The Map: The Way of All Great Men

By David Murrow

A map, written in code and hidden in the gospel of Matthew, reveals a truth so explosive it could rock the foundations of Christianity—or lead to its rebirth.

A cleric appears out of the rain-spattered darkness, bearing a mysterious message: A long-lost map with the power to transform men is on the verge of being discovered. Thrown headlong into a global chase, author David Murrow must race to find the map before it falls into the wrong hands and disappears forever.

The Map, which  begins as an action thriller and then transitions into a modern-day parable, reveals the path every great man – including Christ himself – has walked.

In this dynamic follow-up to the best-selling Why Men Hate Going to Church, Murrow cleverly translates the masculine spiritual life into an actual, ink-on-paper map. Then he shows men where to find the map in the New Testament and how to walk its ancient paths today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Mar 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781418555337

David Murrow

David Murrow is an award-winning television producer and writer based in Alaska, most recently working for Sarah Palin. A best-selling author, he is also director of Church for Men, an organization that helps churches connect with men and boys. David and his wife, Gina, have three children.

Book preview

The Map

THE WAY OF ALL GREAT MEN

DAVID MURROW

The_Map_0007_001

© 2010 by David Murrow

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Published in association with WordServe Literary, 10152 Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130, www.wordserveliterary.com.

Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [e-mail].

Unless otherwise marked, Scripture quotations are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSRSION®. © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked CEV are taken from THE CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH VERSRSION. © 1991 by the American Bible Society. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked ESV are taken from THE ENGLISH STANDARD VERSRSION. © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from The King James Version. Public Domain.

Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from The Message by Eugene H.

Peterson. © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from THE NEW KING JAMES VERSRSION. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Murrow, David.

          The Map : the way of all great men / David Murrow.

                p. cm.

          Includes bibliographical references.

          ISBN 978-0-7852-2762-5 (pbk.)

           1. Christian men—Religious life. 2. Men (Christian theology) I. Title.

       BV4528.2.M87 2009

       248.8'42—dc22

2009042344

Printed in the United States of America

10 11 12 13 14 RRD 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS

Introduction

PART ONE: THE DISCOVERY

1. Out of the Black

2. Disarray

3. The Letter

4. Greek to Me

5. Lessons

6. Slumber Party

7. The Fool

8. Tempest

9. Revelation

10. The Awakening

PART TWO: THE THREE JOURNEYS

11. Discovering the Map

12. The Way of All Great Men

13. The Journey of Submission

14. The Journey of Strength

15. The Journey of Sacrifice

16. Where Men Get Lost on the Mountain

17. The Map: A Thousand and One Uses

18. Manliness versus Godliness

19. The Three Journeys at Church

20. Finding Gerasimos

Epilogue: The Call

Notes

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

In 2005 I wrote a book titled Why Men Hate Going to Church.¹ It was based on a simple premise: the modern church has become too feminine. As a result, men are going passive—or going away.

To everyone’s surprise (including mine), the book became an inspirational bestseller. Many men loved it, but some men were deeply disturbed by it. A lot of the things I had labeled in the book as feminine were profoundly meaningful to these guys. They said things such as,

• I cried like a baby when I met Jesus. I didn’t care about my manhood.

• I love sharing in my small group of guys. I find healing there.

• There’s nothing wrong with getting a hug from the brothers in my small group.

• I left my tough-guy exterior at the foot of the cross.

• We’re most like Christ not when we’re tough, but when we’re tender.

• It’s good to get emotional during praise and worship.

• I’m proud to say that I love Jesus.

One time a guy came storming up to the book table after I had spoken to a men’s group. David, you keep talk­ing about gentleness and meekness being feminine, he said, voice trembling with emotion. But the Bible commands us to be gentle and meek. The manliest guy in the room isn’t the toughest; he’s the one who’s most loving.

He was right—but so was I. Church is too feminine. But if a man is to become whole (emotionally and spiritually), he must shed his macho pretensions and do things that many men would consider girly.

I’ve come to realize that my first book was correct—but incomplete. The softer virtues do play a vital role in a man’s spiritual development. Christian men can’t simply ignore commands such as Turn the other cheek because they seem unmanly. Every guy needs a good boo-hoo now and then.

