{"id":6413,"date":"2012-08-10T18:38:16","date_gmt":"2012-08-10T22:38:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=6413"},"modified":"2012-08-20T20:56:23","modified_gmt":"2012-08-21T00:56:23","slug":"the-old-and-the-young","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=6413","title":{"rendered":"The Old and the Young…"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a><\/p>\n

For the wild tempest breaks above us, the wild fury
\nbeats about us, the wild hunger feeds upon us\u2014and
\nwe are houseless, doorless, unassuaged, and driven
\non forever…<\/p>\n

—Thomas Wolfe
\n______________<\/p>\n

Wednesday of last week seemed like another ordinary morning at the office. But not for long. Early on, a phone call from a guy I didn\u2019t know who asked for me. An older guy, from the sound of it. He wanted to check before he came out to see me. In a somewhat quavering voice, he introduced himself. He lived in Lancaster. Had just finished my book. Then he\u2019d discovered that I\u2019m local. That I worked at Graber. Would it be OK if he stopped by for just a bit that morning?<\/p>\n

Of course, I said. I got a few minutes for anyone who stops by. Bring your book, and I\u2019ll be happy to sign it for you. Thanks, he said. I\u2019ll be out later this morning. <\/p>\n

An hour or so later, he walked in, smiling. \u201cIs Ira here?\u201d he asked. Yep, that\u2019s me. And he walked up to my counter and shook my hand. He was old, in his eighties, I would have guessed, stooped and bent. <\/p>\n

His name was Chester Haverstick, and he lived in Lancaster. He\u2019d picked up my book a few days before. After reading it, he discovered the author was local. Worked in the general area. And then, he thought, let\u2019s see if I can get hold of the guy. That\u2019s when he had looked up the Graber number in the phone book and called me earlier. And he had driven out to see me by himself. <\/p>\n

He had been around for a long time, from the look of the seams on his weathered face. But it\u2019s been a long time since I have been around someone who exuded such a deep, deep level of quiet peace. He was simply joyful. Happy. You could see it in his bearing. You could see it in his smile. And it shone from his eyes. <\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a lot of turmoil you went through,\u201d he said. \u201cI had to think back to what my Sunday School teacher told me years ago. It\u2019s all about love, not the law.\u201d<\/p>\n

It is, I agreed. It is about love. He leaned in to hear my words. <\/p>\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t Jesus just great?\u201d He beamed. He is indeed, I said. <\/p>\n

Chester had self-published a little book about his life. He had come to talk about mine, but also to give me his book, aptly titled \u201cMy Life.\u201d Would I like a copy? Absolutely, I said. If you sign it first. <\/p>\n

He had forgotten to bring my book for me to sign. His primary purpose was to bring his book to me, I think. Which was totally fine. He opened the front cover of his book, and I gave him a pen. Slowly he scrawled his name in impossibly fine script. Don\u2019t forget to date it, I said. So he did that as well. Beaming, he handed me the hard cover book. I thanked him. And we chatted for a few more minutes. <\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t believe I\u2019m talking to you,\u201d he said several times. Then, \u201cHow old do you think I am?\u201d That\u2019s always a dangerous question, coming from anyone. But I figured to play it safe. Oh, I\u2019d say about seventy, I said. He beamed again and pointed up. Higher. Nope, I said. I\u2019m not guessing again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m 94 years old,\u201d he said, beaming some more. I\u2019m honored, I replied. I\u2019m honored that you came to see me, and I\u2019m honored that you brought me a copy of your book. After chatting for a few more minutes, I told him I\u2019d have to get back to work. We shook hands, and he turned and walked out. Still smiling, just quietly joyful. How remarkable, I thought. He\u2019s probably my oldest fan. I can\u2019t quite see ever getting that old, but if I do, I want to be as happy and content and joyful as my new friend Chester Haverstick. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

