The American Baptists are in a whole heap of organizational trouble on all sides. It will be interesting to
see how it all shakes out.
Posts by Terry
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4Baptists have more in common with JW's than they think
by Terry inhttps://apnews.com/article/baptist-religion-sexual-abuse-by-clergy-southern-convention-bfdbe64389790630488f854c3dae3fd5"leaders of the southern baptist convention, america’s largest protestant denomination, stonewalled and denigrated survivors of clergy sex abuse over almost two decades while seeking to protect their own reputations, according to a scathing 288-page investigative report issued sunday.. these survivors, and other concerned southern baptists, repeatedly shared allegations with the sbc’s executive committee, “only to be met, time and time again, with resistance, stonewalling, and even outright hostility from some within the ec,” said the report.. the seven-month investigation was conducted by guidepost solutions, an independent firm contracted by the executive committee after delegates to last year’s national meeting pressed for a probe by outsiders.. “our investigation revealed that, for many years, a few senior ec leaders, along with outside counsel, largely controlled the ec’s response to these reports of abuse ... and were singularly focused on avoiding liability for the sbc,” the report said.
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Terry
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WHERE do I live? Some people call it COWTOWN
by Terry inwhere do i live?.
people say: cowtown.
i say: it ain't.. i've lived in fort worth all but ten of my seventy-five years.. nobody ever asked me why fort worth is called cow town.. i would guess it is self-evident.. how many of us who live in fort worth realize those two words are gleaming with history?.
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Terry
NonCoinCollector
The cattle from Fort Worth often ended up in Abilene, Wichita, and Dodge City, Kansas. Which is were I have spent most of my life. Nice to know a little history from Fort Worth.
NON COIN COLLECTOR :
Is that sort of like "ain't Indian"? -
11
WHERE do I live? Some people call it COWTOWN
by Terry inwhere do i live?.
people say: cowtown.
i say: it ain't.. i've lived in fort worth all but ten of my seventy-five years.. nobody ever asked me why fort worth is called cow town.. i would guess it is self-evident.. how many of us who live in fort worth realize those two words are gleaming with history?.
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Terry
Simon: We're in Calgary, also called "Cowtown"
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Hmmm, shouldn't it be CAL Town? :) -
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WHERE do I live? Some people call it COWTOWN
by Terry inwhere do i live?.
people say: cowtown.
i say: it ain't.. i've lived in fort worth all but ten of my seventy-five years.. nobody ever asked me why fort worth is called cow town.. i would guess it is self-evident.. how many of us who live in fort worth realize those two words are gleaming with history?.
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Terry
WHERE DO I LIVE?
People say: COWTOWN
I say: It ain't.
I've lived in Fort Worth all but ten of my seventy-five years.
Nobody ever asked me why Fort Worth is called Cow Town.
I would guess it is self-evident.
How many of us who live in Fort Worth realize those two words are gleaming with history?
-FORT-
A real fort way back in the 1800s protected the army from very upset people "already" living in the territory.
We used to call them Indians.
(Columbus: "Oops, we're not in India?")
Heck - these indigenous tribes even called themselves that.
But - who am I to argue? I'll call them "ain't Indians."
The local Fort was named after a soldier named Worth.
-WORTH-
William Worth, a General in the U.S. Army in the 1840s.
Worth joined the Army when the War of 1812 erupted.
He was only 18 years old.
What’s odd about this?
Worth was reared by deeply religious parents who were Quakers! One suspects an 18-year-old Quaker boy was extremely anxious to get away from a fanatical religious community even if it meant physical danger!
Quakers were rigorous Pacifists.
However...Great Britain had long been interfering with trade on the high seas, kidnapping Americans and impressing them into forced servitude, as well as bribing the ain’t-Indians to attack settlers.
President Madison requested Congress declare war in 1812 and the young Quaker jumped at a chance to demonstrate what a tough apostate Quaker could do to put the kibosh on ‘bad guys.’