But if a man gets too acquainted with his softer side, he risks becoming a softy. This is a huge problem in the church today. Authors such as John Eldredge, Bill Perkins, Mark Gungor, and Paul Coughlin have all noted the emasculating effect that modern Christianity is having on men.

So where is the balance point? How can men get in touch with their feminine sides without becoming feminized?

One day I stumbled across the answer. I discovered the ancient map to manhood—in a most unexpected way.

PART ONE

The Discovery

Chapter 1

OUT OF THE BLACK

My eyes snapped open, but I saw nothing. I blinked—and paid the price. My eyelids felt as though they were lined with sandpaper. I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my legs. Slowly I rolled onto my back, trying to remember where I was. Through a slit in the roof, I saw a black sky dotted with stars. I knew just two things: I was awake, and I was alive.

I pressed the glow button on my watch: 4:32 a.m. What had wakened me? The rooster. His crowing was like a poorly timed snooze alarm, with just enough of an interval between cock-a-doodle-doos to lull me back to sleep and then jerk me back to consciousness.

Why is there a rooster? I heard something stirring— maybe three meters from my head. I lay very still, trying not to breathe. Something metal scraped against a stone floor. Then I heard the sound of a body shifting its weight, fol­lowed by a heavy exhale. I felt as though I was in danger, but I had no idea why.

My thoughts began to clear. I was in a barn. Somewhere in Greece. This was not an American-style barn with a steep, pitched roof and a spacious hayloft. My shelter was a crude, single-story, stone-walled structure that had been built around the time young George Washington was chop­ping down cherry trees.

I soon realized that the sounds that had frightened me came not from an assassin but from a draft horse, dragging an iron shoe across worn pavement. Moments later my nose was assaulted by the smell of freshly dropped manure. Yes, I’m definitely in a barn, I thought.

I’m not in the habit of sleeping with livestock, but stranded travelers take whatever accommodations they can get. It was coming back to me: I had no transportation, no cell phone, and I couldn’t speak a word of Greek. I was hiding from men who were trying to either help me or kill me—I wasn’t sure.

I shared my crude accommodations with the horse, a cow, a donkey, and my travel companion—an Anglican priest from Wales who went by the name Benson. The vicar had been snoring proficiently through the night, but at the moment he was silent. If the cock had awakened him, he showed no sign of it. The two of us shared our bed of straw with a number of scurrying creatures, probably mice or rats. Their constant motion had kept me on edge all night.

The barn was located in the tiny Greek monastic state of Mount Athos. The priest and I had journeyed to this back­water in search of a treasure map.

Now, stop laughing. This was no Pirates of the Caribbean treasure map. This particular map led to something even more valuable than gold. I wasn’t even sure the map existed. But if the rumor was true, we were on the verge of a discov­ery so explosive it had the potential to shake the foundations of Christianity—or lead to its rebirth.

I rose stiffly and stumbled out of the barn with two goals: (1) tap a kidney and (2) kill the rooster. As I stood in the barnyard working on my first goal, my eyes scanned the dark countryside. I took a moment to assess my current situation: eight thousand miles from home, searching for a map that may or may not exist—seeking information from a Greek Orthodox monk who may or may not know anything—hiding from men who may or may not be trying to kill me. My life was a bubbling cauldron of uncertainty.

I’m no Indiana Jones. I’m a father of three, whose idea of adventure is booking a hotel on Priceline.com. I was drawn into this expedition because the map supposedly had something to do with Jesus Christ and the path to manhood— topics that I’ve studied extensively and written on. My goal was to find the map and share it with the world. And what the heck—if the discovery led to me writing an international bestseller, I was sure the Lord wouldn’t mind.

By now the rooster had gone silent, so I decided to spare him. Back inside, the barn seemed darker, and the smells were even more pungent. To my left, the priest was snoring again, but it was so dark I couldn’t make out his form. One of the animals was stirring in its stall—or was it something else? I held very still, fighting the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. Then a thought occurred: Do roosters suddenly go silent once their morning recital begins?

