Door To Door Adventures

From 1993-2008 roughly, I was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I don’t regret the time I spent there, because I was able to grow spiritually and socially, not to mention having the opportunity to travel around to local congregations and hone my speaking skills.

I also don’t regret leaving, because it was necessary for my emotional and spiritual health.

I steadfastly refuse to be a hater. The Society is what it is, and you can love it or hate it all you want but it’s still simply what it is: a church which sits outside the mainstream. It’s no more or less than that in my opinion.

How did I get out? Seriously, I simply stopped going. There were issues which influenced my need to leave while I was still capable of avoiding deep resentment. But they were the same basic kinds of issues I encountered among Baptists growing up in my family, so it’s not like these were special problems.

Although folks can tell you glowing or harrowing experiences they had either in or out of the organization, I’d like to share a few of my own. Some make me cringe, some make me smile.

Views of Field Service

I went preaching from door to door. It’s part of the package. You accepted it as part of the deal when you got baptized.

Here’s a secret: a lot of Witnesses really don’t enjoy the door to door work. Sometimes we’d hit a neighborhood and people found a multitude of reasons to stay in the car, or chose only to take a couple of houses which were clearly not inhabited at the moment. As long as you got to claim the 2 hours on your ministry log, it was all good in their minds.

I often hopped out of the car to catch someone just leaving, or started talking to folks on a bus, whatever. It was all about connecting with folks to share my beliefs.

Some see it as rude, and I do agree it’s a tad intrusive to just start preaching to folks uninvited at their home. But you would be surprised at how common the behavior really is.

Do you know how many Evangelical Christians hurl their beliefs into every conversation you can have with them? I didn’t ask you about your beliefs. I asked how you were, you said you were blessed, and then I got to hear praises. I just wanted you to ring up my purchase at Walmart so I could go home.

Do you know how many people shove their religious, political, ideological, and cultural beliefs on me on Facebook? I didn’t ask you how you felt about immigration, prayer in schools, Gay Marriage, or some political movement. But boy, I sure get to hear alllllll about it, don’t I? Sometimes by you holding colorful placards and shouting at me at stoplights.

I’m just saying that this nation has become all about shoving “my” opinions and beliefs into people’s lives at any convenient opportunity, uninvited and often unappreciated.

Door to door ministry ought to be a pretty standard event then, you’d think.

Experiences

·         I went to a house where a man was working on repairing his roof. I knocked on the door, in case someone in the house wasn’t quite as busy. A little boy came up and asked who I was. I introduced myself and the gentleman who was with me and asked if we could talk to his mom or someone since his dad was busy.

 

The little boy said that no one else was home but I could talk to his dad. He led us to the side of the house where a chain link fence and gate set off the back yard. As he put his hand on the gate latch, two very large dogs began a full-ahead sprint towards the same gate. A Chow and a Doberman Pinscher at full run. As I’m watching these two horses running towards me, I hear the boy simply mention:

 

“Be careful with the dogs. They’re mean.”

 

With that, the gate opened.

 

Things went into slow motion at that point, like I was in a movie.

 

My fellow preacher became one of the X-Men and teleported back to the car. I’d never imagined a person could relocate so instantly.

 

These two dogs cleared the gate without even slowing down. They would be on me before I could take another breath. So I simply said to myself, “Well, if I’m going to go, I’m going out nicely.” I believe I saw the man on the roof, gleefully getting ready to watch a reenactment of the Roman Coliseum.

 

I dropped my literature bag and put my hands out to the two dogs. “Hi guys!”

 

I was suddenly wearing two incredibly happy dogs.

 

“Hi! How are you? Who are you? Doesn’t matter, can we lick your face and demand that you pet us?”

 

Those two dogs just lavished affection on me. The boy stood and watched. The father on the roof threw his hammer on the ground and demanded angrily that I get the heck off his property (as it were).

 

Man he was angry. And frustrated. And disappointed. But his dogs had a great visit.

 

·         I went to one door where the house was set off from the street a little bit and obscured by trees. The gentleman came to the door and asked what I wanted. I skipped the basic intro we were using that morning and just told him we were in the neighborhood sharing the Bible with folks. He said that was cool, then something dawned on him. He asked that we excuse him, that he would be right back.

 

As we waited, he returned with a hunting rifle mounted with a beautifully shiny new scope.

 

He cocked it (or whatever the “correct term” is for getting ammunition in place to fire) and pointed it at us, then told us it would be a real good idea if we left immediately. I agreed.

 

The elder with me decided this would be a good time to start arguing with the man. No, seriously.

 

I walked back to the car and left them to their devices. I remember raised voices, but no report from the rifle. We left, and I wondered about all the criticism I had received over the years about just leaving when people told me to leave. If this elder was any indication of what was expected of me, I was in for a lot more criticism.

 

Today when people talk about being oppressed for their religion, I ask them if they’ve been face to face with a hunting rifle because of it. That’s 100% right there.