In his first battle against the Chippewa (ain’t-Indians), Worth was almost fatally wounded. Afterward, he was awarded the rank of Major for his bravery (if not effectiveness.)
In the next ten years, he fought against the Seminoles and rose in rank again to General after fighting in every major battle between the U.S. and Mexico.
Unfortunately, he died of cholera in 1849. (Drinking bad water.)
If he had been less religious, he'd have been drinking beer or whiskey, eh?
Just .saying..
Do you suppose William Worth is buried in the city named after him?
You’d be wrong. He was buried in Brooklyn, New York. (Don’t ask!)
What is important is that General Worth was considered a great military tactician. He proposed building a series of 10 protective forts to be constructed in the newly won Mexican territory (ain’t-yet-Texas) and one of those forts was named in his honor.
Why? What's so special about a non-liquor-drinking dead Major who was an apostate Quaker? Personally, he was admirable. A real gentleman - and a fabulous mentor.
A big admirer of Worth - a young Major who hero-worshipped Worth had been dispatched to find an ideal spot for one of these forts.
His name was Ripley Arnold.
Arnold established a post on the banks of the Trinity and named it Camp Worth in honor of the late General Worth.
In August 1849, Arnold moved the camp to a north-facing bluff that overlooked the mouth of the Clear Fork.
The US War Department officially granted the name "Fort Worth" to the post on 14 November 1849.
Got that? Okay!
The trouble with ain’t-Indians continued until the U.S. Army abandoned Fort Worth in 1853 at which point it becomes an ain’t-Fort.
An abandoned fort just sitting next to the Trinity River with the sound of crickets and cicadas sounds pretty sad, huh?
Oh sure - a few people remained. But what did they call the place in which they lived?
Let's consider the following...
(Note: armies and settlers from Spain called the area belonging to them, “Tejas”.)
Why?
The indigenous people, Caddo, welcomed them as friends and “Tejas” means “allies.” Or: Friends.
(Ironically, this is what Quakers call each other!)
Over time, before Texas became a sovereign nation in 1836, Texian or Texican referred to any resident, of any color or language.
I tell people I AM A TEXICAN.
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What is now called Texas existed under 6 different flags in the course of its history.
"Six countries have had sovereignty over some or all of the current territory of the U.S. state of Texas:
1, Spain (1519–1685; 1690–1821),
2. France (1685–1690),
3. Mexico (1821–1836),
4. Republic of Texas (1836–1845),
5. Confederate States of America (1861–1865),
6. The United States of America
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Here’s the part you need to understand…
The early settlers in the area around Fort Worth were rugged individualists. They flourished and built stores, schools, hospitals, department stores, and all the trappings of what would become a city.
I’ve lived in Fort Worth since 1947 and I recognize the names of these founding fathers on buildings, street signs, parks, and businesses as their legacy as indomitable folk who stuck with their dreams when even the U.S. Army gave up and moved on.
I like that Ft. Worth is named after an Apostate! I’m one too, after all.
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“So, Terry, is that the whole story? You didn’t explain the Cowtown Ain’t the title of this tale.”
Yes, you’re right.
Hang in and hang on and you’ll be repaid for your patience, gentle reader!
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The city of Fort Worth is inside the greater County of Tarrant.
By the time the Civil War broke out in 1860, Tarrant County had 850 slaves to account for and roughly 6,000 whites (who probably were white.) The County flourished with free labor at its core and soon voted to abandon its fealty to other States in America by seceding from the Union.
Was this a prudent business decision, a good Christian decision, a patriotic decision, or just a case of CYA? (Cover yer ass.)
History tells the tale.
Judgment is rendered in the results of that decision by the founding fathers of Fort Worth and Tarrant County.
At the end of the Civil War, Fort Worth was down to a population of 175 persons. If that doesn’t teach you a lesson--you’re never going to learn one.
How did Fort Worth revive its economy?
Glad you asked!
The answer in one word is cattle.
Fort Worth became COWTOWN.
Pause and reflect...
