A few weeks later, a highly complimentary review and recommendation appeared on the Internet Monk website. “Nate Larkin’s Samson and the Pirate Monks is a five star book,” Michael wrote. “As far as men’s books go, it may be one of the best books I’ve ever read, far surpassing most of what comes out of the Christian ’men’s’ movement. There’s a great story, tremendous insight into real life, humbling vulnerability, practical application and the kind of humility, humor and honesty that IM readers value.”

That was my favorite part of the review. What really killed me, though, was Michael’s opening line, the one he used to set the whole review up: “It’s a great book that needs a better title. Seriously good book. The title has gotta go.”

Michael would not be the last to voice that opinion. I have also heard from lots of readers who loved the title — some even say they only bought the book because they were intrigued by it — but it’s something I’m always being asked to explain. Radio interviews, for example, almost always begin like this: “We’re talking today with Nate Larkin, co-founder of the Samson Society and author of ‘Samson and the Pirate Monks.’ Welcome, Nate!” “Hi, Bob. Great to be with you.” (I’m actually not with Bob, you understand. I’m in Frankln, Tennessee, talking to him on my cellphone, trying unsuccessfully to remember the call letters of his radio station.) “Let me start, Nate, with the first question that comes to mind. Exactly what is a Pirate Monk?” Ah. There it is. That is the question. And here is the best explanation I can give you.

The Pirate Monk is a metaphor for the integrated Christian life. My friends and I stumbled upon the metaphor one night at McCreary’s Irish Pub after a meeting of the Samson Society (you can read the story in the book) and it stuck, because the image resonates with our reality. Every Christian man I know possesses an Inner Monk, a religious self, who sincerely loves to pray, read the Bible, go to church, and behave in the way that Christians are supposed to behave. But each one of us also possesses an Inner Pirate, an adventurous self, who is impolite and impulsive, selfish and profane. Over the years, most of us have periodically resolved to eliminate the Pirate and promote the Monk, to BE the Monk full-time, believing that God loves the Monk and hates the Pirate. (After all, the Monk seems to love God and the Pirate seems to hate Him, and we logically conclude that God responds in kind.)

The truth, as it turns out, is more complex than moralistic Christianity will lead you to believe. When it comes right down to it, the uncomfortable fact is that the Monk is not all good, and the Pirate is not all bad. The Monk looks good, to be sure, but much of his apparent goodness is really an act. His piety is contaminated by manipulation and deceit. The Monk employs good behavior in an effort to force God’s blessing, and he routinely deceives himself and others by ascribing righteous motives to behavior that is purely selfish. No, the Monk is not all good. And the Pirate is not all bad. He looks bad, to be sure, but there is something honest and straighforward about the profanity of the Pirate. He is a scoundrel, but he does not pretend to be anything other than a scoundrel. His aggression is open, not passive. The Pirate is pursuing life, living in the moment, seizing the day. He exhibits a courage that is altogether missing from the Monk. No, the Pirate is not all bad. Which one does God love more? As Christians, we look to Jesus for the answer to that question. And Jesus, who was sentenced to death by a mob of monks because he was a friend of pirates, loves both of them the same. That’s essentially the lesson of the famous story Jesus told about the two lost brothers, the story commonly (and mistakenly) referred to as The Story of the Prodigal Son. The younger brother in the story (the Pirate) demanded his share of this father’s estate and then set sail for a distant land, where he wasted everything on riotous living. The elder brother (the Monk) stayed home, worked hard, and obeyed all the rules. The younger brother eventually recognized his folly and returned home, expecting to be disowned, only to be embraced and celebrated by his father. When the elder brother saw the celebration, he became furious. He shouted at his father, “Don’t you understand? Don’t you see? He is the bad son! I am the good son! I deserve your fortune, but he deserves nothing!” As the story ends, the father is pleading with his eldest son to come inside, join the party, and become reconciled with his brother.

This inner reconciliation is the essence of spiritual formation in the Christian life. The Pirate and the Monk are both broken, bitter men. But if they can be reconciled — if the Christian man can appropriate the best of both and become one person, the same person, no matter where he goes — that, my friend, is a powerful redemption

Most pastors are not porn addicts, of course. But in an anonymous survey conducted recently by Pastors.com, 54 percent of pastors admitted viewing porn within the last year. That’s a lot of pastors.

Since the survey was conducted online, it’s pretty safe to conclude that those pastors who admitted viewing porn had found it on the Internet, where pornographers freely dispense their wares to any anonymous web surfer. It is the perceived anonymity of the Internet, I think, which has given so many men, including pastors, the courage to experiment there.

Why would a pastor look at porn? First, because he’s male, and sexual curiosity is hard-wired into the male human body. Second, because he lives in a fallen world, one in which his natural sexual instincts have been warped and titillated. Third, because he works under incredible stress, his performance critiqued on a weekly basis by an unrealistic audience who insists on treating him as an asexual being or as the sole inhabitant of a higher moral plane.

Everybody has heard of at least one pastor who has run off with the church secretary. The vast majority of pastors are determined never to be that guy. Every pastor, however, experiences moments of despair, anger or loneliness. At such a moment, pornography can appear to be a safe alternative to adultery. To the man who is feeling insecure but doesn’t want to cheat on his wife, a few fleeting seconds with an imaginary lover can prove irresistible.

For a pastor to admit such a mistake, however, is fatal. If anyone discovers what he’s done, he’ll be tarred and feathered and carried out of town on a rail. So what does he do? He takes his guilt to God privately and makes a private promise never to make that mistake again. And maybe he won’t. But speaking for myself, that’s how I became a porn addict.