This was inspired by Seven006's fascinating series on his consulting trip to Bethel. Wonder if anyone else has a story like this to tell?
My first memory of questioning whether the revered bethel experience might be somewhat less than what was advertised was:
A young man in our congo, son of an elder, not particularly bright, went off to bethel. This was decades ago and I was new in the "truth." We had a going-away for him and were all terribly impressed that one of our own as going to the show, as it were.
Some 6-9 months later, he was back in our congo. He'd been sent home, apparently, but no one knew exactly why. I asked the elder who had studied with me, kind of a big-brother figure to me, and he literally whispered his response: "We really aren't allowed to talk about it. Let's just say, he didn't fit in there. Sometimes that happens and they ask you to leave."
The rumors in the congo suggested some sort of girl trouble, but details were in conflict and it appeared there was a lot of guessing. When asked about it, the young brother's enigmatic response was something like: "It just didn't work out. I really can't say more." In time, we just all stopped asking.
I did notice on his return that he had gone from his clean scrubbed appearance to a look I'd characterize as wordly wise. He had a moustache that probably pushed up against the boundary of what was considered acceptable facial hair by the elders at the time; he wore his hair as long as he could get away with. I really noticed his eyes; they were wary and averted my gaze; looking back, I suspect he had seen or was thinking things he did't want to discuss.
After several months of sporadic meeting attendance, he just dropped out of sight.
A few months after that, we were out in service in really crummy part of town, the kind of place where you instructed all the sisters not to go inside if invited and told the group to stick together and nobody turns a corner at the end of the street unless there are at least two other couples close to you. These were mostly old, run down trailers sitting atop bare dirt lots with no walks, no landscaping. Of course there were cars up on blocks and broken appliances sitting out back gathering dust. You get the picture.
A teenager girl, maybe 16-17, answered the door. Her skimpy tank top revealed a belly that said she was many months pregnant. She had a beer in her hand, probably her breakfast. When she opened the door, the air floated out and reeked of stale cigarette smoke and brewer's yeast.
Undaunted, we launched into our presentation, at which she just stepped back inside as though she didn't want to be in this conversation; as she did so, leaving the door open, she revealed a young man lying on the couch in his underwear. He sat up and it took a minute to recognize him because of the scraggly beard and dirty, matted shoulder length hair. He sat up on the couch, probably only 10 feet from the door in this single wide trailer, and made no effort to stand. Then I realized he was our former bethelite. I'm afraid I wasn't very tactful. I blurted out the first words that popped in my head. "What happened to you?" I said, calling him by his first name.
He just grinned at me. "Do you need some help?" I asked. He shook his head. After a long silence we said our goodbyes and moseyed off to the next door, in search of sheep, I suppose, and filled with wonder.