But at night, had they not heard the howlings of demented wind,
the sharp, clean, windy raining to earth of acorns? Had all of them
not walked down lonely roads at night in winter and seen a light
and known it was theirs? Had all of them not known the wilderness?

—Thomas Wolfe
_______________

OK. I know I’m going to get clobbered, here. At least figuratively, by a lot of you. But I’m going to say it anyway, because it’s triggered by events that have just been coming down around me. And you write from where you are, is what I’ve always claimed. So I’ll just go ahead and say it. I’ve never liked Bible Studies or Prayer Meetings. Never been all that comfortable in or around such places. To me, Prayer Meetings and Bible Studies have always been just flat-out boring, and dreadfully dull.

I’m not talking about your Bible Study, or your prayer group, if you attend such a thing and enjoy it. I’m not saying you don’t get a lot of support from your “small group” people. So don’t go and get all offended. I’m only talking about my own perceptions. My own experiences. I come from the Amish. They don’t do such things. They never meet to openly pray, or study the Bible. Plus, they only have church service every two weeks. You come from a setting like that, and it’s a little different. It’s disconcerting when you suddenly walk into a world where there’s church every Sunday. And some sort of church or Bible Study every Wednesday night. It’s like, oh my, all of this is a bit much. It’s a lot of talk, from a lot of people who don’t have a whole lot of other choices. Do I really have to go? And it all got just a wee bit tiresome, for me.

I remember it so well, when I moved down to Daviess from northern Indiana after I left the Amish. The Wagler family welcomed me. And it was just naturally assumed I’d go to their church. Mount Olive Mennonite. A plain, plain group. Pretty much like the Beachy Amish, maybe even stricter in some ways. And that church welcomed me, too, just like the Waglers had. I was pretty traumatized right at that time. I had broken free, and I knew there would be no return. Ever. But I wasn’t quite sure what it was to walk forward. The people at Mount Olive made me welcome. They were kind, and I will never forget that kindness.

I remember the first Wednesday night service I ever went to, after leaving. Prayer Meeting, I think they called it. Same as a Bible Study, really, except it’s the whole church. Someone had a topic of some sort. “Topics” are usually dry as a bone. There’s lots of admonishing going on, about what it is to live right. And lots of Amens. After the topic that night, we split off into small groups. I tagged along with the little group of youth I was with, as we walked down to the basement. And we sat around, in a little circle. Someone asked for prayer requests. People said things like “We need rain. Crops are real dry.” Or “Let’s pray for so-and-so, that he’ll get saved.” I can’t ever remember a real meaningful deep personal request coming from anyone’s heart. But I digress. Back to that very first night. After the requests were gathered, someone started praying. A short prayer, maybe a minute or two. And then the next person prayed. I stirred, and looked around in panic. It was creeping right around, and soon it would be my turn. I’d never prayed aloud in public, before. I didn’t know how. What do you say? And then it was the guy next to me’s turn. He prayed. And then it was my time. My turn.

The only reason I remember that particular scene is because of that frozen moment. I sat there, silent and paralyzed. I couldn’t speak. After an agonizing ten or twenty seconds, I waved my hand. I pass. And mercifully, the guy on the other side of me didn’t blink or hesitate. He prayed his little prayer. And it went on around the circle, until it was finished. Nobody mentioned anything, about how I had not prayed. But I felt pretty ashamed. And yes, the next time at Prayer Meeting, I did manage to squeak out a few words. It was so hard to force myself. I just didn’t come from a place like that. And in time, I got to be decently fluent, when speaking aloud to the Lord. One thing, though. My spoken prayers were never, never long. They still aren’t. Not anything like the prayers from my heart. Those prayers go on and on, every day, like a preacher who doesn’t know when it’s time to shut up and sit down. I’m OK with that, though. I think the Lord is OK with that, too.

