Why Christian Men Need Friendship, Not Just "Accountability"

A random group of British friends.

“Would you like to meet together once a week for some accountability?”

To quote The Godfather, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse. This older gentleman had listened in our men’s small group as I’d shared some of my struggles. He was godly, compassionate, and proactive. Even though we didn’t know each other that well, he was eager to help me in the war against sin and temptation.

We met. I wish I could say I remember more about our time together, but mostly I remember the feeling of dread that would set in roughly 24 hours before our scheduled time. Had it been a good week? Had I “slipped”? How much detail would he ask for? Did this or that moment in the past week count as something I needed to confess? Even as I knew this accountability was for my good, it felt more like an annual dentist appointment than a meeting of friends.

We didn’t end up meeting that often. Life rhythms changed, and eventually zip codes did too. I wish I could say those coffees were the beginning of a rich mentorship that continues to this day. But they weren’t. And frankly, I’m not sure that was really ever the point. The point was accountability, not necessarily friendship.

Did God use these few meetings to help me? Probably! But there was always something missing from this season. And I suspect many other men can relate.

Why Are We Talking Like This?

The word “accountability” has become a keyword for a lot of evangelical men’s ministry. Go into a typical Bible-believing church and ask about men’s discipleship or small groups, and you’ll hear about accountability very quickly. Many times, the word translates as, “We’re going to ask each other if we’ve looked at any porn.” As a man in my mid 30s who has spent a lifetime in evangelical church culture, it’s difficult to remember the last time this word meant anything else.

Where does our quest for Christian accountability come from? New Testament passages are surprisingly subtle about it. The notion of Christian accountability seems to exist between two broader categories: Exhortation and confession. Hebrews 3:13 seems to speak of something like mutual accountability when the author writes, “But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.” Meanwhile, James 5:16 instructs us to confess our sins to one another and pray for each other.

The evangelical phenomenon of “accountability groups” seems, at best, like an attempt to practice spiritual disciplines of exhortation and confession in trusted circles. This makes a lot of Christian sense.

Yet my experience of how evangelical church cultures often carry out an “accountability group” has frequently been frustrating. For one thing, the New Testament seems to emphasize a specific kind of exhortation: encouraging one another to keep clinging to Christ in faith. Most of the accountability groups and relationships I have experienced have been less about encouragement toward deeper faith, and more about injecting the fear of having to confess into my daily fight against sin. There’s always been something manipulative about trying to motivate holiness through the dread of humiliation. In this sense, accountability can feel less like something that friends do out of love, and more like a preemptively punitive measure against someone who is untrustworthy.

Interestingly, according to Google Ngram, the word “accountability” appeared very rarely in U.S. books until the late 20^th century. We could infer that the social and political crises of the 1960s and beyond—Vietnam, Watergate, Lewinsky, etc.—inspired more interest in holding leaders to a high standard. Few doubt that powerful leaders need systems of accountability, both to rein in their authority and to protect the things they lead. The question is, though: Should this framework be the dominant one for our everyday Christian life?

The Gendered Reveal

I first started to wonder if we evangelicals had perhaps made a wrong turn on this issue when I noticed very real gender divide. I’ve spent my entire life in American evangelical churches and institutions, and I can probably count on one hand the times I’ve heard or read a women’s group described with the word “accountability.” Instead, when a women’s small group Bible study or gathering is announced, the words orbiting it are almost always things like encouragement and fellowship.

On the other hand, the words describing male groups are far rougher. Men don’t fellowship; we “sharpen” each other. Men don’t need encouragement; we need “tough questions” and “honesty.” It’s been an unmistakable impression of my evangelical spirituality: When it comes to church groups, women need friendship, but men need accountability.

Part of this, of course, is the burden of leadership that complementarians believe husbands and church elders carry. But there’s a difference between weaving hard questions into the tapestry of friendship, and isolating “accountability” as an end-goal in itself. More importantly, men lose something profoundly valuable when churches pursue accountability apart from committed friendships and thick relationships. The wounds of a friend can be faithful (Proverbs 27:6), but the wounds of an “accountability partner” can reinforce patterns of shame and fear, giving the impression that life in Jesus’ family is less like a band of brothers and more like a bloodthirsty board of directors.

I am convinced that many evangelical churches get this wrong, not because they overvalue accountability, but because they under-value male friendship. In some cases, our conception of a faithful Christian man focuses exclusively on how happy his wife and children are with him, and fails to account for the absolutely vital presence of real friends. We’re talking about friends that ask hard questions, yes, but also (and, I would say, even more importantly) friends that like him, friends that spend time with him, friends that are willing to share in his victories, not just discover his failures.