Meanwhile, Father Nigel Benson began snuffling again. I felt safer with him nearby, even though he was about as threatening as the Pillsbury Dough Boy. My mind wandered back to the first time I met Benson. We were in Wales. It was about five months ago, on February 1.

I stepped out of the warm church building into a raw Welsh night. An unkind wind blew off the Atlantic. Rain spattered onto the parking lot under an ebony sky that had surren­dered its last ray of light hours ago.

Though the night was chilly, my heart was warmed by the love I had felt that evening, addressing a crowd of about 120 at St. Mary’s Parish in Cardiff, Wales. They’d come to hear a lecture titled Why Men Hate Going to Church, based on a book I’d written a few years before. The lack of men in U.S. churches is a bother, but in the U.K. it’s a crippling epidemic. I’d found an enthusiastic group eager for my message. I was just walking out to my rental car when I heard a voice from behind.

Mr. Murrow? the voice said.

I turned quickly. Yes, who’s there?

I was inside, listening to your address. Very interesting.

You startled me, I said.

I apologize. I just had to speak to you. Alone.

A chill ran up my back. It had nothing to do with the breeze. What is this about? I asked defensively.

Can you meet me tomorrow? I have some very impor­tant information that I must share with you.

Who are you? I asked.

Apologies. My name is Benson—Nigel Benson—and I am a priest living at the vicarage at Churchstoke, about seventy miles north of here. Like many ministers, I am fasci­nated by your topic. Over the years, I’ve had only a wee bit of luck engaging men in the church. I came down to Cardiff to hear you speak.

His voice had the soothing tone of a minister, and my unease began melting into a tentative trust. Benson was a bowling ball of a man, about sixty years old, short, with broad shoulders. Close-cropped gray hair framed a large head. A pair of badly dated eyeglasses perched on his bulbous nose. Large, solid hands sprang from the arms of his mackintosh. He held an Englishman’s black umbrella over his head.

Thank you for coming, I said. What’s this informa­tion you spoke of?

Benson looked down at the wet pavement. Mr. Murrow, I can’t tell you that because I don’t know what it is. I was sent by a man named Spiro.

Why didn’t Mr. Spiro come tonight?

"It’s Father Spiro, Benson said. He is in his nineties and in failing health. I would have brought him along, but he’s recovering from pneumonia. He doesn’t use a computer and can hardly hear to use the phone. But he has read your book and he’s keen to meet you."

We were silent for a moment. I didn’t know what to say, so I finally joked, Well, it’s good to know I have a ninety-year-old admirer.

Oh, he’s no admirer, Benson said. He thinks your conclusions are rubbish.

Rubbish? I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched. After a few seconds, I recovered enough to ask, If he thinks my book is trash, then why does he want to meet me?

Because you’re the first writer in a generation to address the subject of the missing men in the church, Benson said. "You have a platform. Spiro wants to show you the real rea­son men are leaving the church, so you can share it with your readers."

The real reason? My mind was red with indignation. Who does this Spiro think he is? Has he done the research? How dare he call my work rubbish!

Before I could answer, Benson continued. Mr. Murrow, I checked your itinerary online. You are scheduled to speak tomorrow night in Shrewsbury. That’s just twenty miles from the vicarage in Churchstoke. We could easily meet Father Spiro in the morning and have you to Shrewsbury in plenty of time for tea. Now, where are you staying?

At the Nag’s Head. The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

Very well. I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight o’clock sharp. Good evening, Mr. Murrow. The vicar turned and melted into the night.

The morning dawned under dripping gray skies. I sat in the hotel restaurant, waiting for my English breakfast to be served. A cold rain fogged the windowpanes that faced the street. In the corner a welcoming fire chased away the last remnants of evening chill.

I had spent the morning trying to decide if I should meet Benson or simply jump in the car and head to Shrewsbury.

My left brain cried, He’s a nut. It’s going to be a colossal waste of time. Stick with the schedule. Unfortunately, the restaurant was short-staffed, and my breakfast was delayed. A harried waitress finally set my plate down at ten till eight. I shoveled in a few bites of egg, tomato, and sausage and then decided to make my escape before the priest arrived. I paid the check and was headed for the door when a stout man in a black mackintosh walked into the din­ing room, shaking the water off a large umbrella.