Longhorns stolen and purchased from Mexico were driven up through the middle of Texas toward the well-watered triple branched TRINITY River complex and...Cowtown (Fort Worth.)
Here’s a fast fact for you.
Texas is mostly prairie, grassland, hills and desert, forests, and only ONE natural lake: Caddo.
Texas is FLAT and DRY except for its rivers.
If you’re driving cattle, you’re compelled to follow the grass and the rivers. If you do that, you end up in Fort Worth: Cowtown.
Between 1866 and 1890, 4 million head of cattle passed through Cowtown (Fort Worth.)
Once railroads became established in 1876, the idea of a treacherous land journey through hostile territories was abandoned.
Cowboys spent their money and moved on.
When did COWTOWN become AIN’T COWTOWN?
You ask a lot of questions - don't you?
Well, listen up Pilgrim.
Greenleaf Simpson was a wealthy Boston capitalist, seduced into investing in local stockyards by some fast talk and sweet promises of wealth to come. In 1893, Simpson offered $133 thousand for the local stockyards and he, in turn, lured other Northern capitalists to join him in the meatpacking business. By the year 1900, both Armour and Swift had opened regional processing plants in the area.
The flow of cattle, stock exchanges, slaughterhouses, meat processing industries made Fort Worth the “Wall Street of the West.”
Feeders and Breeders convened regularly at the newly constructed Cowtown Coliseum and an annual Fat Stock Show and Rodeo commenced its tradition.
1923 arrived as $30 million flowed through the local economy.
Over 5 million cattle were processed and rendered by WWII until the boom turned after the war into a bust.
The rise of Interstate highways and the trucking industry replaced transportation of goods by the railroads and the cattle markets shrunk into smaller and smaller venues.
By the 1980s, the 5 million cattle which had once invigorated Fort Worth had shriveled into a pathetic 57 thousand annually.
NEW INDUSTRY
Luckily, a new industry had soon replaced the old one.
This new industry didn’t have to be fed, watered, or driven through prairies or slaughtered and packed for shipment.
The discovery of OIL brought a new source of revenue replacing the cattle industry.
I know I don’t need to explain the oil industry to you. Do I?
Wildcat drilling using venture capital either produced active wells or completely failed.
The trick was finding investors to give you money.
(Historical note: George Bush the younger had a real knack for accepting millions of dollars from his father’s friends and political acquaintances to “invest” in wildcat wells.
Now don't make fun:
None of the wells paid off and young Bush kept the leftover funds for his upcoming career in politics. (That's another story.)
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NICKNAMES
Fort Worth has many nicknames such as “Where the West Begins”, “Panther City”, and “Cowtown.”
Having lived here for 70 years out of 74, I can tell you the identity of this city is pretty much a fantasy clinging to a faded past of romantic cowboys and ‘Indians’ and cattle drives, saloons, and a Hell’s Half Acre.
We are actually a metropolitan area of less than a million people, 99% of whom have absolutely nothing to do with COWS!
You're not shocked at that are you?
Fort Worth largely exists because of the largesse of billionaires such as Richard Rainwater and the four Bass brothers.
Forbes magazine published this on March 21, 2016:
“The four billionaire Bass brothers--Sid, Edward, Robert, and Lee--inherited a small fortune from their oil-tycoon uncle four decades ago and have built it up to a combined $8.2 billion.“
If you are a billionaire and you wish to be a large fish in a small pool, Fort Worth is an excellent way to gain notice and attract others who will fuel your fiefdom with talent and funds as well.
For example, Richard Rainwater was a stockbroker hired by Sid Bass who started his own investment firm locally, and with his guidance, the Bass brothers became private equity and hedge fund titans.
As a matter of record, in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, 20 billionaires have made their home, if--for no other reason--Texas is only 1 of 2 states in America that does NOT have a State income tax! Dallas and Fort Worth are about as far north and west as you can go and still have the best of two worlds: rural and homespun as well as modern and cosmopolitan.
(Yes, I have met some--not all--of these philanthropists and Titans and found them to be down-to-earth and ‘just folks’ for the most part.