 

·         I knocked on one door and a young mother came to the door, followed by her toddler daughter. I started to explain why I was there, and the mother’s face just screwed up into this vicious scowl. She let me know how terrible I was, locked her front door, and slammed it in my face as hard as she could. It shook the front porch.

 

Unfortunately it also caught her little girl’s fingers, who had wandered to the door to see what was going on and had put her hand inside the door jamb to hang on to.

 

The screams of that little girl still make me shudder, some 10 years later. The mother couldn’t pry her out of the door, so it took a moment for her to get the door unlocked. She opened the door back up, thrust her daughter backwards into the living room, relocked the front door, then slammed it with undiminished anger.

 

I know she didn’t mean to hurt her daughter, and I pray the little girl’s hand ended up okay. But it does go to show how much hatred ordinary people can muster. It’s one reason I try to be very conciliatory when talking religion, politics, or other heated issues.

 

·         Once a woman came to the door while on the phone. We often met folks at the door while they were on the phone, and I never stayed. On rare occasions I slipped them a quick tract, but I never wanted to take up their busy time.

 

This lady opened the door, told the person on the phone to hang on a minute, and asked me, “What do you need? I’m on the phone here.”

 

I started to apologize for bothering her but I was interrupted.

 

By her phone ringing.

 

The look on her face…. The sheer disgust and defeat of pretending to be on the phone to cut a door visitor short, then having that very phone betray you by ringing when it was supposed to already be engaged. Her whole body just kind of sagged.

 

I smiled and said “You probably ought to answer that. Have a nice day,” then went on my way.

 

·         I got a couple of young men at one door who spooked my ministry partner for the day. These two came up grinning. I explained why we were there, and they informed me that they were worshipers of the devil. Their walls did indeed had an upside down cross on it, which they pointed out and asked me what I thought.

 

I shrugged. “Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t venerate the cross, so you can hang it upside down, sideways, or anything else and it doesn’t bother me.”

 

They slammed the door on me.

 

Rats. I was so sure I had some interest there.

 

·         Since we were there to discuss our religious views, a lot of Witnesses translated that as “We’re here to talk to you. So just be quiet about your beliefs and listen to us.”

 

I always found that unpalatable and ridiculous, so when I encountered someone who wanted to share their views I was usually ready to listen. An exchange of views was always a plus in my ministry.

 

One time this older gentleman invited me and the young lady with me in to have a chat. It turned out that he believed that his church – a small personal affair – was presided over by a blood descendant of Aaron, and their little group was the re-established Aaronic priesthood.

 

The sister I was with had enough of this guy’s explanations shortly before we even walked into his house, but I was intrigued. I asked questions, I shared verses, we discussed why I had some reservations about his claims.

 

He agrees that there was no explanation that would be sufficient to someone who didn’t believe it, but there it was.

 

I had never heard of this group, but it was the most fascinating visit I’d had in months.

 

The sister avoided me for some time after that call, simply because she had to sit there in disgust while I asked someone else about their beliefs.

 

That’s me.

 

·         Some householders were well known to Witnesses who worked certain neighborhoods often. My car group one day consisted of me, my wife, and two young women who knew of this house where a theologian lived.

 

These two girls suggested that they would take one side of the street, and maybe I could start with this big house on the edge of a cul-de-sac. It was a total set-up. The guy who lived there had taught religious studies and enjoyed twisting religious folks in knots with his reasoning powers and huge leading questions. He had humiliated a few witnesses over the years, and these two wanted to see me get my turn.

 

I had a wonderful time. He pitched, I batted. I pitched, he batted. He won some, I won some. At some point my wife wandered off bored, so it had just been him and me wandering about in some serious theological forest.

 

 I had just responded to one of his contentions about God’s willingness to just let his own son die, and he seemed like he was done. I waited a moment and then told him it was his turn. He smiled at me and we agreed we were both pretty tired.

 

My car group was standing nearby. They had finished the whole street and ended up just standing there listening. He told me “I’ll bet if you came back, I could turn you away from your belief system.” I smiled and replied, “I’ll bet you couldn’t.”

 

Back in the car, with a half hour behind us, the two girls wanted to know how badly he trounced me. I reported that I had stumped him as often as he stumped me, AND that I had placed a tract and a booklet with the guy, which he accepted.

 

They wouldn’t look at me the rest of the week, they were so mad.

 

·         For some, a person’s self-confidence is seen as pride and arrogance. I was often viewed as arrogant and haughty, which hurt. I was energized and loved interacting with people, and I was always prepared for almost anything I encountered (including the rifle; I was fully prepared to leave).

 

But sometimes my fellow Witnesses assumed many things about me which simply weren’t true, all because I sometimes triggered their own issues. One of these came out when we left Independence, Missouri to help out in a little town in northern Kansas called Troy.

 

The sister who was driving us gave me a very serious series of cautions and admonitions. Why? Because we were going into a rural setting, and in her opinion I was too “City” and would have to seriously change my way of talking and dealing with people if I was going to talk to anyone.