The Sanctifying Power of Friendship

Again, let’s address the elephant in the room: A lot of evangelical accountability groups start because of lust. Digital pornography has been a spiritual tsunami for many Christian men. There’s no getting around the fact that many brothers have needed and will need redemptive accountability as they fight, many for the first time, temptations to indulge in secret, soul-shriveling sin.

Over the last few years, however, I’ve become convinced that many times, we ask accountability to do what only Christian friendship can.

Accountability is a fruit from a much larger tree. In an age in which millions of American men are so lonely it’s literally killing them, the urgent issue is not finding someone to receive a report of your web activity. It’s finding someone who’ll talk to you at all. Why? Because friendship has a sanctifying power. Not only is it easier to be honest and transparent with someone whom you’re convinced is a true friend, but the friendship itself is a means of grace in the fight against lust.

In Proverbs 7, Solomon observes a “young man lacking sense” who commits adultery. Two things stand out about this encounter. First, the young man is alone, walking by a loose woman’s house at twilight. His isolation empowers him to take a road he probably knows he shouldn’t take. But second, the adulterous woman seduces him by appealing to his pride:

She seizes him and kisses him,
and with bold face she says to him,
¹⁴ “I had to offer sacrifices,
and today I have paid my vows;
¹⁵ so now I have come out to meet you,
to seek you eagerly, and I have found you.

In other words, she tells him how special he is, how much he’s worth her breaking her covenant. That’s what sex often is for men: A profound affirmation. This young man, walking alone in the evening, finally has someone to tell him he matters.

In our time, a great deal of men spend a majority of their waking hours pounding away on a computer by themselves. They return to an empty apartment and unwind with video games or streaming, having a cheap, lonely dinner delivered before starting the cycle again the next day. How in the world could such a young man not be compelled by a virtual vixen?

Contrast this with the vision of Hebrews 10:

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. ²⁴ And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, ²⁵ not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

Paul is saying, in effect: Men, you matter. Your brothers need you to help them hold fast. Your brothers need you to stir them up to love and good works. Your brothers need to meet with you. They need you to encourage them. And they need you to remind them that this life is not all there is. We could put it this way: Only those who count can be held accountable.

I love the way my friend Bryan once wrote about this:

Men’s existence is good, they are more than mere utility and their life is valuable. Friendship offers the promise of showing men these things, if only they will have the ears to hear. It offers a window into a world of sacrifice, love, courage, and vulnerability, where dying to self means taking up responsibilities.

But the beauty of friendship is the capacity to learn these things from friends. It allows for corrective measures to be enacted by other men who are committed to another man’s good; to help them hear, maybe for the first time: it is good that you exist. The goodness of that existence is in part a declaration of their status; they are image bearers, accorded dignity and so they are worth someone’s time and effort. A recovery of manhood is a recovery of a unique expression of human dignity. Friendship allows for these beliefs and others to be embodied in our life rhythms; to see in friendship the sacrifice of self for another—even to the point of death, to see well-wishing and goodwill extended, and courage fulfilled.

Porn is flattery. It’s fake friendship and counterfeit love. A man who has been seduced by fake love needs more than tough love: He needs real love. That’s what friendship is. And not all friendship looks like gut wrenching moments in the corner of the café. It looks like the unexpected text invite to come over and watch the game. It looks like a shared joke after church. It looks like help moving furniture.

Christians Need Something Better

This is, I think, a needed course correction for many Christians and churches. If we take the next generation of men seriously, we have to consciously reorient ourselves to prioritize male friendship. We have to think of men, not as mini-CEOs that need a watchful board always hovering over them, but as soldiers who will only survive if allowed to be in formation.

This could mean reevaluating the way our churches describe men’s groups. It could mean preaching and teaching in a way that encourages wives to see their husbands’ friendships not as time-wasting or something that has to be made up for later, but as a part of their walk with Christ. It could mean looking at the church calendar and asking two questions: 1) Does our programming allow for friendship, not just “activity,” and conversely, 2) Are we so deprogrammed that introverted or busy men are falling through the cracks?

At a personal level, Christian men need to see how their obligations of love and loyalty to one another are deeply connected to their roles as husbands and fathers. Your friends are not merely a “break” from home. Rather, in Christian friendship, love and solidarity are shaping you in a way that will reverberate in the hearts of your wife and children. This isn’t claptrap about “being a better you.” It’s about having a whole heart, and showing your wife and kids that they, too, need friends.

Of course, friendship that never confesses or hears confession is fake, because sin is real. Genuine friendship will say, “I’m sorry, can you pray for me?” But the age of the accountability group has been weighed and found wanting. It’s past time for something better.