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LOCAL FACTS
We have a remarkable Library system with amazing donors affiliated with free concerts and programs of the highest quality. The Van Cliburn Competition locally brings superb artistic genius into our city as a source of much pride and celebration.
Bass Hall is a latter-day Opera House with perfect acoustics and lavish architecture as a venue for musicals, concerts, ballet, and mixed events at the highest level of performance.
Check it out for yourself.
MY ROOTS
My great grandmother’s husband was Jim Rushing, a gambler shot in the back by Alderman and Saloon owner, Martin McGrath, here in Fort Worth, in 1894.
(My grandfather was 4 years old at the time.)
Fort Worth, where you could be a policeman and own a saloon at the same time. (Famously, Wyatt Earp earned $1000 a week from his share of saloon business.)
Great grandmaw Florence never quite got over it and told me tales of that time period with tears in her eyes.
I learned to think of our fair city as something not lost in the past, but as a survivor of hard times and bad men and rotten situations brought on by happenstance, bad luck, and wrong-headed decisions.
But we survived, shook off the old ways, and moved ahead to join the real world.
The moral of the story and the point of this article is as follows:
We live here because we don't want to live elsewhere.
That is a choice.
We have a colorful history and I told you way more than you wanted to know. But I'll end by saying this.
We Ain’t Cowtown--we’re a Now town!
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No beards...even Jesus! Strange Watchower rule for brothers!
by Witness 007 inwatchtower 1954 p.511 "why do watchtower publications now show jesus with short hair and no beard?
because he is shown that way in older representations of him that are older then the traditional effeminate looking pictures.".
watchtower 1968 p.286 "bible evidence and a recent review shows that jesus did have a beard..." charles russell style of beard was popular at bethel...till rutherford took over.
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Terry
UNDER THE BANNER OF HEAVEN (Hulu tv series from the Krakauer true crime novel) opened my eyes
to the parallel problems both Mormons and JW's have faced historically.
(What took down Joseph Smith was the plural wives doctrine and his flagrant flouting of Victorian Era norms.
He was murdered by a mob.)
Now here is where the parallel begins ...
The successor of Joseph Smith was Brigham Young and he had a healthy face full of weird beard!
Brigham Young surrounded himself with vigilantes (more weird beards) who - at his behest - would murder
folks who opposed him. So outrageous were his exploits that the U.S. Army faced off against him and his cadre.
Let us fast forward at this point...
What saved the Mormon Church (i.e. Latter-Day Saints) was more reasonable people who did everything they could to tame plural marriage and expunge radicals. How does this parallel JW's you ask?
BEARDS!
Radicals inside the church were the equivalent of Apostates who split off and continued to practice "the old ways."
If you got in their way - the doctrine of Blood Atonement was invoked and those buggers would murder you!
Where is the parallel?
Russell's faithful followers were Bible Student factions and they sported Taze whiskers. These folks opposed the Rutherford regime. He viewed "Russellites" the same way the GB views ex JW apostates: public enemy #1.
Rutherford was very much like Brigham Young in temperament but the opposite when it came to extra wives. Heck, he and Berta didn't travel or sleep together.
My point?
To this day - the sensitivity toward a very cringe-worthy past history exists in BOTH Mormon and JW leaders' knee-jerk intolerance of "the Old Ways in the Old Days" and that means particularly: BEARDS.
WATCH that short TV series about the True Crime in Utah when radical beard-wearing apostate Mormons took it upon themselves to quote and practice authentic early advent Mormon teachings, doctrines, and covenants.
