I stood at the perimeter of a room carpeted with tatami mats, watching a troop of young boys recite scriptures and creeds and reflect on their emotions. They were preparing to engage in battle—specifically, Brazilian jiujitsu. “I will not be mastered by my emotions,” they said in unison. “Instead, I will rule over them.”
This is The Yunion, Jason Wilson’s nonprofit that offers leadership training and support for youth in the Oakman Boulevard Community of Detroit. Symbolically, the modest three-story brick building sits between a flourishing Catholic church and blocks of blighted houses, acting as a sinew for the two worlds.
The core ministry of The Yunion is the Cave of Adullam Transformational Training Academy (CATTA). The cave is a rite-of-passage program that uses emotional training and martial arts to develop African American young men. In this densely populated and ignored neighborhood in Detroit, the Cave of Adullam has a waiting list of over 800 youth.
Wilson isn’t seeking to be a master of machismo. Despite more than 1.5 million followers on Instagram and other platforms, numerous celebrity endorsements, and multiple popular books on masculinity—Cry Like a Man, Battle Cry, and most recently The Man the Moment Demands—Wilson does not give trite or tweetable definitions of what it means to be a man. Instead, he and his training academy live in the liminal space between traditional manhood and the modern awakening of mental and emotional health.
Shaquille HallI met Wilson 15 years ago when we were both in the Christian hip-hop scene and he was a music producer and DJ. Wilson and his wife, Nicole, started The Yunion in 2003 as a record label, giving youth and artists in their city of Detroit a healthy alternative to destructive hip-hop narratives. Instead of being restricted by toxic expectations in hip-hop culture, he decided to be the man the moment demanded—their first compilation album, Genocide, audaciously platformed nearly as many female rappers as male rappers.
He’s coached celebrities who find themselves feeling empty despite their fame and fortune, and he’s collaborated with people like entertainment personality Charlamagne tha God, speaker Mel Robbins, and sports commentator Stephen A. Smith. He was featured in Laurence Fishburne’s ESPN documentary on the Cave of Adullam and received a President’s Volunteer Service Award from President Barack Obama. But above fame and accolades, Wilson adopts Jesus’ “come and see” model of discipleship that is cognitive and corporeal.
Wilson soon realized that he had to compete not only for teens’ ears but also for their hearts. A year after releasing Genocide, The Yunion pivoted from a record label to a nonprofit. Twenty years later, Wilson has captivated the ears and hearts of young men through a hands-on, holistic approach.
American manhood gives men license to “hunt, fight, and procreate,” as Wilson puts it, but he wants to put smiles and tears on the faces of warriors who have only known how to be intimidating. In a world where angry and frustrated dilettantes pontificate theory into podcast mics, Wilson trains young men to become emotionally healthy and to channel their emotions into physical discipline. Wilson invites these boys into his life. They know his wife, they’ve sparred with his son, they eat at his house. They witness his confidence around kings and his veneration of the lowly (Ps. 138:6).
Research on teen dating relationships that studied their interpersonal and stress management skills observed that “the lower the score for these dimensions of Emotional Intelligence, the more violence is exercised.” In some circles, anger is the only socially acceptable emotion for men to express without their masculinity being questioned. When men are unable to express all of themselves, they may often default to violence, whereas Scripture shows that we have the power to be both angry (Eph. 4:26) and gentle (Prov. 15:1).
While many “hypermasculine” influencers demonstrate manhood as monolithic and often toxic—using masculinity as a distraction for their anger, loneliness, and depression—Wilson is training young boys to be the men our moment demands. He is using his platform to address the question “What does it mean to be a man?” head-on.
There is no shortage of internet pundits prepared to give an apologetic for what maketh a man. One of the largest groups, a decentralized online movement of men known as The Red Pill community, has evangelized millions through podcasts, conferences, and social media, an ecosystem dubbed the “manosphere.” Their ideological framework positions itself as the salvation from the perceived societal domination of feminism, traditional relationship structures, and fluid gender dynamics.
