need to pray, refine our plans, and persevere.

The Bible’s Case for Brotherhood

How is it obedience? The Bible presents a powerful and consistent case for brotherhood. Throughout Scripture, God emphasizes that people are not meant to live life alone but in supportive, encouraging relationships with others.

Brotherhood in the biblical sense is more than friendship; it involves accountability, unity, encouragement, and mutual care during both good times and times of hardship.

Several key passages demonstrate that strong relationships between believers help individuals grow spiritually and remain strong in their faith.

The most quoted about brotherhood has to be Proverbs 27:17

This verse illustrates the idea that people improve one another through honest interaction and accountability. Just as iron tools become sharper through friction with another piece of iron, individuals grow stronger and wiser when they challenge and encourage one another.

Brotherhood therefore involves more than simply spending time together; it requires intentional relationships where people push each other toward growth, wisdom, and righteousness.

We are the average of our 5 best friends.

We take on the character and draw on those good men we hang (in brotherhood) with. Proverbs 13:20 says it better than me: “He who walks with wise men becomes wise. But he the companion of fools will suffer harm”.

In Ecclesiastes 4:9 says: “two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor” and that if one person falls, another can help them up. Life inevitably brings difficulties, and moments of weakness.

When your buddy faces these challenges alone, it’s much harder to recover. However, when brothers walk together, they can support and restore each other. Verse 12 continues: “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” This metaphor emphasizes the strength found in unity.

Jesus had 12 disciples, sent them out in pairs to proclaim the gospel, and they each then built a brotherhood to go and build the early church.

Here’s one last New Testament verse in support of building brotherhood. Galatians 6:2 instructs us to: “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

This teaching shows that faith is not only personal but also communal. Supporting others through their struggles is an essential expression of Christian love. Men need that now more than ever.

Time for action.

Never give in and never give up. Men may not be jumping into brotherhood groups or conferences at a rate we want.

But, we do know your personal invitation to one man at a time works. Extend your hand and invite one man into friendship, a beer, coffee.

If we don’t, we are part of the problem. If we do, we are obeying God’s will and certainly part of the solution.

Thanks, Brothers.

Rob Astorino argues that real heroism isn’t viral or flashy: it’s moms and dads who quietly show up, hold the line, and keep the family together while the world tries to tear it apart. He talks through his own journey from Dolphins-obsessed kid to county executive with a $2 billion budget, a newborn at home, and a decision to schedule politics around lacrosse games instead of the other way around.

He’s seen the fatherless crisis up close in government. With his kids leaving home and grief still fresh from losing his father-in-law, he makes one last push to men listening: be the unsung hero, make the quiet sacrifices of love and presence now, and don’t let a noisy culture convince you that fatherhood doesn’t matter.

QUIET HEROES IN A NOISY AGE

On a rainy day, former Westchester County executive and Newsmax host Rob Astorino joins the “Heroic Stories” podcast and pushed back hard on what the culture calls heroism.

“I don’t want to say there’s one particular moment or one particular hero,” he said. “I think the news makes heroes where they shouldn’t. And we have a lot of quiet heroism in this world and specifically in this country.”

Growing up, his heroes were football legends — Don Shula on the sidelines and Bob Griese under center for his beloved Miami Dolphins.

“I exalted them. I loved them. I still love the Dolphins. I go crazy,” he said. “But as you get older, you start to realize that the word ‘heroism’ can take on different meanings.”

Now, as a veteran of politics and media, he watches the word get stretched to meaninglessness.

“Because I’m in politics and I’m in media, it gets so distorted now where we put people up on a pedestal that should never be near a pedestal,” he said. “You just get this quick fame on TikTok, or you’re deemed a hero because of something that you never earned. The word has kind of become watered down where everyone can be a hero for no reason.”

Astorino still honors obvious examples — soldiers in dangerous deployments, cops, firefighters who run into burning buildings. But the people he keeps coming back to are the ones nobody sees.