And things moved along at the office, like any normal morning. An Amish guy called and ordered four sheets of metal roofing, twelve feet long. A driver would stop in shortly and pick them up, he said after I gave him the total price. The phones rang, but during the intervals, I thought a good bit about the old man who had driven out to see me that morning. How cool it was, that he did that. And I thought about his quiet joy. Absorbed it. <\/p>\n

About then, a young man walked in. Mid-twenties, I\u2019d say. Clean cut, with a well-trimmed little beard. I greeted him. He had come to pick up those four sheets of metal for the Amish guy. I took his check and printed out his invoice. He smiled at me. Then his eyes caught the little poster I have taped up about my book. Instantly he became alert.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you write this?\u201d Yes, I did. \u201cAre you a Christian?\u201d Yes, I am. <\/p>\n

He leaned in against the counter, his intense eyes looking right through me. \u201cTell me, what does it mean to be a follower of Jesus?\u201d It was a challenge, really, in the form of a question. <\/p>\n

Well, what do you do with a question like that? I wasn\u2019t prepared mentally to engage in any debates, especially in my relaxed state of mind after Chester\u2019s visit. Whatever answer I gave would be wrong. There was no way I was going to get it right. But I engaged. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s love, mostly, I said. The love that Christ gave, to love others like that. And to meet them where they are, as He did. <\/p>\n

He was friendly enough, and stayed friendly. It\u2019s just that he was so adversarial. Of course, I had flunked the test. And he launched right in to tell me how it really is. Repentance. And yes, judgment of sin. Love is fine and all. But it takes more than love. <\/p>\n

Look, I said. That\u2019s all fine. Sure it takes repentance. And sure, we judge sin. But I\u2019ll tell you this. You don\u2019t talk down to people. If you don\u2019t get right out there and right down there and meet people where they are, as they are, your message will be lost. That\u2019s just how it is. <\/p>\n

\u201cWould you have time to meet some evening?\u201d he asked. Sure, I have time. But I won\u2019t, I told him. Tell you what, though. You buy my book and read it, then I\u2019ll meet you to talk. Then you\u2019ll know where I\u2019m coming from. <\/p>\n

He considered my offer for a moment. \u201cI got so much reading to do already,\u201d he hedged. But you have time to meet with me to \u201ctalk,\u201d I thought. Which really boiled down to he didn\u2019t want to meet to listen to me talk. He wanted to meet so I could listen to him. No deal, I said. Get the book and read it, then I\u2019ll meet to talk. <\/p>\n

\u201cHow much time do you spend reading the Word every day?\u201d he asked suddenly. Another bunny trail, another trap. What difference would that make? Whatever I said, it wouldn\u2019t be enough. Besides, how much time do I need to spend each day, to reach his level of salvation? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Three? Half a day? Full time all day, maybe? When do you reach the point of being saved from having been lost, from how much time you spend in the Word? Or how much time must you spend in the Word to keep yourself saved? Maybe that\u2019s what he was after. <\/p>\n

He left then, still wanting to meet to talk. When you read the book, I said. But he did take a business card, and I scrawled my blog address on it. He’d check it out, he claimed. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. And maybe he’s checking out this post. He drove out to the yard to load, and I kind of sat back and thought about it. I was tense from the exchange. Fifteen minutes later, I suddenly sensed that he had not loaded and left yet. I walked out to the warehouse, and sure enough, he had one of my Amish yard guys trapped. He was leaning in and talking intensely. His truck sat there, unloaded. I ambled up to them. Look, my guys have work to do. You need to get your truck loaded. Looking a bit sheepish, he backed off then. His metal sheets were loaded, and he tied them down and left. <\/p>\n

After he drove away, my Amish yard guy muttered, “Some people think they are the only Christians.” Yes. I agreed. Some people do. <\/p>\n

And there you have it. The contrast of two totally opposite encounters, less than an hour apart. From two totally different personalities forged from life and experience, and the lack thereof. The old guy. And the young guy. I\u2019ve thought a lot about them both since that day came down. <\/p>\n

