JW's and Jesus

OK, so it's 6:12am and I'm writing my blog ... see a previous entry ... something about not being able to voluntarily sleep past 7am anymore. Urggh.

I had an experience on the weekend that I haven't really been able to shake, in a funny kind of way. (Don't you love it when people tell you they've had an 'experience' ... like it was some huge mystical encounter with the unknown and you're all prepared for some fascinating tale of adventure and intrigue ... and then their story couldn't be any flatter than a pancake? Well, consider this your warning ... pass the syrup.)

I was getting dressed on Saturday morning when I heard a car door slam in front of our house. I peeked through the curtains of our upstairs bedroom to see a nicely dressed elderly couple crawling out of a minivan. It was everything they could do to persuade all of their limbs to follow them out of the vehicle, only to then have the van speed away into oblivion like this was some top-secret mission and that was their get-away car. As soon as they gathered themselves, I could tell immediately who they were ... JW's! The Jehovah's Witnesses were stoppin' in for a visit.

I watched intently as they went to the house next door but I knew they wouldn't be there long because nobody lives in that house. Lucky house.

So I hustled downstairs trying to pull my shirt over my head and be at least half-presentable just in case Grandma and Grandpa Watchtower were already standing at my door. As it turned out, I sped past our front door to the safety of our kitchen where I could not be seen. I must admit, it's been a little while since I've showed such lightning quick reflexes, but I'm proud to say ... I still got it! And then the doorbell rang.

I stood there in complete silence, straining to hear every movement from our front porch. Nothing. Then Stacey came running up the stairs to do what every other normal person would do ... answer the door. I guess I'm not normal. Strangely enough, I'm OK with that. I used all the hand signals I know to get her attention and re-direct her before her identity was revealed, and then whispered, "Don't answer the door. It's the JW's!"

"Oh," she said, completely understanding. And then she went back downstairs.

I've asked myself a couple of times since then: why didn't I answer the door? Was it because I had clumped this nice older couple into the sweet cultic stereotype that often accompany JW's? I think that was part of it. But then I also conceeded to the fact that I didn't want to spend the next half-hour being preached at by people who are asking to come into my house, who don't know me from the next guy, and will likely forget all about me when they go to do the same thing with my neighbour. As much as I respect the boldness and courage that JW's show every time they go door to door, I also feel incredibly sorry for them. Likely because they've been trained to do something they see as eternally important, but they're stuck doing it in a way that isn't even close to being culturally relevant. Going from house to house and crossing names off a list seems more like a worldly approach to the spiritual than it does a spiritual approach to the worldly.

At the same time, some of that sounds like an excuse. Like I care more about my own feelings than I do about whether or not these people know the real Christ. I do care. About both. But I need to care more about the people than I do about whether or not my own feelings get lost in the fray. "... and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me" (Mt 10:38). Ouch.

I'm still not convinced that means I need to answer the door when I can see Jack and Jill Watchtower coming from a mile away. But maybe I need to start seeking more people who are on a journey but don't know where they're going. They're searching, but aren't sure what they're looking for. People asking questions, but still looking for answers.

My Saturday went on, as usual. But I'm still asking myself these questions. I'm glad for that.

Crazy. The things you learn when you don't answer the door ...