“I think there are quiet heroes that make this country go,” he said. “They’re never going to get the headline, and yet this country, our society, our church could never function without them.”

What he wants most now is not a public title.

“I kinda hope that I’m a hero only to the people that love me and only to the people I care about,” he said. “And first and foremost, I hope that I’m a hero to my kids.”

THE FAMILY UNDER ATTACK — AND WHY FATHERS MATTER

Astorino’s vision of heroism is bluntly old-fashioned: moms and dads who stay, who sacrifice, who raise their kids in the faith.

“You know, there’s a reason why in the Ten Commandments it’s ‘honor thy father and mother,’” he said. “The bedrock of our society, of our humanity, is the family. And that family has become completely under attack right now in America and in this world — with this woke nonsense and tearing down masculinity and tearing down the mom and the dad as a unit.”

He points to declining church attendance and collapsing family life as two sides of the same crisis.

“We’re dealing with the consequences of that,” he said. “Unless we get that back, we are on a slippery slope with no turning back.”

For him, the heroes are close to home.

“My parents are heroes to me, and as you get older, you realize the sacrifices that they’ve made,” he said. “And I know the sacrifices that my wife and I have made for our kids, and they’re starting to realize it now.”

The couple’s youngest is 16. Their middle daughter is in college and about to turn 21. Their oldest son, 22, serves in the Air Force.

“I think they’re starting to realize now as they get older that the sacrifices that we make have such an impact on them,” he said.

“THIS ISN’T BABYSITTING. I’M BEING A FATHER.”

One phrase still sets him off.

“The thing that would bother me the most was when my wife was working or she was out, and I’m watching the kids and people would say to me, ‘You’re babysitting,’” he said. “Babysitting? First of all, my wife’s not paying me to stay here until she gets home. That would be the definition of a babysitter. I’m being a father. I’m being a parent.”

He remembers being the dad in the stands and how much it mattered when his own parents did the same.

“Every kid’s like, ‘No, you don’t have to come to the game,’” he said. “But I still remember growing up, you would always look — are they here? And how much that meant that they were there.”

He and his wife made a simple rule.

“With my kids, we were always at the games, always at their events, always there, whether they wanted us or not,” he said. “It was important to us to see them as they’re growing up, but we knew how important it was to them.”

Vacations are fine, he added, but those aren’t the real core memories.

“Really being the bedrock, being the parent, being the protector — for me, being the husband and being the father — that’s, I hope, what the heroism is,” he said.

His own father, he says, still shows up.

“My dad did for me — he’s my number one fan,” Astorino said. “After all of my TV shows and radio shows, he texts me, calls me. You take that for granted when you’re growing up. But as you age, you realize the things in life that really matter are right here in this house, in my house and family.”

FATHERLESS FAMILIES AND A COUNTY EXECUTIVE’S EXPERIMENT

Astorino’s concern for fatherhood followed him into office when he was elected Westchester County executive.

“When I was Westchester County executive, one of the things that we did — and it taught me a lot — we tackled the issue of homelessness and also of fatherless families,” he said.

He insists that tackling fatherlessness is not partisan. He kept running into the same wall: a system that makes it risky for fathers to work and show up.

“One thing I kept hearing was the way our system is set up now in the federal government, state government, even local government, where it’s based purely on income,” he said. “There’s no incentive for the father to go work, because if he does, he loses some of the things that he needs to get up that ladder in life. And he makes a choice: ‘Well, if I go to work, I lose, I can’t afford to get cut off on housing or other assistance that gets me over the hump.’”

The result, he said, is a trap.

“They choose to stay in this cycle, and they stay out of their kids’ lives because they can’t afford the payments and the support, the child support,” he said. “And it just spirals.”

So his administration tried something new.