It is fantastic! -
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Baptists have more in common with JW's than they think
by Terry inhttps://apnews.com/article/baptist-religion-sexual-abuse-by-clergy-southern-convention-bfdbe64389790630488f854c3dae3fd5"leaders of the southern baptist convention, america’s largest protestant denomination, stonewalled and denigrated survivors of clergy sex abuse over almost two decades while seeking to protect their own reputations, according to a scathing 288-page investigative report issued sunday.. these survivors, and other concerned southern baptists, repeatedly shared allegations with the sbc’s executive committee, “only to be met, time and time again, with resistance, stonewalling, and even outright hostility from some within the ec,” said the report.. the seven-month investigation was conducted by guidepost solutions, an independent firm contracted by the executive committee after delegates to last year’s national meeting pressed for a probe by outsiders.. “our investigation revealed that, for many years, a few senior ec leaders, along with outside counsel, largely controlled the ec’s response to these reports of abuse ... and were singularly focused on avoiding liability for the sbc,” the report said.
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Terry
https://apnews.com/article/baptist-religion-sexual-abuse-by-clergy-southern-convention-bfdbe64389790630488f854c3dae3fd5
"Leaders of the Southern Baptist Convention, America’s largest Protestant denomination, stonewalled and denigrated survivors of clergy sex abuse over almost two decades while seeking to protect their own reputations, according to a scathing 288-page investigative report issued Sunday.These survivors, and other concerned Southern Baptists, repeatedly shared allegations with the SBC’s Executive Committee, “only to be met, time and time again, with resistance, stonewalling, and even outright hostility from some within the EC,” said the report.
The seven-month investigation was conducted by Guidepost Solutions, an independent firm contracted by the Executive Committee after delegates to last year’s national meeting pressed for a probe by outsiders.
“Our investigation revealed that, for many years, a few senior EC leaders, along with outside counsel, largely controlled the EC’s response to these reports of abuse ... and were singularly focused on avoiding liability for the SBC,” the report said."
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NEW LIGHT (The GB offers a contract guarantee of Armageddon)
by Terry inthe mangroves’ new light.
(a short story).
“oh, christ—just what i needed this morning—those jehovah people in the neighborhood!”.
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Terry
I definitely think Fred Franz had a plan similar to that of Charles Manson. That plan is to provoke a cataclysm,
aka Armageddon. Putting Jehovah's name and reputation on the line was the bait.
Was Franz clinically sane? Can anybody who had been in the Watchtower World from the time of Russell, Rutherford, and all those zigs and zags in doctrine remain sane?
Armageddon is the sneeze that is always about to explode ...but...but...nope.
Tantric titillation can drive a man like that off the deep end, I imagine. -
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NEW LIGHT (The GB offers a contract guarantee of Armageddon)
by Terry inthe mangroves’ new light.
(a short story).
“oh, christ—just what i needed this morning—those jehovah people in the neighborhood!”.
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Terry
I have revised the above version of the story to make it slightly more "feasible"...
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pMeI2sW4laMi1sup-hkZagq1bTtFuWQ1xtjxpF8jkpQ/edit?usp=sharing -
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What sort of people were the JW's who went to prison? Government study tells all
by Terry indo you feel a draft?
(jw’s did-in the 1960s)i thought you might find it interesting to review exactly what the u.s. government thought, studied, and wrote about people of conscience during the vietnam war.what follows comes from official records…more than half of the 27 million men eligible for the draft during the vietnam war were deferred, exempted, or disqualified.
(cortright, david (2008).
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Terry
Some day some VHS will come to light. And THAT will really be New Light.
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NEW LIGHT (The GB offers a contract guarantee of Armageddon)
by Terry inthe mangroves’ new light.
(a short story).
“oh, christ—just what i needed this morning—those jehovah people in the neighborhood!”.
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Terry
THE MANGROVES’ NEW LIGHT
(A short story)
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“Oh, Christ—just what I needed this morning—those Jehovah people in the neighborhood!”
68-year-old Cicely Mangrove moaned and kept her spiteful eye fixed on neighborhood intruders organizing themselves into pairs outside.
How could a person ever relax on a Sunday morning?“Nathaniel, come down here right away! Don’t make me say ‘please’.”
“I’m shaving. . .” echoed her husband’s voice from the floor above.
“Well, stop shaving and get down here. I don’t want to talk to them.”