The Mount Olive Church people were pretty plain and strict. And if you didn’t show up at Prayer Meeting for a few weeks in a row, someone would come to investigate. Ahem. Any particular reason we’re not seeing you on Wednesday nights? And you shrivel, before an interrogation like that. You never really had a whole lot of choice. You had to go. A couple of things saved me, in the end. I came out to Lancaster, that first summer, to work for the money that I needed for college. And that fall, I enrolled at Vincennes University. So I wasn’t around, much, on Wednesday nights, anymore. I had a valid excuse, not to go to those Prayer Meetings. No one bugged me about not being there. And that was all just fine with me.

Those were Prayer Meetings. I’ve run into a few Bible Studies, too, in my wanderings. Little groups of adult singles, mostly, years ago. I went sometimes, just to mingle. And to meet people. But I was uneasy, at some of what went on. There was always lots of talk about some “victory” someone was living, right then. Lots of cheering going on, and bland talk about how good God is. Always, at some point, they’d try to get you to share your innermost dark secrets. Your sins. The stuff you were struggling with. The places of the heart that only the Lord knows. And maybe one or two other persons, in all the world, if that. I’m not gonna share that kind of stuff with people at a Bible Study. I’m just not, not when I just walked into the door. Why would I trust what they’re telling me to do? Why would I speak from the dark places in my heart? I wouldn’t. And I didn’t. I didn’t know them well enough, to go there. Not everyone was like that, of course. I met some real nice people at Bible Studies, people who truly cared, and were doing their best to walk a Christian life. It was the nosy ones that irritated me.

And mostly, I remember this, about the nosy ones. They seemed garishly eager, to get you to talk. Come on. Share your struggles. Share your sins. It was, of course, so they could “pray” for you. You won’t get victory unless you confess. And repent. That’s what they told me. And the more they pressured me, the more I shrank from them. From what I’d seen and heard in the Mennonite and Beachy communities, people ask you to share your burdens so they can pray for you, sure. And I’m sure they do. Pray for you, from above. But then they run around and tell others, often. Their “prayer circle” friends, probably. Those that do, their talk is always cloaked with “loving” language, like, the poor boy is struggling and needs prayer. Please pray for Ira. But at its core foundation, stuff like that is nothing but flat-out gossip. That’s something I saw, growing up. Gossip, I mean. Not Prayer Meetings. And I can sense the roots of gossip, no matter what kinds of glossy words it’s coated with.

That’s all real sketchy detail, right there. And I know it’s sketchy, to explain where I’m coming from. It all was what it was, back when it happened. And I may have been a little overly sensitive. But that’s why I’ve always had issues with Prayer Meetings and Bible Studies. And that’s where I am, or was, until real recently. And to tell you why I’m in a different place, there’s a big time bunny trail coming up, right here. But I promise to circle back.

There’s an old friend in my life. His name is Reuben. We’ve known each other all our lives. We were pretty much best friends, in all that time. I mean, from back when we were kids. And a number of years back, he made some very, very bad choices. He chose to walk down some real hard roads. He made some destructive, destructive decisions. And his world blew up. Just blew up into smithereens. He chose to leave his wife and family, for an idol. He did that. Walked away from his family. And from where I was at that time, well, he chose to leave all we had known as old friends, for an idol, too. And we were totally estranged, he and I, for a few years. Oh, yes, we were. If you know the story, you don’t need to hear it told again. If you don’t know the story, then what you’re being told here is enough.

Let’s just say that I wrote savagely at him, right here on this blog. I swore to curse him and his seed forever. Never quite got that done, though. I wanted to, but somehow, it just never happened. And yeah, that writing is all still right where I posted it, back when. It’s a record of a journey, I guess. And no, I won’t point you to any of it. If you want to read it, track it down yourself.

He left, then, and moved to a faraway land for a few years. And then, about three years ago or so, he moved back into the area to reconnect with his broken family. Mostly with his children, his sons and daughters. He wanted to get back into the daily operations of his business at Graber Supply, too. And he reached out to me, to see if some kind of reconciliation could be possible. I was extremely skittish, when he approached me, put out the feelers. But I didn’t discount it. And over time, we got to where we could talk, face to face. And there was a glimmer there, of what once was before. I could see it was all worth repairing, the broken pieces. Time had moved on. It couldn’t be what it was before, I figured. The friendship, I mean. But it could be something. Something worth building back up.

