I’d chewed it over for a few weeks. I couldn’t really go to the Memorial. It was the end of the month – there was paperwork to do. There was a Manchester United game on the television. I needed to wash my hair that night. But there were other reasons why it made sense to attend – for this year at least – a fact I couldn’t get away from. In my heart I knew it , and more importantly , so did my wife. “Come on honey – you really ought to go.” And so the meeting suit trousers were slipped on , with some relief and satisfaction that I still fitted them after a whole year of business meals and functions had passed by. My favourite meeting tie was dusted down and the aftershave was splashed on like Barry Sheene in a Brut commercial , oblivious to the sisters with “allergy issues”. (Tough – I don’t need to set an example now!) It was me chasing the kids to get ready , for a change , and we hustled them out into the car.
After so many years going to the meetings it felt very familiar. My best mate from the BOE came over and shook my hand. “Can you do the instruction talk on Thursday?” he joked. Nothing much had changed in the congregation –– the babies that I remembered were toddlers now – the older ones now looked very frail. Very few studies – a few of the UBMs who came every year – hey , that’s me now!
The speaker seemed a bit nervous. He gave a reasonable , if somewhat disjointed talk but was heavily restricted by the WTS outline – only at the end did he feel able to speak openly & fluently & sincerely about what Jesus’s death meant to him. Primarily it seemed to be focused on stopping people partaking. I recognized the talk from a few years before (I checked this with the speaker who said that the outline was from 2006 with a couple of tweaks – obviously the anointed number had to be revised (upwards).)
People were friendly enough – one or two hugs – and a lot of small talk. I was shaking hands like a politician on election canvassing duty. A lot of catching up to do in a year. One or two were a bit unfriendly – I sensed a couple avoided me , easy to do in an almost full KH.
I couldn’t get into the new songs – whatever happened to “The Bread from Heaven.”? I started one of the new songs in the wrong key and as the tone went ever upwards found myself in singing in falsetto , much to the kids amusement.
Looking for the first time as an outsider , it seemed to be dry and lacking in any kind of emotional impact. It lacked the pomp & ceremony of a traditional church service and the informal sing-song of the born agains – the WTS have settled for a kind of lukewarm halfway-house that is neither fish nor fowl. I was struck by the advertorial at the end and the numerous references throughout the talk that if we respected Jesus’ sacrifice we had to get involved in “Christian activities” (presumably meetings and ministry). It all seemed somewhat out of keeping for what the occasion purported to represent – like being invited round to a friends house for dinner only to discover it is a tupperware party.
The bread & wine were duly passed around the hall. Bizarrely the father in front grazed his sleeping baby’s cheeks with the utensils – what was that all about? Would anyone partake – the nutty single pioneer sister with the funny hat perhaps? What about that alcoholic who comes every year and always has to be told not to drink the wine (old habits die hard!) Nobody did , so at least my old congregation won’t be adding to the growing number. The servers and the speaker then passed the emblems between each other in a kind of elaborate game of pass the parcel , in line with the WTS instructions.
We went back to a friends house for a bite to eat & a beer. A bit of friendly gossip & banter & catching up on old times , then time to move on. It was late.
“How do you feel?” she asked. I felt a bit numb. In one sense it was a bit cathartic – in another , somewhat confusing and unsettling , like picking at a blister that should have been left alone. The car pulled into the driveway and I pondered for a moment in the unseasonably cold air , looking at the full moon. Close friends were now strangers. The certainties of life have been replaced with uncertainties. A cup of hot cocoa and warm house and bed beckoned . Next year , perhaps? Who knows……….