Like most Saturday mornings, I was at Antioch Church in Fort Worth for the Cowtown Tribe Men’s Alliance. Men’s Alliance is a movement that began in Virginia in 2015 with a simple yet powerful mission—bringing men of God together to embrace their biblical masculinity. The concept is straightforward: we meet for just an hour each week, gather around a fire, pray, do a 30-minute CrossFit-style workout, and then spend another 30 minutes in devotion and discussion. This fellowship feeds my soul, going beyond the quick Sunday morning chats that rarely lead to deeper connections.
After attending three meetings, each man receives a call sign. Mine—shockingly—is “TAC,” short for Tackleberry from Police Academy fame. One of my fellow tribesmen, “Cyborg” (a retired firefighter with multiple metal implants due to injuries), serves on Antioch’s security team. Since we arrive before dawn, he typically does a perimeter check.
Yesterday morning, as the rest of us worked on getting a fire going in the damp conditions, Cyborg returned with a man who was clearly homeless. He was scruffy, carrying two massive bags over his shoulders while pulling a large rolling bag. Cyborg introduced him as Trevor and mentioned he was dehydrated. We welcomed him to the fire and handed him a bottle of water.
After prayer, we started our “No Man Left Behind” workout, which I led. I handed Trevor my phone and asked him to film. Once we finished, we gathered around the fire for a devotion led by “Bones,” a chiropractor in our tribe. As the others gathered to initiate a new member, “Weatherman” (a meteorologist), I felt compelled to walk over to Trevor.
His first words to me were, “I love your Angry Steve tattoo,” referring to the RMJ Tactical logo on my calf. I was stunned—most people don’t recognize it. RMJ is best known for their tomahawks. Trevor explained that in 2021, he was arrested and served four years after confronting men who had stolen his bag containing an RMJ Shrike tomahawk. He had chased them down while armed with a knife—trying to reclaim what was his—but the situation led to his arrest.
At that moment, we bonded. About three years ago, I lost my own Shrike when my bag fell off my motorcycle in York, PA. That hawk had been a replacement, gifted to me by Ryan and Richard from RMJ after they saw the abuse my original Shrike had endured during my vehicle and structure breaching training. That connection with Trevor was undeniable.
After our time around the fire, some of us headed to breakfast, and I invited Trevor to join. I reassured him that his gear would be safe in my vehicle. If you’re unfamiliar with the homeless community, losing their belongings—or having them stolen—is a constant fear, even more so for someone like Trevor, who had already experienced that loss. My dog, Odin, was with me, so Odin hopped in the back while Trevor sat up front.
At the restaurant, Trevor was told to order whatever he wanted. Our waitress, Georgia, kindly found a place for him to charge his phone. As we ate and fellowshipped, my tribe members began slipping $10 and $20 bills into his hand. Before parting ways, I asked him where he needed to go, and he chose a Starbucks near the church.
During our drive, I learned more about his situation. He had a sleeping bag and a blanket but not much else. We made plans for me to pick him up the next morning at 0900 and take him to Omaha’s Surplus to get properly outfitted—with an Esbit stove, a USGI canteen cup, a quality fixed-blade knife, and other essentials.
Before we said goodbye, Trevor asked if I shopped at Mardel’s, a local Christian bookstore. When I said yes, he handed me a $25 Mardel’s gift card the church had given him. He told me he had planned to sell it for food money, but after the generosity of the tribe, he wanted me to have it instead.
I wept.
Not out of sadness, but overwhelmed by the blessings Christ has placed in my life. We hugged, and of course, he said goodbye to Odin before heading off.
This morning, as I brewed my coffee, I stepped outside to grab an Amazon delivery and noticed a large box I hadn’t expected. Inside was a brand-new Snugpak Sleeper Lite Basecamp sleeping bag. A month ago, I had contacted Snugpak about a replacement zipper after mine had burst on a camping trip. I thought they were sending me a zipper. Instead, they sent an entire new bag.
Guess who’s getting that tomorrow?
I also have a spare CamelBak for him. Trevor is waiting for his disability to come through and plans to purchase a conversion van with the help of the church. His goal is to travel to Arizona to join a church that gathers around cigars—one of my own favorite “valuable distractions” (though my wife calls it an addiction).
Not by coincidence, Bones’ devotion yesterday was about not judging a book by its cover—something we’re all guilty of.
What I saw yesterday is what Christianity is supposed to be.
People don’t need the Bible shoved down their throats or a lecture on why they’re going to hell. They need to be loved where they are.
Trevor is already a believer. He didn’t need a sermon. He needed water, a meal, a few bucks—but more than anything, he needed to know he is loved and valued.
And yesterday, he got that.
But the truth is, the tribe was the one who was fed.
I am humbled to be in the company of men who walk out their faith, not just playing the stained-glass masquerade on Sunday mornings. There are Men’s Alliance tribes all over the country, and I believe even in other nations. If you’re a man, you need to find one. You don’t have to be able to do the workout—the first rule of Men’s Alliance is, “Don’t die.”
Another thing they teach?
“Isolation is terminal.”
Three years ago, I lost my dad. His wisdom is no longer accessible to me. But we need old men around the fire to stand in for fathers who are gone—or never were there in the first place.
To quote my recovery mentor, Bob Allen from Life’s Beacon in York, PA:
“All I need is Jesus and a few good men.”
Click here to read my testimony.
Be blessed and be free.
—George