From the old man, I felt calmness and joy. He left me energized and exhilarated. From the young man, I felt deflated and accused. And he left me drained. <\/p>\n

As a Christian, I walk out there on the edge of things a good bit, at least that\u2019s how many others see it. But I don\u2019t shrink from what I know or from what I have lived and seen and felt. Or from telling it. I respect the broad spectrum of those who follow Christ, including many in the Amish church. And all the way out to the fringes of the \u201cmad\u201d preachers thundering on the street corners in the cities and towns across this land. The Lord\u2019s vineyards are scattered everywhere. And He calls His children to proclaim Him in vastly different forums over all the world. <\/p>\n

I\u2019ll stand by what I said that day, though. You don\u2019t talk down to people. When the gospel is preached from above, it can only be heard from below as an ultimatum based on fear, which is all so paralyzing and hopeless. It is best lived, face to face and eye to eye, often with few words. I don\u2019t care where you are or who you are. I won\u2019t speak to you from \u201cabove.\u201d I simply will not do it. I will meet you where you are, as you are, it doesn\u2019t matter where that is. That\u2019s the only way I know to share Christ\u2019s love. Because the first time I grasped and understood it, that\u2019s how it was shared with me. <\/p>\n

And when I think of the young guy who accosted me in the office that day, I wonder. What\u2019s eating at him, that he has to prove his way is the right one, the only one? That his beliefs, his thinking (or that of his group) surpasses all others in the Christian world. Why are they like that? What drives them, what drives him, to proselytize so aggressively? Where does all that energy come from? Day after day, week after week, on and on, until it all folds in upon itself. Which it will, one day. Something\u2019s eating at him. Something inside him is not at peace. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s the raw passion of youth, I suppose. I\u2019m not judging him (well, maybe a little). I\u2019m not condemning him. And I wish him well. But his life would be so much calmer if he could just settle in a bit, and see the real peace that is there, if only he could accept some very simple truths. To him, and to all like him, I\u2019ll throw out a little challenge of my own.<\/p>\n

Claim what you claim to know, without all the drama. Stop it, with your demands for this and that, for others to prove themselves to your standards. Or to prove your superiority. Because when it comes to the finished work of Christ, it\u2019s all done. All of it. There is nothing we can do to deserve it. There is nothing we can do to earn it. Nothing. You will never grasp what true freedom really is until you grasp that simple concept. <\/p>\n

You don\u2019t have to take my word for it. But just try it. It\u2019s impossible for me to describe the joy of letting go of all that baggage.
\n****************************************<\/p>\n

Next Friday morning, I plan to head out early, hit the road. To Buffalo, New York. There, I will pick up my niece, Janice Marner, at the airport. And we\u2019ll cross the border into Canada and head on up to Aylmer. Janice, who works for Waste Management as a high-level executive in their management\u2019s consolidation team, has taken time from her hectic schedule to travel up with me to see her Grandma. I\u2019m delighted for her company. We plan to arrive late Friday and leave late Sunday night. <\/p>\n

And it\u2019s looking like my brother Titus and his family, and maybe my brother Nathan might be there right over that time as well. So we\u2019ll have a little reunion. But we’re all going to see Mom. I’m not quite sure what that’s going to be like. She’s the focal point that draws us. Back to the site of our childhood world.<\/p>\n

I want to see that childhood world, too, as much as possible. I want to drive around the old Aylmer settlement a bit. Maybe take a quick tour of the old home place and the old schoolhouse. We\u2019ll see. <\/p>\n

After my last post about Mom, things got a little, well, scary early the following week. I got a call from my sisters. Mom was shutting down. Kidney failure. And by Tuesday evening, I was pretty much on hair trigger alert, ready to head out on short notice. But somehow, as always up to this point, she pulled out of it. By Friday, she was functioning as normal. Those are tough people, of tough stock, her generation. And so she\u2019s pretty much back to normal, or what passes for normal for her these days. <\/p>\n

