Toni Weingarten: With faith, I finally opened the door
05:21 PM CDT on Friday, May 13, 2005
By TONI WEINGARTEN / Special Contributor to The Dallas Morning News /
Most times when the doorbell rings, I open the door. Whether for trick-or-treaters, Girl Scouts hawking cookies, kids selling candy to support school programs, or adults seeking petition signatures. When it comes to answering my door I'm nonpartisan, with one exception:
Jehovah's Witnesses.
For as long as I can remember, and wherever I've lived, pairs of Witnesses have roamed the neighborhood. And my view of them has been consistent: I've seen them as misguided, as over-the-edge souls, as a nuisance. I open the door and leave it ajar for the Prophet Elijah at Passover, but let someone appear saying he has The Answer and the ability to save me, repeating the same verses of one book over and over ? well, all hospitality ends somewhere.
In my social circle, we value intellectual discourse and the free exchange of ideas. We were all schooled in various religious traditions, celebrate their holidays and live by their ethical constructs. We don't, however, wear God on our sleeves and we don't say our way or the highway ? which is how I've always interpreted the Witnesses' message.
Whenever the Witnesses came to my door ? like proverbial wolves ? I simply didn't answer. I'd pretend to be out. Or, I'd say through the closed door, "Sorry ? not interested." What could be defined as rude behavior toward anyone else, I saw as self-defense against insensitive intruders out to convert me.
Then, not long ago, the doorbell rang as I towel-dried my hair. I bounded to my stairwell landing.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Jehovah's Witness," came the reply.
"Sorry, I just stepped out of the shower, and I'm all wet," I called back, feeling magnanimous for giving a reason to not open the door.
I heard the Witnesses depart, and I returned to drying my hair. Hot air blowing over my head, I thought about these unwelcome callers, their proselytizing, and my own spiritual beliefs.
I'd always identified with being Jewish, dabbled in Vipassana meditation at a local Buddhist center, and even taken spiritual classes at some churches to round out my interest in comparative religions. Recently, I'd completed a year of study toward my adult Bat Mitzvah, learning Hebrew and chanting Torah in front of my congregation.
I spent the past several years developing my own faith practice and relationship with God. With the recent death of a close friend and my father, I found myself relying on these new practices for nourishment and strength, feeling fortunate to have them for support. I began training to be a spiritual director ? a companion to those wanting to explore and deepen their relationship with the divine.
With my head hanging between my knees and the sound of the dryer in my ears, it came to me. I stood upright. How, I asked myself, could I study to help others connect with God, but not face someone who came to my door with that same purpose?
Sure, the people I assist seek me out, while the Witnesses seek out those who may have absolutely no desire to get into a religious discussion. I could easily justify myself and condemn them. Instead, I felt a kernel of admiration for the Witnesses.
Here were people whose faith propelled them to plod through foreign neighborhoods, knowing they'd face many hostile responses. I felt a flush of shame at my behavior and ran down the stairs, my hair spraying droplets in my wake.
Opening the front door, I spotted the Witnesses several houses away: two middle-aged women conservatively dressed in blazers, blouses with collars closed at the neckline, loose skirts falling below their knees, sensible shoes and neatly coiffed hair. They each carried a Bible.
"Hello," I called out waving, happy that my dripping hair gave credibility to my earlier excuse. The two women began walking up the sidewalk toward me.
"Hi, sorry I couldn't open the door earlier," I said. The women smiled. I prepared myself to be friendly but not leave room for being proselytized.
"I just want you to know that I'm happy with my own faith tradition ? I'm Jewish," I said, "but I admire the dedication and depth of your belief that keeps you going door to door as you do."
"Thank you," said one of the women, the other hanging back a bit. "It's amazing how many people need to hear what we have to tell them, but don't want to listen."
"Well, my own faith certainly helps me," I said, emphasizing the word "my." "And I know how much you must care and believe to devote yourself to this work."
The silent woman began to move toward me. Not wanting to get into a theological discussion ? or argument ? I felt it time to retreat. I'd mended my fences.
"I have to go get dry," I said, indicating my hair. They smiled in acknowledgement
"Take care, bye," I said and they responded in kind.
And then I gently closed the door, but not my heart.
Toni Weingarten, a San Francisco-based freelance writer, can be reached at [email protected].