“We actually figured it out,” he said. “How about we, sort of like loan forgiveness — if you stay employed, and we can help you with that, but if you stay employed and if you stay in your child’s life, after X amount of time we forgive 25% of what you owe in back payments. And to the point where it becomes 100% and they actually are in a fulfilled life again with their kids.

“The statistics are so overwhelming that when a child is growing up without an active father in his or her life, the outcomes for that child are so diminished,” he said. “It’s staggering.”

DIVORCE, HOLIDAYS AND STAYING CLOSE

Astorino doesn’t speak about fatherhood as an outsider. His own parents divorced when he was still in high school.

“My parents got divorced when I was, I think I was 16 or 17,” he said. “That’s not an easy age. No age is easy when your parents go through the divorce, but especially when you’re growing up.”

His father chose to stay close.

“My father made sure he lived five minutes away. We were always there,” he said. “He was at every game again. So we were fortunate, my sister and I, that we had both parents who were actively with us in childhood, in young adulthood, and making sure that they were there.”

He and his wife have tried to model something similar in a complicated family tree.

“My wife’s parents are divorced. My parents were divorced,” he said. “And yet at every holiday, everyone is all together. So the kids never realized. They were like, ‘When did you guys get divorced?’ It’s like, they’re always together. And so they see the love, they see the laughter, and they had a normal upbringing despite the setbacks.”

THE DRIVE HOME WITH A NEWBORN

When Astorino talks about parenting, the images are specific: the first drive home from the hospital, the car seat, the crumbs on the floor.

“Anyone who is a parent will tell you their life changed dramatically,” he said. “When that first child is given to you by that doctor or nurse and you are holding this little thing that hasn’t even been washed off yet, you realize you are 100% responsible for this child’s upbringing and life. And there’s no manual.”

“I still remember, oh my God, that drive home with our first kid,” he said. “Put him in the car seat. I have never driven slower in my life. And it’s like, when you type real slow you always make mistakes. I’m driving like this, looking at him, like, is he okay?”

Then you get home, he said, and you still don’t know what to do.

“But you figure it out,” he said. “The one thing that you know is you love this little human, and that human feels that love back even though they can’t communicate. It’s the most important thing that we do.”

He remembers watching the required hospital video about shaking-baby syndrome and thinking, who would ever do that?

“And then you get home and you have no sleep for a week, and the baby is crying at three in the morning and you’re like, ‘Go to bed!’” he said. “And then you’re like, okay, okay, that’s right, that’s right. And you have to learn it all on your own.”

Those moments stick.

“Every little bit is in my head, it’s in pictures and I never want to forget that,” he said. “The days are long but the years are short, and boy is that true. You just get exhausted as a parent.”

A $2 BILLION BUDGET AND THREE LITTLE KIDS

When Astorino took over a county with a $2 billion budget, his children were still small.

“My son, who’s 22, he was born in 2003. Our daughter was born in 2005,” he said. “I got elected in November of ’09, so they were young. And then our youngest — my wife was pregnant during that whole crazy campaign in 2009.”

Campaigning meant long days for him and long days at home for his wife.

“I’m running around all over the place, getting up very early in the morning and out the door, coming back late at night exhausted,” he said. “She’s exhausted — pregnant and two other little kids.”

Only recently, he said, did she admit how hard that season really was.

“It wasn’t really until a couple years ago that she admitted there was some anger during that time, some resentment, that I’m out and about,” he said. “But she was terrific. She let me do exactly what I needed to do. We pulled off the upset and I got elected.”

Then came the moment that forced him to choose.

“I still remember, it was October of 2009 and I had this massive fundraiser scheduled — and she goes into labor,” he said. “So she’s at the hospital. I go to the hospital obviously and I have the hospital band on. It was October 8, and she gives birth. So our daughter was born at like four in the afternoon. This event was scheduled at like seven o’clock.”

His instinct was simple.

“I’m like, you know, I’m canceling this thing,” he said. “She’s like, ‘No, I’m exhausted. Please, the nurse is gonna take the baby, just go do this thing.’”