And, yeah, I’m very aware that there are many people out there who have looked very strangely at me in the past few years. What are you thinking? We’re lined up, here, behind you, with our swords drawn. Ready to follow and strike and condemn Reuben for all his sins. What’s wrong with you? You were real mad. Seething mad, bent to destroy all he is or ever was. And then, all of a sudden, you just laid down your sword. Are you weak, or what? How can we hold our swords up, when you won’t hold up your own? How can we follow, when you won’t lead?

And yeah, I hear all that talk. Well, not so much talk as murmurs. I feel those people looking askance, all around me. And that’s OK. I am where I am. I choose to walk where I walk. If you think that’s weak, that’s OK, too. But my response to all such bloodthirsty Christians is this. Thank you. I appreciate your loyal support. But I got a simple thing to ask. Why don’t you live your own lives, and let me live mine? What possible business is it of yours, what choices I make about who I hang out with?

And over time, we relaxed a bit, Reuben and me. There was still some tension there, depending on what might come up, or what might be triggered in my mind. There were a whole lot of moments like that, in my head. But we worked hard at it, he and I, to reach a new dawn. And I have to say, it was all pretty seamless, when he came back into the daily operations of his company.

It’s been tough, for him, outside of my own issues. And no, this is not a sob story about the poor guy. We all pretty much deserve what comes at us, that way. But still, it has been tough. There’s a whole heck of a lot of judgment out there, at him. Totally deserved, I’m sure. But still. At what point does one begin to lower the walls a bit? Even for such a wicked sinner as him?

There’s always a light that comes shining through, at some point, in a story such as this. Or the telling of it probably wouldn’t be happening. And that light came last November. Reuben and I had taken to hanging out, after work, every couple of weeks or so. We sipped scotch, and talked. (When we reconnected, I swore I would never drink with him. It took more than a year, for that little oath to fall by the wayside.) And it was mostly good, always. But one day, after work, he seemed a little excited. He had read some article on some internet site, written by some leftist woman who worked for Fox News. I don’t remember her name, and it doesn’t matter. But she was pretty well known. She came from the high-browed, elitist crowd. She was way too smart, way too educated to believe in such a thing as God. Faith was for hicks. And she wrote about how she came to know Christ. She lived in New York City. The center of the world. And somehow, she got drawn to attend a church there. Redeemer Presbyterian. She heard the sermons of Pastor Tim Keller. And eventually, she wrote, the hound of heaven hunted her down. Jesus stood by her bed, in a dream. And asked her to come to him. And now she knew. Now she believed in Jesus. And she wrote very unashamedly about her journey. And about where she was right then, and how she got there.

Reuben was fascinated by that article. It was so open and so honest, especially coming from a mainstream media personality. And he followed the link the woman posted, to Redeemer Presbyterian. And in less than a week, I saw the change in him. He was listening to those sermons. He told me about it. I’ve never seen the man more excited. He sent me a link or two. And one Sunday, when I couldn’t make it to Chestnut Street Chapel, I pulled up that link and listened. Tim Keller is a very dynamic speaker. And no, I don’t mean he yells and carries on. He doesn’t. He talks very calmly, infusing his message with lots of humor. But it’s always, always grounded in Scripture. And his message was inside out, from all I ever heard, growing up. Not that I hadn’t heard it before. It’s right along the same veins that Pastor Mark Potter has been preaching at Chestnut Street, these past three years or so. The same stuff. Powerful stuff. Life-changing stuff. It doesn’t take you long, to grasp the real truth, what real freedom is, when you hear Pastor Mark. And it doesn’t take you long, when you hear Tim Keller.

Reuben listened and listened to those Tim Keller sermons. I know that because the man wouldn’t stop talking about what he was hearing. Always, in every conversation, it got woven in, somehow, what he’d heard. And it changed him, too. His personality. He’s always been a driven man, as you’d have to be, to build up a business like he did. And he’s always had a tendency, sometimes, to let the pressures get to him. He’d get all snappy and uptight and loud. That part of him disappeared, almost completely and very soon.

