From Boy to Man: Why Risk is the Path to Masculine Maturity - Part 2

The Eternal Boy and the Idolatry of Potential

There is a peculiar creature walking among us. He’s charming, creative, full of promise. His eyes gleam with mischief and wonder. He can quote Homer and Hamilton, deadlift twice his bodyweight, and argue the finer points of Marvel vs. DC with childlike glee while summoning up the seriousness that a conversation on the merits of Star Wars v. Star Trek would require. He might own a Bible with verses underlined and big ideas in the margins. He’s got potential. So much potential.

And yet, he never seems to land the plane… and sometimes never even taxis on the runway. He never commits. Never finishes. Never builds anything that lasts. He’s a well-polished project car with no drivetrain, a well-sanded board with no joinery, a quarterback who lives in warm-up drills but never takes the field.

Carl Jung called him the puer aeternus; the eternal boy. He is allergic to limits, terrified of duty, and enthralled by the never-ending fantasy of what could be. You’ve seen him. You might be him. He haunts garages, group chats, game nights, and Bible studies. But don’t be fooled. He is not a harmless dreamer. He is a hazard to himself and others. Why? A man who refuses to grow up doesn’t just stall his own soul; he endangers the people who rely on him. His passivity becomes his curse. His charm becomes a trap. And his fear of risk becomes the death of everything noble he might have done, had he only acted. The brighter the dream and more ambitious the plan… the more devoid and empty reality becomes in it’s absence.

Today we’re going to talk about what keeps him stuck, and why the gospel offers the only whole and total way out.

The Idol of Infinite Potential

The puer archetype is Peter Pan in Carhartts. He wants to remain open to every possibility forever, because to choose one path is to forsake all others. The world tells him to keep his options open, chase his bliss, follow his heart. Commitment feels like death. Vows feel like cages. And so he flits from job to job, hobby to hobby, woman to woman… ever chasing the next dopamine hit, terrified of missing out.

Scripture has a category for this kind of freedom; you’ll find it on the wide path and the broad gate “which leads to destruction” in this life and the next. Freedom isn’t the absence of limits; it’s being bound to what is good. “I shall walk in a wide place,” writes the Psalmist, “for I have sought your precepts” (Ps. 119:45). The godly man is not the one who avoids commitment, but the one who lays down his life within covenant.

To refuse that is not to be neutral; it’s to be neutered. It is idolatry and indolence. To worship your own pure and untapped potentiality is to mock the God who calls you to plant your feet and bear fruit. You are not a tumbleweed. You were not made to drift. You were made to die; to yourself, to your whims, to your fantasy of being anything you want. You are clay, not the potter.

The puer lives in fantasy. He is not grounded in the grain of the real. Like a woodworker who hoards expensive tools but never builds, he mistakes preparation for purpose. He might know ten Bible translations and three dead languages, but he won’t lead his family in prayer. He may wax poetic about gospel-centered dating but will ghost a woman after the third coffee. He’s a philosopher of promises, but never a practitioner.

The Risk-Averse Refuge of Passivity

The puer doesn’t reject manhood outright. He just insists that it come with a step-by-step guide and iron-clad guarantee. He’ll step forward if he’s assured success. He’ll take responsibility if he knows he won’t fail. He’ll propose if he’s already certain she’ll say yes… and their marriage won’t require too much of him.

But biblical masculinity doesn’t work like that. We affirm that God ordains not just outcomes, but also the means. That means obedience matters even when you don’t know how it turns out. Abraham didn’t know where he was going anymore than Paul knew for certain what awaited him in Jerusalem.  They only knew that they had to step out, to act, and that the possibility of suffering was ever present. Jesus asked if the cup could pass. It didn’t. He drank it anyway. In the kingdom of God, maturity means stepping forward even when you’re unsure. That’s risk. That’s faith. That’s manhood.

C.S. Lewis said, “To love at all is to be vulnerable.” That’s true for relationships, but it’s also true for the entire saga of every man. You can’t build a house, a business, or a family without opening yourself to failure. Every time you take a vow, plant a seed, teach your son to ride a bike… you’re risking disappointment. You might blow it. But to not risk? That’s worse. That’s sterile. That’s death with sophisticated bourbon tastes.

You can’t drive a motorcycle without leaning into the turn. You can’t throw a touchdown pass without risking an interception. You can’t shape hard oak without pressure and heat. And you can’t become a man without dying to the boy.

The Dangerous Charm of the Undeveloped Male

The puer may be immature, but he’s not always unattractive. In fact, he often draws people to him. He’s spontaneous, idealistic, full of life. He makes the weary feel young again. Women are drawn to his youthful energy, though possibly being weary that they might have to mother him into maturity. Churches mistake his charisma for calling. Employers see raw talent and assume it’ll translate into discipline. But a boy in men’s clothing given the reins of leadership is a grenade without a pin.

Eventually, people realize the puer as a central identity which never carries weight or is endowed with any substance. He starts strong but fades fast. He’s a poor friend in a crisis, a poor husband under pressure, a poor father when sacrifice is required. He might preach well but won’t shepherd. He’ll play with his kids but won’t discipline them. He’ll talk theology but never fast, never confess, never bleed. He’s a turbocharged engine on a rusted-out frame. Looks fast. Sounds powerful. Can’t handle the curves. Being a man isn’t all about horsepower. It’s about hauling capacity.

The Path to Maturity

So how does the puer become a man? Not by grit alone. Not by watching more Jordan Peterson or Jocko Willink and buying (another) leather-bound planner. Not by getting married just to prove a point. Transformation starts where it always starts in life: with death and resurrection.

The boy must die.

The gospel doesn’t coddle your potential. It crucifies it. Christ didn’t come to help you fulfill your dreams. He came to nail them to the cross and give you something better: a life poured out.

The mature man follows Christ not because it’s easy or successful, but because it’s true. He stakes everything on the Word, even if it costs him his career, his comfort, or his reputation. He marries even though he might suffer and he leads himself and his marriage well so that suffering, when it happens, is worthwhile and clean. He fathers even though his own wounds aren’t healed, and he fathoms his soul and character to address where shadows will hide. He joins a local church, submits to elders, shows up early, and stays late… even when no one notices.

He risks. He builds. He bleeds. He doesn’t wait for certainty. He obeys.

Step Into the Arena

If you’ve recognized yourself in the puer, good. Don’t run from it. Don’t try to clean it up. Don’t waste time trying to justify it. Drag it to the cross. Confess it. Crucify it. Then stand up and do the next hard thing.

Join the church. Ask her out. Propose. Take the job. Start the company. Adopt the kid. Forgive your dad. Say the hard thing to your friend. Preach the gospel. Bleed.

Will it be hard? Yes. Will it guarantee success? No. Will you be misunderstood? Certainly. But you will grow. You will change. You will stop being a boy.

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nd in the process, you’ll become something better than just contained potential and enthusiasm… “which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!” So for now, let the others keep polishing their tools. You? Go build something that lasts.