The slow unraveling of a religious empire often begins not with a bang, but
with the death of a voice that once held together its illusions. One such
figure, revered by his followers yet increasingly exposed by history, presided
over a movement that claimed divine authority but could not withstand the
scrutiny of time or intellect. His eccentric literary style—marked by
breathless exclamation points, bizarre prophetic reinterpretations, and
tortured grammar—once enchanted his faithful, masking the inherent contradictions
and failed prophecies embedded in their theology.
After his death in the early 1990s, the movement's literature visibly
changed. Those who remained inside described a clear shift: from the feverish,
verbose style of their fallen leader to a simplified, almost childlike tone
designed for the most basic comprehension. The complicated "types and
antitypes," the Cold-War-fueled doomsday scenarios, and the smug
pseudo-intellectualism gave way to watered-down, repetitive platitudes. It was
as if the intellectual engine had been removed, and all that remained was a
clumsy machine sputtering along on inertia. The faithful noticed: no longer
were there grand, if bizarre, theological constructions. Instead, came a steady
diet of reprints, half-hearted experiences, and shallow illustrations fit for
teenagers, hardly the "spiritual feast" once promised.
The once-central notion of a select, heavenly class—the "anointed
remnant"—faded into obscurity as theological embarrassment forced a quiet
retreat. With the number of professed "anointed" rising unexpectedly,
the leadership resorted to dismissing many of them as mentally unstable. This
astonishing admission, dressed in diplomatic language, only highlighted the
movement's inability to sustain its own doctrine without contradiction. The
supposed "faithful and discreet slave" morphed from a collective body
into a handful of men who had crowned themselves as the sole interpreters of
God's will, conveniently brushing aside the theology they once preached.
Compounding the decay, the aftermath of failed prophetic
expectations—especially the dramatic redefinition of the "generation"
doctrine in the mid-1990s—struck a devastating blow. Many realized then that
the promise of imminent deliverance was nothing more than a cynical mechanism
to ensure loyalty and obedience. Those awake enough to see the betrayal either
fled or hardened into a hollow compliance, while the institution itself sank
deeper into irrelevance, slowly transforming into yet another aging, shrinking sect
clinging to past glories.
What becomes clear through the recollections and reflections of those once
inside is that this was never the work of divine inspiration. Rather, it was
the handiwork of fallible men driven by personal ambition, cloaked in theological
jargon, sustained by a never-ending deferral of accountability. The proud
claims of superior biblical knowledge, once wielded against the historic Church
and her sacred Tradition, now lay in ruins, exposed as little more than
recycled human speculation polished with the occasional proof-text.
This sect arrogated to itself an authority it neither possessed nor could
sustain. It turned sacred Scripture into a malleable tool, bent to fit the
changing needs of a self-appointed "faithful" class. The result has
been theological chaos, moral disillusionment, and the slow crumbling of
confidence among its own members.
Ultimately, the tragedy of this movement lies not merely in its failed
prophecies or its clumsy literature. It lies in the countless souls misled by
men who spoke loudly in the name of God but carried none of the marks of His
Church—unity, holiness, catholicity, and apostolicity. As the once-enthusiastic
proclamations now fade into an increasingly irrelevant background noise, one is
reminded that Christ promised to build His Church upon the rock, and that the
gates of hell would not prevail against it. No such promise was ever made to
the founders of human sects, no matter how fervently they declared themselves
His exclusive channel.
Their writings crumble, their followers dwindle, but the true Church
endures—her voice steady, her teaching unbroken, her mission secure until the
end of time.
The 1992 funeral talk
delivered by Albert Schroeder for Frederick W. Franz is a fascinating window
into the theology, ideology, and internal mythology of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
It is, at the same time, a tragic display of spiritual delusion and doctrinal
error. While the tone is reverent and filled with nostalgic admiration, the
content of this lengthy eulogy testifies not to the glory of God, but to the
self-validating structure of a theological system built on sand. The praise
heaped upon Franz is not the celebration of a saint but the veneration of a
false prophet.