And he told me, early on. “Every morning, when I get up, that’s the first thing I do. I drink coffee and listen to a sermon.” Well, what do you do with that? You cheer the man on, in this case. As I did. I was hearing the same stuff at my church, just at a more entry level. It’s preached for people like me, people who come from a guilt-ridden background like the Amish. Here is the path. It’s upside down, from all you ever heard. That’s what Pastor Mark preaches. So I could connect with what Reuben was telling me about what he was hearing.

I thought the whole thing might fade, for Reuben. He was living pretty loosely, in some areas of his life, back last November. Just like I’ve lived pretty loosely with my scotch for some time, now. And I saw him ponder and reflect on what was or wasn’t right. Not as a lost person. But as a child of God, awaking to the light, struggling to grasp, to see, to accept the gift that was there for him. And the next thing you knew, he was driving to New York City every Sunday morning, to actually attend Redeemer Presbyterian. Right into the big old evil city, he went. Week after week, and Sunday after Sunday. And he wouldn’t stop talking about what he was hearing. The gospel. I marveled. And I told him. When you hear a particularly good sermon that you think I might like, send me the link. He took me up on that. Two or three times a week, here comes another email with a link. I made a separate file, the Keller file, for what he sends me. And when I feel the need, I go and click on one of those sermons. I listen to what he heard. And I completely understand why Reuben is so excited about it all. Tim Keller is a true (and flawed) servant of God.

And no, it didn’t happen as you’d expect it to in any feel-good Christian story. Where everything suddenly gets all cleaned up and everyone is reunited and singing happy praises. And now everything is perfect. It didn’t and it’s not. Life is messy, and it’s just as messy for Christians as it is for anyone else. At least it is, if you’re honest. Which a lot of Christians aren’t, because they think they have to act all happy and bubbly about what Jesus did for them, all the time. That kind of pressure is an awful thing. So this little story doesn’t end like that. Reuben did not return to his wife. They are divorced. They remain divorced. I don’t judge that. How can I? I’m divorced, too.

And time passed on. A month or two ago, he told me one day. He’d love to start a men’s group of some kind. A Bible Study, although he didn’t call it that. He had in mind that a few guys could just hang out, upstairs in the conference room at work. And listen to a Keller sermon. They’re only forty minutes long, right across. And then there would be discussion. Sure, I said. If that’s what your heart’s telling you to do, then just do it. “Ah, I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure anyone will come if I invite them.” Well, try it. And he texted a few friends, a few weeks back. “Next Tuesday evening, at 6:30. I’d love to see you here, for a Bible Study.”

I’d come, I told him when he asked. But this is blog week. I don’t go out evenings on blog week, much. But go ahead. And that Tuesday, I asked him. Anyone committed to coming, yet? “No,” he said. “I guess I’ll just go and wait and see if anyone shows up.” And that’s what he did. The next morning, I asked him. Well, who came? “I had a very nice time,” he said bravely. “All by myself.” And I felt bad for the man. Here he was, all excited. Wanting to just get together with a few guys, and share what he had found. And no one came.

Have one again next Tuesday night, I said. I’ll come, if no one else will. And so he scheduled it for Tuesday of last week. As that day came, I asked him. Did anyone commit to come? “No,” he said. “Are you still coming?” I plan to, I said. And I got to thinking. Who could I invite? This is Lancaster County. Everyone’s all busy all the time. It’s tough, to get something like this going. I called one friend. He’d like to, but he had other things planned. That’s totally OK, I said. I just thought I’d check.

Then I thought of my friend, Allen Beiler. He and his family have been coming to my church, now and then. I knew he was a market guy. Late in the week never suits him. He’s at market. But this was Tuesday. So I texted him. Would you like to come to a Bible Study here at the office tonight? I figured he would have something going. But he texted right back. “This is a little weird. I was just going to text you to see if you want to go hang out at Vinola’s tonight. So, sure, I’ll plan on being there.” Great. There will be at least three guys, I thought. That’s better than one, and it’s better than two. I texted Reuben. My friend Allen’s coming. He was going to text me to see if I want to hang out at Vinola’s. He’s coming here, instead. His response: “Amazing.”