And it was all nip and tuck for a bit, but last Saturday evening, the great annual Ira Wagler Garage Party came down. I had randomly picked the date, August 4th, about two months ago. Invited more than thirty people. I wanted them all to attend, but of course, not all of them could make it. I ended up with 25 or so guests. <\/p>\n

They started trickling in around 5 or so. My friends, Dominic and Jamie Haskin from West Virginia drove up. And many locals, from every imaginable level and background. When I throw a party, my garage is a safe place for all. Neutral. Like Switzerland. Doesn\u2019t matter who you are, or where you’ve been. If you\u2019re invited to my party, you have safe passage. We just hang out, chill out, and enjoy the evening and the company of each other. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a> <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a> <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a> <\/p>\n

I grilled Stoltzfus Farm Meats sausages, as usual. On charcoal. I provided the meat, the sausage rolls, and the condiments. And a case of premium beer. All guests were encouraged to bring a salad or dessert. And they all came through, as usual. It was a magnificent feast. The evening arrived and unfolded, and then it was over. For one more year.<\/p>\n

The book reviews have been sporadic lately, but a few weeks ago, my Google alert snagged an interesting one. From Mennonite World Review<\/em>, a mainstream Mennonite publication. I\u2019ve never been associated with the mainstream Mennonites. And I\u2019ve always been a bit leery of them. Not as individuals, the ones I know are quite jolly and genuine and accepting. But I’m leery of them as a group. They tend to run around and spout the latest left-wing gibberish, be it global warming or \u201csocial justice\u201d (a code word for Marxism), gun control and a myriad of other pet project fiascoes like Obamacare and \u201cGreen\u201d energy. The intelligentsia, especially, tend to hold such views. Seems like they’re always burdened with torturous guilt for the perceived collective current and historical sins of the West. And always calling for some magical government solution, for sure some state intervention to make it all better again. Which basically means the state plunders from the productive at gunpoint and dispenses the loot as it pleases. <\/p>\n

And it astounds me, when I think of it historically. That they’ve strayed so far from the legacy of their founding patriarch, Menno Simons. That their ancestral memories are so darkened to the brutal persecution their people endured way back, their history of blood and death by fire and water and the sword. Inflicted by the state. And now, they turn to the state. Trust the state, the most murderous entity in all of human history. It makes no sense to me. I\u2019m talking about certain \u201cprogressive\u201d segments of the mainstream Mennonites, here. Not the more conservative groups. <\/p>\n

So when I saw the link to this review<\/a>, I opened it with some trepidation. They\u2019re gonna whack me. I just knew it. I was very pleasantly wrong. The guy really nailed it. He made many pertinent observations. He obviously understood my background. Knew where I\u2019d come from. But it was his closing paragraph that floored me. <\/p>\n

\u201cWagler writes that one must make peace with the past. But his main passion is for freedom.\u201d Yes. It is. My main passion is for freedom. Freedom from all oppression, be it religious or secular. Freedom from any oppressive church. And freedom from the state, which by its nature can only be oppressive and corrupt. <\/p>\n

And then the reviewer concluded in closing: \u201cFor that ideal he is as effective a writer as was his father for traditional Amish ways. Despite the pains of breaking away, the apple does not fall far from the tree.\u201d <\/p>\n

Sure, this was one reviewer, out of hundreds. And most or all of those hundreds might dispute the point. But no matter. Even from one lone perspective, it is an honor to be compared like that, to be judged as effective a writer in my world as my father was in his. <\/p>\n

There is no higher compliment.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For the wild tempest breaks above us, the wild fury beats about us, the wild hunger feeds upon us\u2014and we are houseless, doorless, unassuaged, and driven on forever… —Thomas Wolfe ______________ Wednesday of last week seemed like another ordinary morning at the office. But not for long. Early on, a phone call from a guy […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6413","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6413","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6413"}],"version-history":[{"count":169,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6413\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6590,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6413\/revisions\/6590"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6413"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6413"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6413"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}