The Red Pill movement consists of incels (involuntary celibates), men’s rights activists, passport bros (Western men who travel abroad to find partners), pickup artists, and more. Some writers have explained the rise of the manosphere as a result of men feeling their “diminishing social status,” as researcher Lisa Sugiura put it. The sentiment is shared by Red Pill enthusiasts like Andrew Tate, Logan Paul, the late Kevin Samuels, and others.
If there were an ideal mascot for The Red Pill movement and misogynistic masculinity, Jason Wilson would meet the physical criteria. With 27 years of martial arts experience, his bald head, well-manicured white beard, and muscular build raise speculation of a former life as an NFL linebacker or an aged John Henry.
There was a time in Wilson’s life when influencers like Tate or Samuels would have set the tone for his understanding of masculinity. However, after losing two brothers to gang violence, being shot at while in his car, and facing numerous near-death encounters solely to assuage his need to “be a man,” Wilson found his toxic lifestyle left a lot to be desired.
Wilson’s reclamation of masculinity and emotional health didn’t come in the aftermath of a gang shootout, though he’s experienced that. It didn’t come in the form of a three-point sermon once he surrendered his life to the Most High, though he did that. It arrived later in his adult life.
“My mother developed dementia, and she needed more,” Wilson told me in an interview. “I couldn’t help her just providing the money she needed.” He calmed his mother when “she was getting anxious or agitated because she couldn’t remember.” He painted her nails and massaged her scalp. There aren’t many YouTube videos in the manosphere exhorting this type of masculinity.
In a culture that doesn’t believe men’s emotions matter—a Pew Research Center study showed more than half of Americans say we don’t value men who are “caring, open about their emotions, soft-spoken, or affectionate”—Wilson is creating a space for boys to deeply explore themselves through physical exertion, discipline, and protection. He is teaching them adaptability, interpersonal skills, intrapersonal skills, stress management, and more. But most importantly, he is cultivating in them a heart for the Lord.
First Samuel 22 describes how David took refuge in the cave of Adullam as he was fleeing Saul’s wrath. David was soon joined by 400 men, and “every man who was desperate, in debt, or discontented rallied around him” (v. 2, CSB). Just as the men in 1 Samuel felt comprehensively depleted and needed resolution, men in Detroit are bringing themselves and their boys to the Cave of Adullam to find direction and healing. CATTA is a place of refuge but not a place of permanence. It is a place to be sanctified and sent out from. Once students pass their initiation test, they leave the cave to pursue new endeavors.
On the wall of the dojo where youth learn self-defense are painted the cave’s commitments, such as the one about ruling one’s emotions, a reference to 1 Corinthians 6:12. The teachers call themselves shärath—“servant” in Hebrew.
“Fathers find healing watching their sons go through what they’re going through [at CATTA]. So many men didn’t have this,” shärath Chris Norris told me. “The traumas they haven’t fully healed from, didn’t know or remember was there, it comes up.”
To become healthy men, the boys learn how to grapple with their opponents and how to wrestle with trauma. Studies have shown the importance of communities fostering “resilience through social transformation rather than placing the onus of rising above significant adversity on Black boys and young men experiencing trauma and hardship.”
Wilson tears down the divisive wall of masculinity in order to free men from what he calls “emotional incarceration.” Just as adult men need community, young boys should not be abandoned to fend off systemic injustice, community violence, and the generational trauma passed down from parents who never learned to explore or express their emotions. Fathers who have young boys should never concede to their trauma as if it’s too late for them. There is no moratorium on growth and healing.
Boys from various neighborhoods enter the cave like it’s the capstone of their day. Some walk in with their fathers behind them. A few meander along, towing the weight of anxiety and off-brand clothing. There is an obvious absence of women. Despite the diversity of their family dynamics and socioeconomic statuses, the boys and men have exchanged their façades of toughness for gi uniforms that prepare them for Brazilian jiujitsu training—and for training in emotional regulation, restraint, and even how to properly shake hands or use dining etiquette. The Yunion’s website boasts that 78 percent of “CATTA students have improved their GPA by one letter grade without academic tutoring!”