 

I was raised on a farm in the rural locale called Nevada, Missouri. Granted I’m very “City” but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to folks. She had her doubts. That was a painful thing to sit there and take. It still rankles.

 

We got out there, and I spent quite awhile at one farm. I got out of the car and walked up to a farmer who was wearing overalls and had been out with this huge power mower. I exchanged pleasantries, and he mentioned that his mower was all clogged up and jammed, maybe with a chunk of wood preventing the blade from spinning.

 

I put my bag down, and in my suit I got in there, helped him tip the mower over and together we spent awhile cleaning out his mower. We just chatted about stuff and life out on the farm. If he talked about problems with keeping two bulls apart or foxes from going after his chickens, I was right there with him. I didn’t say a thing about religion, because I wasn’t there anymore to preach: I was there to connect with people.

 

Covered in wet grass and rotten wood bits, we got his mower back up and running. Finally he mentioned that I was pretty dressed up to be doing stuff like that. Why was I there? I explained that I was there talking to folks about the Bible and asked if he was interested. He laughed. “No.” I smiled and shook his hand, and went on back to our meet-up place. It was my best call all day.

 

The sister still concluded I had probably messed everything up because there’s no way I could identify with common folks. She actually told me that. I still hurt from those words. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.

 

·         Once we were walking along a street and a woman in her car was approaching. She came quickly to a stop and rolled down her window to yell to us.

 

“Are you preachers?”

 

Usually this is a hint we were in for some grief, but that’s part of the job. “Yes ma’am, we are.”

 

She parked her car on the shoulder and ran across the street to us with her young teenage daughter. She actually had a favor to ask us.

 

They had just seen an auto accident, and apparently it freaked them out by triggering a bit of post-trauma from a severe accident they had been involved in a year or so before. They were both in tears, and asked if we would lead them in prayer.

 

Now I don’t know why the others with me were skeptical, or why they suddenly didn’t want to get involved. But a person in need had approached me for help; how was I going to say no?

 

It didn’t matter what their religion was, or what ours was. I led our little group in a prayer to God about His love, how He cares for those who feel sadness and fear, how He wants joy for us and grants strength to overcome the obstacles in life.

 

When I was done, she and her daughter thanked me gratefully through tears for doing that. I’m sure I never saw them again, and I didn’t try to chat. It was her need, and once we helped it would have been wrong to try and use that as an opportunity.

 

A lot of my fellow Witnesses disagreed and probably still would, but that was my position. Helping people was and is the true Christian service.

 

·         One last anecdote for now: The question of who goes to Heaven is a pretty gritty question sometimes. Many churches believe it’s their members and no others. Some believe it’s their members and anyone who agrees with them. Of course for Witnesses it got hung up on their position that Revelation’s report of 144,000 in Heaven was a literal number, and that caused some real debates at the door.

 

I accepted the teaching as being theirs, but I never insisted on it. I knew that to disagree was nearly a disfellowshipping offence, but I just never cared for it. This was my position going to this one door.

 

The gentleman who opened it had been schooled by his church on things to say to Witnesses at your door. Many churches in the world offer that little service to their members. Kind of a flow chart: if the Witness says that, then you say this, and follow the line of reasoning.

 

He launched right off.  “Hey, if I’m not one of the 144,000, does that mean I’m not going to Heaven?”

 

I was mad, not because he was confrontational, but because he sounded so well rehearsed that it made me realize he could only parrot what he had been told to say.

 

“Do I look like God?” I blustered back at him. “Who goes to Heaven is up to God, not you, not me, not any human. He’ll let Jesus do the judging and make the call in the future, but it’s not my call.”

 

He was floored. That did not go AT ALL the way his church said it would. He literally could not get a work to escape his open mouth.

 

Another person sitting nearby in the living room came to his rescue and tried to patch things up by leading the discussion to the next level, since I wasn’t playing by the rules.

 

“Well, you assert that Revelation makes it clear that the number 144,000 is literal.”

 

“A Bible book that is full of symbols says 144,000. But the ultimate decision is not up to any one of us. If God wants exactly 144,000 in Heaven, that’s how many will be there. If He wants exactly 1 person in Heaven, that’s how many will be there. If he wants everyone except exactly one person in Heaven, that’s what He’ll have. It’s up to him.”

 

I wished them a good day and walked away. The silence behind me was palpable, but then so was my disgust. I wished one of the “normal” Witnesses had gone to that door, because it would have been a perfectly matched yell-fest. I wanted to be reasonable, and that was becoming increasingly difficult for me, whether within the congregation or outside it.

 

In all, there were many great experiences and many terrible ones. But I went to the houses because I believed that’s what I should do. When I found it was no longer in line with my inner self, I stopped that along with everything else.

I had to leave after 15 years for my own sanity, and I can’t bring myself to ever go back. But really? I don’t regret the experience, not for a minute.

Hey, you know something that freaks Witnesses out today, though? Coming to my door.

That’s a party.