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Mockingbirds swayed warily above Cicely Mangrove’s garden terrace on Lollard Lane as the sound of a car door slammed and voices crept in through a raised window where Cicely sat at the breakfast table smoking the last inch of her cigarette.
Cherry blossoms stirred like mad pinwheels in her front yard as two carloads of religious folks turned the corner and glided to a halt next to two other similar vehicles. These were sedans with sincere occupants.
Eight serious religious folks divided up responsibilities and split into couples, each headed in diverse directions. A large man in an ill-fitting suit and a mature woman in unfashionable clothing pushed against the garden gate approaching the Mangrove’s house.
The door buzzer sounded. A sort of “ping-pong” chime rang out.
“Nathaniel, get your ass down here right now!”
“Why are you shouting—I’m standing right here?” Nathaniel Mangrove spoke inches from behind her ear.
An average-looking man in khaki slacks, Hawaiian shirt, and leather house shoes stood wiping a cup towel across his face where tufts of creamy shaving foam still clung. He was average-looking, with a high forehead and mischievous smile.The door chime repeated the annoying pattern once more.
“Are you going to get that, or do I have to call the cops again like last time?”
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Cicely Mangrove was a nervous woman of variable moods; all of them dark. Telephone solicitors and religious peddlers were high on her arousal scale. Neighborhood scuttlebutt held her out to be manic-depressive, but her husband assured everyone who knew her it was nothing of the sort.
“Cicely is just plain mean, that’s all. She doesn’t like people. I think it’s kinda cute—once you get used to it.”
Nathaniel Mangrove, or “Natty” as his friends preferred, was well-known to be even-tempered and good-humored in stark contrast to his wife’s incessant grouchiness.
They met at an art gallery opening eighteen years earlier.
Natty had quipped something provocative just as Cicely was biting into
hors d’oeuvre. She immediately choked and spat spinach, scurrying off to the bathroom not to be seen again. It was an auspicious beginning, fraught with bad-timing and farce- not unlike their marriage.____
Just as the persistent couple jabbed at the doorbell for the third time, the broad oak door opened wide. Nathaniel Mangrove filled the doorway with a quizzical presence and lifted eyebrows.
The surprised visitor flashed a grin.“Oh heck—Hi, I’m Gus Womper and this is my wife, Lorry. We’re in your neighborhood with a group of ministers this morning, offering a message of—“
“Of total BULLSHIT!” The wail burst forth from inside the Mangrove’s living room.
Cicely Mangrove hovered behind her husband not three feet back, but her voice projected clear down to the mailbox in front of Mrs. Vandersloot’s duplex at the end of the block.
“Please forgive my wife for that outburst. She hasn’t felt too sociable since . . . um. . . birth. Her birth.”
Immediately, the reddened face of Mrs. Mangrove popped into view as she administered a hip thrust sideways, jostling her husband against the doorjamb.
“I’ll call the cops if you don’t get off my property in the next five seconds—you hear me? I already know what you’re peddling and it’s more ARMAGEDDON nonsense.”
Natty Mangrove, in one smooth, well-practiced movement, encircled his wife’s neck with a wrestling hold he frequently referred to as a “half-nelson.” He pulled her aside and spoke soothingly in measured tones as the couple on the porch watched eagerly.
“Now Cissy, it doesn’t cost you a penny to extend hospitality to strangers at our door. Settle down or I’ll switch to that sleep-hold that worked so well at Anderson’s party last Christmas. Understood?”
The half-bent wife tapped her husband’s back three times in a frantic gesture of compliance and immediately he relaxed his grip. In no time at all the color returned to her pale face as she stood huffing and puffing like a mugging victim.
“I’m Nathaniel Mangrove and this is my bride, Cicely. Don’t take my wife too seriously. She has 'Jehovah' ‘issues’ with doomsday intrusions into her daily schedule. The two of us are in couple’s therapy and our task for the week is to engage others in pleasantries. Won’t you both please come in and take the weight off your feet?”
____
An awkward silence settled into the Mangrove’s living room. Two couples arranged themselves like department store manikins around a coffee table in stiff postures of stressed body language.