One father, Vaquero Tyus, praised the cave for being a community that fosters resilience in his son. “My son lost his mother this time last year, and [CATTA] has been physically and mentally enriching for my son,” he said. “He’s growing, he’s more confident, he’s more disciplined, he’s praying more. It’s a blessing for me to have Jason as a part of my son’s life.”
Wilson’s emotional stability training is as paramount as the jiujitsu techniques he teaches his students.
“It is encouraging these days to see more men learning how to speak about emotions, but sadly, most of those same men do not know how to feel them!” he said.
Wilson also addresses bullying, mental health, and depression—top concerns for his parents. One hundred percent of parents who reported that their kids were victims of bullying shared that after graduating from CATTA, they were no longer bullied.
Wilson is teaching boys how discipline, through martial arts and contemplation, can help keep their emotions stable in moments of stress. The subversive wisdom of attaching practices seen as sensitive and weak to acts of strength is unique and efficacious. These boys leave the cave prepared to defend themselves from bullies—and more importantly, to defend themselves from destructive emotions that desire to master them.
While churches and individuals can silo themselves in either-or categories—as intellectual rather than emotional, as practical rather than thoughtful—Wilson sees Christian manhood holistically. Wilson himself is a “comprehensive man,” as he writes in The Man the Moment Demands, who is open to evolving and who “embodies both courage and compassion, strength and sensitivity—a man guided by the good in his heart, rather than fear of how he could be perceived.”
Wilson understands the principle of embodying multiple roles—maneuvering between them while also knowing which are primary. He details ten identities that make a comprehensive man: fighter, provider, leader, lover, nurturer, gentleman, friend, husband, father, and son. Instead of balancing each equally, Wilson teaches his students to tip the scales toward “what matters most.” Some things deserve more attention than others, like God and family.
When asked about the greatest commandment, Jesus answered that his followers are to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). This holistic, comprehensive love is embodied most fully in Christ: Jesus can be viewed as the paragon of a comprehensive man. He mastered the full integration of heart, mind, soul, and strength. Jesus was a panacea the moment demanded—every moment. Jesus was focused but welcomed distractions. He studied, taught, retreated, and practiced presence. He was spontaneous and long-suffering. He was a lamb and a lion, demonstrating sensitivity and strength.
While the church can fall into the dangers of monolithic manhood where, for instance, highly theological pastors focus on the mind and more missional pastors pull on the heart, our churches must also embody the diversity of comprehensive selfhood. Churches compelled to do good often lean toward strength, while churches with a growing desire for interpersonal work and contemplative practices tend to move people toward the soul.
Wilson has witnessed the benefit of avoiding the world’s illusion of balance to tip the scale toward Jesus’ teaching. “I saw what the hypermasculine or monofaceted manhood looks like,” he told me. “And no one was at peace. No one was happy. My desire is to be home resting with Abba, so anything that could get in the way of that just ain’t worth it. So that’s what keeps me grounded.”
Shaquille HallAs I quietly observed the class from a corner, I couldn’t help but notice a younger student struggling to accomplish many tasks. With each failure, his belligerence mounted. His behavior soon became a disruption for the whole academy.
Once the nagiyds (CATTA’s title for understudy and leader) had little success in regulating the situation, Wilson approached the student and knelt on the mat to meet him at eye level. Using both hands, he held the young student’s head with gentleness and intention. The boy’s attempts to escape him were futile. After 15 minutes of eye-rolling, adolescent grunts, and loud whispers, he sent the student back to his practice.
“That young boy just told me that a demon told him that he wasn’t special,” he explained to me. “This is the stuff we deal with.”
What appeared to be a physical tussle or an emotional outburst was a spiritual intercession.
“I prayed for him,” Wilson said. “And I told him, ‘That’s a lie!’ ”
After their interaction, the student improved his performance, with clearer focus and a calmer demeanor.
This scene encapsulates Wilson’s approach. He recognizes that our struggle is not against flesh and blood (Eph. 6:12). He has the courage to address the lies people believe while compassionately praying for restoration.
That may be the root of what most men need, not just boys.
Shaquille HallSho Baraka is editorial director of the Big Tent Initiative at CT.
The post The Man Tackling the Masculinity Crisis appeared first on Christianity Today.