Good morning, Mr. Murrow, the man said. Ready to go? Benson’s manner was so insistent that I nodded in­voluntarily. Where is your suitcase? he asked.

Oh, it’s at the front desk, I said. In my attempt to flee, I’d almost forgotten that I’d placed my belongings with the staff during breakfast. I’ll go get it, I said.

Do you have an umbrella? Benson asked. I showed him my empty hands.

Very well. Let me have your key and I’ll open the boot for you. No sense in you spending one extra second out in this monsoon, he said.

Against my better judgment, I handed the key to my rental car to a character I barely knew. As I retrieved my luggage, I wondered if I’d ever see the four-cylinder Vauxhall again.

I walked out of the hotel into a punishing rain. Fortunately, I had parked near the door. The trunk (or boot, as it’s called in the U.K.) was already open and I tossed in my suitcase, slamming it closed as fast as I could. Since I’m an American, without thinking I ran to the left side of the car and jumped in, expecting to be in the driver’s seat. Instead, Benson sat at the wheel, which of course was on the right. The priest turned the key, and the engine roared to life. No sense in you driv­ing, Mr. Murrow. The weather’s dodgy, and you don’t know the way. Save your strength for your talk tonight.

Before I could object, Benson had the sedan in gear, and we were barreling down the narrow streets of Cardiff. Well, at least he didn’t steal the car, I thought. In the background, BBC radio was carrying a story about a massive accident on the rain-slicked M4 highway.

So your name is Nigel? I asked.

Yes, that’s what my mum called me, but ever since pri­mary school I’ve gone by Benson. There were five Nigels in my year one class, so the headmaster put an end to the mad­ness by referring to us by our last names.

It’s tough being a David too, I said. One time I was in a history class with four Davids. Our teacher had a glass eye. When he called on ‘David,’ you could never tell which one of us he was looking at.

Benson snickered. Then the car fell silent, except for the clapping of the wipers and a radio report on a financial scandal in the House of Lords. As we drove, the rain let up somewhat.

I finally broke the silence. Benson, tell me more about this priest we’re going to meet.

"Father Spiro? Well, I think I mentioned that he’s quite old and fragile. He’s originally from Greece. He fled to England during World War II, just before Greece fell to Hitler. He carried some Jewish blood and feared for his safety. He’s well versed in ancient Semitic languages.

"Father Spiro eventually ended up in Wales, where he served as a parish priest for twenty-five years. He continued to be a popular vicar into his eighties. He still lives in the vic­arage at Churchstoke and had

Reviews for The Map

[dvdbrumley_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

David Murrow, known for his books challenging Christian men, has written a new book providing further encouragement to those men. In The Map: The Way of All Great Men, Murrow divides the narrative of our Savior Jesus Christ found in the gospel of Matthew into three separate sections, each section being part of a map which men can emulate. In discussing the portions of Christ's personality or mission that displayed qualities that we normally associate with femininity as well as the more traditional masculine parts of Christ's life, Murrow provides insight into some of the internal conflict that many Christian men face today. Throughout the book though, especially the second-half, Murrow's call of boldness from Christian men is loudly proclaimed. I personally enjoyed this book. The first half of this book is one of the more interesting stories I have read of any sort in some time and belongs in any discussion of great short stories published in 2010. I'll say that the surprise in the middle of this book left me frustrated at first but I soon came to appreciate it for what it was. Murrow cuts no corners in this book reminding today's American Christian man that we are in danger of becoming extinct. Murrow does some damage to his map's validity when he points out some of the flaws in his map's reliance on the book of Matthew at the first of the second section but, again, I came to appreciate this more as I read. I could relate in my own Christian walk with a great deal of what Murrow maps out in his book and I believe that Murrow and myself are not the only two thinking the thoughts he presents. If you are interested in ideas and ways to revitalize or shake the men in your church to begin walking more closely in Christ's footsteps, this unique view of the book of Matthew would be a good jumping off point. I would recommend this book. Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255 : "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."