Plastic ice tea cups rested on cork coasters untouched. A dish of cashews and peanuts rested in the center of a lazy Susan unmolested. A neighbor’s dog could be heard yapping incessantly several doors down and the faint rumble of a lawnmower competed with the wind chimes suspended from the next door Chandler family’s kitchen window—a present from their son-in-law back in Toluca Lake.
“So, here we all are. You were about to share some good news with my wife and I, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Whomper—right?”
Gus and Lorry Whomper, alert as pet shop puppies, were busily inspecting the interior of the Mangrove’s home with slack-jawed wonderment. The couple absent-mindedly attuned to a channel inside their minds quite impossible for Nathaniel Mangrove to fathom. Mr. Whomper spoke in the cheerful voice of a vacuum cleaner salesman. It was a practiced cadence of lilting rhythms and improbable optimism.
“Yes, Sir—Lorry and I are ministers sharing an important message of coming destruction to most of the earth’s vast population of non-believing, Satan-influenced, selfish and willful goats. This will be you and your wife’s final warning before complete and total doom takes you down in the day of Jehovah’s wrath.”
With that, he munched a handful of cashews and went back to inspecting the premises like a TV detective keen for clues.Cicely Mangrove’s lips puckered into a lemon-sour pout as if she could taste the words of Gus Womper’s sermonette. She opened her mouth to speak—but, faster than a flash—Natty jumped in with a speech of his own.
“Whoa—take it easy, Gus. I invited you into our home as a demonstration of sociable grace. What in the world makes you think your doom-sayings are ‘good news to my wife and me?”
Lorry Womper’s eyes flickered like a battery-operated toy with fresh double AA batteries.
“Oh, that’s just what we say, Mr. Mangrove. It’s really good news for us.” She grinned. “It’s a win-win for us. If you don’t listen - after you’re destroyed - heck - I’ll get first Dibs on your house!”
Gus widened his forced smile.
“We figure you folks aren’t ever going to study the Bible with us. But we’re still obligated to give fair warning. When you are destroyed at Armageddon, we’ll get to move into your house! Lorry and I have had an eye on your swimming pool.”
Gus began to chuckle, Lorry elbowed him in the ribs teasingly.Cicely Mangrove gave a slow-burn turn of her head toward Natty and lifted her eyebrows with a mute, “Now do you see why I hate these…??” expression on her twitching face.
Natty shrugged complacently with a calm eye roll.
“Uh—when is this latest Armageddon event going to strike us down, Gus? Do I have time to finish the shave you interrupted when you were leaning on our doorbell?”
“Gosh, it ought to be here by the end of the year—or even sooner.”
“Says who?” Cicely growled.
“The Faithful Slave.” Lorry proudly replied.
“Hear that, Natty? They have SLAVES!”
Gus and Lorry frowned disapprovingly. “Tsk tsk tsk. Not THAT kind of slave.”
Natty puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes once again. Cicely snuffled.
Gus reached into a leather bookbag beside his chair and rummaged around. Presently he tugged out a small green folder.
“Surprise—surprise! This is our New Light contract—have you seen one before?”
Natty and Cicely glanced sideways at each other and leaned forward to scrutinize the formal printed papers Gus held in front of him resembling a lease agreement.
“Tell them, Lorry—it’s your turn.”
Cicely removed the papers from Gus’s hand as Natty leaned closer and they both began silent reading as Lorrie spoke.
“That’s the new standard contract offered by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. We guarantee in writing that Armageddon will come no later than the middle of October next year.”
“Or what?” Cicely and Natty spoke simultaneously.
“Or else we promise to shut down our religious activities and stop our preaching and publishing work all over the world. If you sign this, you agree to study and get baptized . . . until then.”
“You’ll shut down how long?”
“Why, um—forever.”
Four people stared at each other in silence.
“You two are barking mad. I looked you guys up in the Encyclopedia. You’ve predicted Armageddon over and over again. Wrong - every single time.”