I just puttered around at my desk after the others left at five. And right at six, Reuben walked in. He’d brought snacks and bottled water. He trundled everything upstairs, and set it out. Way too much food. And we sat there, talking, the two of us. We kept glancing out toward the road. A few minutes after 6:30, Allen’s big old dually pulled in. He parked, and walked up to join us. I made the introductions, and we sat and visited for a while. And then Reuben pulled up the sermon he had in mind for that first night.

We sat around the table and listened and took a few notes. Keller’s theme. Is God love or is He judgment? One side claims He’s all love. The other side focuses pretty much on judgment. And Keller asked. Does God judge us? Oh, yes, He does. He judges every single thought, every single action, every second of every day. Not that He’s standing there with a big old sledgehammer to whack you with, if you make a mistake (my words, not his). But He definitely judges everyone, all the time. Keller gets a lot said in forty minutes. He had several closing points. The one I remember was this. If God is the judge, that means we have no right to be. Not saying you don’t judge people’s actions. This is me speaking again, not Keller. We have to. In business, for instance. If you’ve given me a bunch of bad checks in the past, I’ll insist that you pay cash for any building materials you buy from me. Things like that. There’s ten thousand more examples.

But we never, never have any right to judge another person’s heart. Never. That’s God’s job. We have no right to be resentful or unforgiving at anyone who’s wronged us, either. No matter how deep that wrong was. And, yeah, I know a little bit about all that. It takes time, often, to get over a wrong, to heal from a wound that sliced deep. Lots of time, sometimes. And it takes Light that can only come from one source. Time. And Light. I guess it can all be broken down into two other things Keller keeps talking about, too. Forgiveness. And love.

And those two terms don’t mean anything close to what I was brought up thinking they mean. Forgiveness isn’t so much consciously forgiving someone else for the wrong they did me. It’s more like trying to get some small, small grasp of how deeply depraved my own heart is (Yes, is. Not was.), and how much I have been forgiven, simply as a gift, by grace. And love? That’s simply loving God.

After the sermon was over, we just sat around and talked. And it was open and honest talk. Good stuff, spoken from our hearts. And no, there was no closing prayer, although there certainly would have been nothing wrong with one. We just didn’t think about it. By soon after 8:00 or so, we were fixing to leave. And we talked about it. This was great. When can we do it again? We checked our schedules. We settled on next Tuesday evening, Oct. 14th. Here at Graber Supply, at 6:30. Allen’s going to pick the sermon we’ll listen to. Let’s try to get a few more people over, we agreed.

And now, for the first time in my life, I guess I can say I’m excited about going to a Bible Study. And if you’re a guy and you’re anywhere close, you are welcome to attend, too. I don’t care who you are, or what you believe. You can be one who sees things just like I do, or close to it. Or you don’t have to believe anything, about whether or not there is a God. You can be an agnostic, or an atheist. You’re still welcome. And I’m not just saying that. You really are. Yeah, you’ll have to listen to a sermon. That might be a negative thing to you. But it’s only forty minutes long, and I think you’ll be intrigued. And no, you won’t get clobbered, or ganged up on. You will be totally accepted. Same thing goes for all you judgmental Christians, too, of course. Come and listen, and speak your voice. You will be heard. I don’t care what your motivations are. You are welcome. And you will be totally accepted, too.

A couple of rules, and I mean, only two. You are expected to be cordial in your speech and conduct, of course. That’s a given. But the only two real rules are this. No drinking at the Bible Study. (You can go to the bar afterward, if you want. But you can’t drink there.) And if you smoke, you must step outside to do so. Those rules seem pretty manageable, I think.

I’m not sure where this thing is going, or if it’ll ever develop into much. For now, it is what it is, I guess. Just a few guys, hanging out. I’m looking forward to what might yet come, though.