He went. And then it hit him.

“I walk into this event and I said, ‘We just had a baby.’ Everyone’s like, ‘Why are you here?’ And it kind of hit me — why am I here?” he said. “This is one of the greatest moments of my life. The checks were already collected. Who’s gonna care? I had the greatest excuse in the world with proof. I had eight pounds of proof.”

That tension between public life and home life never fully goes away, he said. But he did something concrete about it in the schedule.

“I would give my scheduler all the kids’ schedules,” he said. “‘All right, here’s my son’s lacrosse schedule or whatever. Plop it into the schedule and work around it. I’m not doing anything. I’m going to the games.’”

The young staffer didn’t understand.

“He goes, ‘Well, you already went to a game this year,’” Astorino recalled. “I said, ‘Yeah, okay. Well, I’m going to all of them. And you can figure out the schedule.’”

Years later, that same aide got married and had kids.

“I joke with him all the time now,” he said. “I’m like, ‘Do you want me to handle your schedule? Do you want me to fill up your day so you can’t be there to take the kids to the doctor?’ And he starts laughing and goes, ‘My God, I wish I knew then. I would’ve been a little more understanding.’ That’s life. You go through it.”

KEEPING GOD AT THE CENTER

For Astorino, faith has never been separate from his work or his fatherhood. It has been the backdrop.

“Fortunately, my parents, they made sure my sister and I went to church when we were growing up,” he said. “God, Jesus, the Catholic Church has always been part of my life routine. It was the way I was raised. It was the way my wife and I decided to raise our kids.”

He still smiles at childhood memories of Mass and the stop that always came after.

“I was joking with my kids recently,” he said. “I said, ‘You know what would always happen after when we were growing up? We would always go after Mass to the bakery and we could pick out a donut or whatever. We’d go home. Not that that was a reward, but it was part of the routine.’”

He carried that rhythm into his own home — and into his media career.

One of the jobs that most shaped him came when he was unexpectedly out of work.

“I left ESPN Radio, which I helped start in New York, at the end of 2005 to run a campaign that I lost, so I was out of work,” he said. “I remember getting an email from a friend of mine who I went to Fordham with. And he’s like, ‘Hey, are you still Catholic?’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, why?’”

The answer: SiriusXM and the Archdiocese of New York were launching a Catholic channel.

“They needed somebody to run it, to launch it and to run it,” he said. “The idea of Catholic radio seemed boring to me. But I went in to meet people at Sirius and Cardinal Egan.”

They asked him how he would build it.

“I’m thinking to myself, this is either gonna go really bad or it’s gonna go really good,” he said. “I’m like, ‘Look, it’s just gotta be contemporary. You’ve got to reach people like me who may not go to church each week because I’m dealing with three kids and runny noses and we’re all over the place, but I want to go to church.’”

They hired him.

“It was one of the greatest jobs I’ve had. I thoroughly loved it,” he said. “I got to go around the country interviewing cardinals and bishops. I went to the Vatican a bunch of times, met Pope Benedict. It was just a great, great thing.”

Still, his favorite moments with God are the quiet ones.

“My favorite time is to be during the day at an empty church,” he said. “No matter where I go, when I’m traveling, I always either find a local church or the cathedral. I love to go during the day where it’s just quiet.”

He describes it in sensory detail.

“As you know, the smells and bells of the Catholic Church are the best,” he said. “You go in there and you smell the candles. You hear the silence. You see the crucifix. And you just have a chance to be in the moment, nothing else. You’re just sitting there talking to God, just unburdening yourself or just having that time.”

When he was young, the prayers were simple — and sometimes silly.

“I remember it would be like, ‘Please let the Miami Dolphins win tonight,’” he said, laughing. “Or, ‘Please let me win an election or let somebody win.’ Jesus isn’t up there on Sundays wearing aqua and orange, and he ain’t a Republican or Democrat.”

Now the petitions are sharper.