Gus and Lorrie began laughing and exchanging knowing glances.
“That’s what everybody says at first. We know we’ve made mistakes in the past. Do you think we haven’t noticed how often we’ve been wrong?”
Gus chuckled and shook his head gleefully.“We’re as sick of preaching false prophesies as everybody else is of hearing them. That’s why our Governing Body has come up with this iron-clad contract. We’re laying it all on the line once and for all.”
Lorrie jabbed the air with her finger for emphasis.An expression of astonishment hung from Natty and Cicely’s faces like rumpled curtains. They sat shaking their heads like wobbly toys in the back of an automobile.
“You’re telling us you are challenging the Almighty to ‘shit or get off the pot’?”
Lorrie turned and offered her husband a mock-expectant expression—then both turned and nodded broadly in an exaggerated “Yes!”
“It’s extortion, I suppose. But, Jehovah is very jealous of his Name and reputation. This is the only workable strategy for getting Him to do what is necessary. Don’t you see—it is pure genius on the part of our Governing Body! Otherwise, this door-to-door ministry might well go on for who knows how many eons?”
Cicely, still shaking her head with improbable internal dialogue, stood and walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and bent forward scanning a shelf inside.
“You folks want a beer?” Her voice had softened - for the first time.
Lorrie and Gus widened their eyes at each other like naughty children rewarded with chocolate.
“Sure—we don’t mind if we do. Thanks, Cicely.”
Four silent people sat quietly sipping and nodding . . . sipping and nodding.
______
Spring arrived and the sound of newborn kittens, chirping fledglings, and giggling children danced in the air. The Mangroves attended their local Kingdom Hall regularly and never missed the opportunity to witness to friends, neighbors, or the FedEx driver. Their baptism was attended by a great many of their neighbors. They too had heard the message of destruction and signed the contract.
Weekends arrived with clockwork regularity and the calendar pages flipped and fell like autumn leaves in October’s wind.The summer brought just enough rain to satisfy the neighbors with the well-manicured lawns. The onset of winter was gentle. Very little snow came toward the end of the year, but enough to satisfy the dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists.
By December’s last tolling bell the year ended and the giant glowing ball in Times Square dropped with the absolute certainty of Einstein’s famous equation.
The New Year arrived.
____**____
EPILOGMangroves and Whompers ran into each other occasionally in the post office and grocery store. A formal nod was exchanged and a comfortable grin of familiar recognition. No words were spoken or greetings exchanged. Knowing glances said everything needed to be acknowledged.
Cicely might notice that Lorrie was sporting a new tattoo and her neckline had plunged even more since the last time they’d passed each other in front of Wal-Mart. Gus had lost a lot of weight since the divorce. His new sport convertible was often observed roaring down Lollard Lane with a trim blonde next to him, or a fancy redhead.
By the first of the year, signage had come down from all the Kingdom Halls in the city. Word was, the same was true of Watchtower headquarters, factory, and farm. Service centers around the world had been sold off and missionaries dispersed—some volunteering for the Red Cross. Former zealots sought out former members once disfellowshipped from their families for apologies and reconciliation. Christmas trees were once banned from windows, bedazzled neighborhoods, and little witness children now knocked on doors with raucous “Trick or Treat” on Halloween.
Pews in the churches of Lollard lane sported many new members that year.
There were happy faces, crucifixes, and loud singing on a grander scale than ever before.
Flags received snappy salutes, voting was up in local precincts, and the pregnancy rate among High-Schoolers stood at an all-time high.
A southerly breeze swept past the hollyhocks and jacarandas along the sidewalks of Lollard Lane as mockingbirds swayed cheerily above Cicely Mangrove’s garden terrace.
Anyone who passed the Mangrove household was sure to hear a loud shout from inside the kitchen window of,
“Hi there—how are you folks?”
This, of course, was invariably accompanied by a wave of the hand and a broad, satisfied smile.
Cicely Mangrove was finally able to relax.
At last, she loved Jehovah.
_THE END_