Schroeder's address
elevates Franz to near-apostolic status—calling him a "big tree of
righteousness," likening him to the Apostle Paul in stature and ministry,
and crediting him with spiritual oversight over millions. But what is never
addressed is the fundamental question: was he right? Did he teach truth? A true
prophet must speak consistently with the deposit of faith once delivered to the
saints (Jude 1:3). Franz, by contrast, presided over a religious organization
infamous for its doctrinal reversals, failed prophecies, and unbiblical
innovations.
The eulogy praises Franz’s
involvement in the 1914 doctrine—that Christ began to reign invisibly that
year—and boasts of his connection to the so-called “anointed class.” Yet this
teaching is not just absent from Christian history prior to the late 19th
century; it contradicts both Scripture and the historic witness of the Church.
Nowhere does the Bible teach that Christ’s Kingdom would be established
invisibly in 1914, or that such a date should be calculated from the
destruction of Jerusalem in 607 B.C.—a date which itself is demonstrably false,
as every serious historian and archaeologist agrees the destruction occurred in
587/586 B.C. The Watchtower’s 607 date was invented to prop up a failed
prophetic system stemming from Charles Taze Russell’s original 1914 prediction
of the end of the world.
Franz’s legacy is
inextricably tied to this theological fraud. Though Schroeder frames his
“spiritual insight” as evidence of divine favor, we must view his long tenure
as one of persistent error. Franz is lauded for defending the use of
"Jehovah" as God's name, yet he helped propagate a translation (the
New World Translation) that has been widely condemned by scholars of every
background for its distortions of the biblical text. The removal of explicit
references to the divinity of Christ, the mutilation of John 1:1, and the
insertion of “Jehovah” into the New Testament where no Greek manuscript ever
contains it—these are not the works of a faithful steward of the Word, but of
an ideologue crafting Scripture to match dogma.
More troubling still is
Schroeder's triumphalist theology of death. Franz is declared to have already
been resurrected “to incorruptible life in heaven,” in accordance with 1
Corinthians 15:52. Yet Scripture teaches that the general resurrection happens
at the end of time, not at the moment of death (John 5:28–29; 1 Thess.
4:16–17). The Watchtower’s teaching that only 144,000 go to heaven, and that
Franz is among this elite spiritual caste, is an arrogant twisting of
Revelation’s symbolic numbers. Heaven is offered to all the faithful who die in
a state of grace, not just to a select remnant of organizational elites.
Schroeder’s sentimentalism
masks the deeper problem: the Jehovah’s Witnesses are not mourning a humble
servant of Christ, but a builder of a theological empire based on deception.
Franz, along with his predecessors, led millions away from the Eucharist, from
the Trinity, from the communion of saints, and from the Church founded by
Christ. He is said to have had a "hunger for God's Word," yet he
refused the Bread of Life (John 6:51), the Body and Blood of Jesus offered in
the Holy Mass, and denied the divinity of the very Savior he claimed to serve.
We must not be deceived by
eloquent speeches or charming anecdotes. The measure of a Christian life is not
institutional success or personal charisma, but fidelity to truth. Franz’s
legacy is not one of holiness, but of heresy. His decades of influence
entrenched millions in false doctrine, discouraged higher education, prohibited
blood transfusions at the cost of innocent lives, and led many to shun their
own families for the sake of organizational loyalty.
Catholics pray for the
dead, trusting in God’s mercy and justice. We do not pretend to know the
eternal fate of any soul. But we are bound to judge teachings and fruits. And
the fruit of Franz’s labor is schism, error, and spiritual blindness. If he is
remembered, let it be as a warning of how easily charismatic leadership and
pseudo-biblical rigor can lead souls astray. Let it move us to pray not only
for those who die in error, but for the countless still living under its sway.
May they come to know the Church that Christ built—not in 1919, not in
Brooklyn, but on the rock of Peter, in communion with the one, holy, catholic,
and apostolic Church.