“Of course I’m praying, ‘Please get my son home safely,’” he said. “Pray for the things that really matter.”

His deepest consolation is seeing that faith take root in his children.

“Our daughter just started going back to church,” he said. “She went to college and, you know, when you go to college it’s the last thing you’re thinking, but she started. We went up to see her and we went to Mass with her. She came home, she wanted to go to Mass. My son’s back at church. He’s in the Air Force in Arkansas. And that to us is like, we did something right.”

For him, the church has always been a refuge from public pressure.

“No matter how crappy things would get — and trust me, when you’re in politics or public life, things can get pretty crappy — I would always be able to go to that church in the middle of the day and nothing else mattered,” he said. “That was like my shield.”

GRIEF, EMPTY NESTS AND THE NEXT PHASE

Astorino and his wife are just a few years away from an empty nest. They’ve already tasted the grief that comes with that new season.

“My father-in-law passed away very recently,” he said. “We were all together obviously for this. I think it’s hard for a kid to see his or her parents cry. That’s vulnerable. And they saw us cry a lot over the last couple of days.”

After the funeral, they ended up back where it all started: just the five of them.

“Everyone was home. It was just the five of us again,” he said. “We had breakfast together, we watched a movie together. And as my wife said to me, she goes, ‘It’s like all the babies are under the roof again.’ And it’s a nice feeling because it doesn’t happen much, nor will it going forward.”

He’s honest that he doesn’t yet know what the next phase will feel like.

“Professionally, as long as I’m still able to do stuff and work, I’ll feel some fulfillment,” he said. “But I think once our 16-year-old, in two years when she’s out, I don’t know what that phase is gonna be like.”

His wife, he said, is ready.

“My wife loves the phase she’s in,” he said. “She says this all the time: ‘I love where we’re at. I wouldn’t want to go backwards. We enjoyed it, even though it was difficult, but we’ve done that. We did our responsibility. We love them. And at some point it turns back to us — our turn to go travel,’ which we love to do, ‘and move to a second phase.’”

He laughs at how different their wiring is.

“She can’t wait till she retires,’” he said. “My God, I never want to retire. And those are things we gotta figure out because it’s going to be just my wife and I again. The circle of life, right? We started together and then things changed when we added kids. And now when the kids are out, it’s back to just us.”

What he does know is that parenthood doesn’t stop when kids move out.

“The kids, we can’t tell them, ‘Go to your room.’ They’re adults,” he said. “They’re gonna come home when they can or when they will. They’re starting out. We’ll help them as much as we can. But at this point it’s advice — and they take it or they leave it. You watch them make the mistakes, you try to shield them, but they’re gonna do what they’re gonna do, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.

“I am getting some gray hairs now,” he said. “It’ll be an interesting phase.”

UNSUNG HEROES IN THE STANDS AND THE AISLES

When Astorino looks around at ordinary life, he sees quiet heroism everywhere — especially in parents who serve when nobody is watching.

“There are plenty of people, the moms or the dads, who were the CYO coaches,” he said. “I was one of them. And I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed every moment of coaching my three kids in CYO basketball.”

He remembers putting on the whistle and heading to practice.

“I loved putting that whistle on, going to practice and spending time with them,” he said. “On the final year with my last child, winning the championship — I mean, they’re like, ‘Okay, why are they so excited? We’re in eighth grade.’ Me and the other coach were just like almost in tears how excited we were, just because we had that moment with our kids.”

He watched other parents quietly show up again and again.

“There were so many other parents who I saw were so dedicated to their kids,” he said. “They showed up at all the games, they were working in the cafeteria to make sure things ran, or doing security at the CYO games or at the football game — moms and dads who just put in a heck of a lot of effort to make sure that they were actively involved in their kids’ lives.”

Often there’s no thank-you at all.

“They may never get a ‘Thanks for coming to the game, Dad,’ or ‘I’m glad you were there,’” he said. “But we know it’s in them and we know how important it is.”

