The Ghosts of the Kingdom Hall

I love the Beatles song; Eleanor Rigby.  It's a haunting tale of loneliness and it has always reminded me of the ghosts in the Kingdom Hall.

Every day I see an elderly lady go by my house, sometimes two or three times, walking her dogs. She's a sprightly woman with dyed black hair, a pinched face and an air of constant worry.  If she see's me she will always wave or stop and have a few words.  On a Sunday morning she passes my front door at precisely nine thirty five, without her dogs in tow and dressed in her Sunday best, as she heads for the Kingdom Hall. 

For the purposes of this blog I will call her Joan, though that is not her real name.  Joan has been a Witness for decades but she is what I call a JW ghost.  She never misses a meeting, she is regular on field service and she occasionally answers during the Watchtower study.  She lives alone and within the Kingdom Hall she has a very small circle of friends, in fact probably only two, both of whom are in similar circumstances to Joan.

When I used to go to the Hall it would be very rare to see Joan speaking with anyone accept her close companions and I never saw her at any 'congregation' events like anniversary parties, wedding receptions, Sunday afternoons in the park or the like.  It wasn't that other Witnesses deliberately didn't invite her or her friends, it was simply that they didn't even think to invite her.  She was viewed as a strange old lady and nobody really took any notice of her.

Towards the end of my time as a Witness I developed a cynical streak towards the encouraging words the elders would spout from the platform and the discouraging actions they would demonstrate in their dealings with the congregation.  I would watch and count how many of them would actually go up and talk to Joan at each meeting, not just a quick 'hello, are you okay' and walk away - a few certainly did that but rather, a proper 'shepherd encouraging his flock' approach to a lonely old lady who, though indubitably odd by traditional standards, was still a faithful and dependable member of the congregation.  In the three months that I watched not a single elder ever uttered more than a courteous greeting to her.

Joan is indicative of many in the congregations.  They are not amongst the popular members, the charismatic ones, the 'important' ones.  They don't have the social network of the young or the 'get go' personalities of the middle income families in their thirties, forties and fifties.  They receive no recognition for their teaching skills because the only ones they are allowed to teach are the non-Witnesses in their territory.  They have no family in the congregation to draw them into the social side of the religion. They are not originally from their current congregation so they don't have the anchor of being a part of the congregations foundations.  They are simply a statistic in the congregation report.

At my last Memorial attendance I watched the Elders and Ministerial Servants fawn over the usual suspects who visit the Kingdom Hall once a year (as if attending somehow indemnifies them if it turns out Jehovah and Armageddon are in fact real).  Those with wide smiles and vigorous handshakes, uttering platitudes to the Witnesses they've slagged off all year and who they will slag off again on the way back home.   I watched as they were shown to their seats, provided with song books and bibles and told how welcome they were and how lovely it was to see them again.

At the same time Joan slipped through the door, made her way to her usual place in the back room and sat waiting for the opening song.  Only her two friends even acknowledged her presence.  

The Governing Body talk about the love of the brothers.  They talk about Shepherding the flock and how Jehovah loves all of his servants.  Yet in every congregation I have attended there have been Joans - ghosts who slip in and out of the Kingdom Hall without ever being fully accepted and embraced by the congregation.

Like Eleanor Rigby, Joan will likely die a lonely lady.  A few will attend her funeral but most will carry on their usual routine and within just a few weeks Joan's name will be forgotten.  She will be just another victim of the religion - another life wasted in service to a God who doesn't exist and an organisation that talks the talk but doesn't walk the walk.