Quiet heroism isn’t limited to the sidelines.

“Every time I see that, when I see a mom with a shopping cart with a screaming kid, I just want to say, ‘Can I help you in any way?’” he said. “We’ve been there. It gets better. And I think that’s really the heroism that makes the most impact on me — the little things that nobody gets thank-yous for.”

“BE THE UNSUNG HERO”

At the close of the conversation, Astorino turned back to the men listening — especially the dads and grandfathers.

“I hope you know how important you are in society and how important you are to the church and how important you are especially in the lives of your wife and your children,” he said.

His advice is simple and sharp.

“Be the unsung hero,” he said. “You may not get the accolades, you may not get the pat on the back or even the thank-yous, but it all adds up. It’s like making deposits in a bank, and when you’re done, that retirement IRA of emotion and gratitude is gonna be there and you’re gonna be lucky that you made that effort.”

The payoff he’s looking for isn’t money.

“The interest is gonna be, ‘I did well. My kids are okay. They’re on their own. Hopefully they’re healthy,’” he said. “Some of those things obviously are out of our control, but they’re on the right path.”

He jokes about an old stereotype he grew up with — and rejects it.

“The joke when we were growing up was the moms would always take care of the kids and the dad’s job was to make sure the kids stayed alive until mom got home,” he said.

Then he stops joking.

“But we’re more than that,” he said. “Being a dad, being a man in this day and age — don’t allow us to be devalued or to say we don’t matter. We matter. We are so important to the development of kids and to the stability of families and to society. Take it seriously and be as goofy as you want, but know how important it is.”

LegendHaven has opened submissions for its 2026 Easter writing contest, “Saints & Sagas,” a national call for short stories about Catholic saints written for teens.

The contest invites Catholic writers ages 16 to 165 to submit original works between 2,000 and 3,000 words focusing on a single moment in the life of a saint.

The host, Dominic de Souza, says the goal is to reintroduce historic figures of the Church as vivid, courageous protagonists whose choices carried real risk and consequence.

“We want stories that feel real and alive,” said Dominic de Souza, from Heroic Men and contest host. “Many saints can seem distant or frozen in stained glass. In reality, they faced fear, uncertainty and impossible odds. Teens deserve stories that capture that tension and inspire courage.”

See the contest

Dominic de Souza works fulltime for Heroic Men as their director of marketing, and hosts the Heroic Stories show.

Here’s what Chris Mann, Heroic Men’s director of operations, says about the contest:

The top 10 entries will be published together in a print-on-demand anthology. 100% of sales royalties will be automatically paid to the authors in perpetuity. Each finalist will also receive a printed copy of the book.

Author Lisa M. Hendey, known for the Chime Travelers series, praised the initiative, saying it promises “exciting new stories and promising new voices for a culture greatly in need of powerful entertainment.”

To enter, participants join a free space in the LegendFiction community. This allows participants to meet each other, see other entries, and share feedback together.

Partners willing to support the contest and share the news with their audiences will have their logo added to the website, and a link to your site. They will receive public acknowledgment and recognition in the published volume.

The submission deadline is Sunday, May 31st, 2026. Additional guidelines and contest rules are available on the website.

The LegendHaven Convention describes itself as the friendliest online fiction convention in the galaxy, dedicated to helping faith-inspired indie fiction authors connect with readers, and find newfound friends.

It is run by the LegendFiction community, the coolest community of storytellers in the world, with a creative writing school and marketing mastermind to help indie fiction authors write their dream novel, sell more books, and grow their author brands.

Dominic believes that storytelling is a form of missionary evangelization. With many young storytellers exploring their vocation in the arts, we need a million new stories and creative worlds to inspire the rest of us.

He works for a restoration of meaning, morality, myth, and magic to the stories we tell, so that we can build a future we believe in.

See the contest

Let’s inspire heroic faith in our youth!

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