Two unsettling incidents are lodged in my memory. They are unrelated, except in the general sense that they opened tiny fissures in the foundation of my belief system.
Returning from the summer assembly in Kansas City, Missouri in 1969, I was approached by Tom Moore, a plain-speaking circuit overseer . He had heard that my wife and I had filled out Gilead applications at the assembly and wanted a word with me. Did I know that missionaries sent to foreign assignments generally needed to be vaccinated to get a passport and that some of the required vaccinations contained blood components? He correctly assessed me as someone who did not compromise. In those days, I would point out a two cent undercharge to a store clerk, so aware was I of not displeasing my heavenly Father. My wife and I visited about this potential quandary, both being disturbed about it, but, as things turned out, never crossed that proverbial bridge.
Some years later, in the fall of 1980, I was sitting with the body of elders, listening to Fred Lanier, a kindly circuit overseer, then about retirement age. The elder’s meeting was just completed, but Fred was not making a move from his chair. Typically, CO’s make a hasty exit after this meeting because they have typing to do, recommendations or deletions to type out, the congregation report, etc. Fred Lanier obviously had more he wanted to say out of the context of the Society’s outline for the meeting. He started to throw out some details concerning the events at Brooklyn in ‘80, mentioning R. Franz and Dunlop. He warned repeatedly about “independent thinking”. He spoke of discussions at Bethel concerning the great crowd being a secondary heavenly class as opposed to an earthly class. Noting the consternation on my face, Fred, as an aside to me, stated: “Well, of course, on that level, discussions like that take place. But that is all kept in confidence.” I recall driving home from that meeting with the phrase “on that level” ringing in my ears. THEY could speculate, but WE could not.
These are two tiny episodes in my life that I suppressed without further thought for many, many years. In almost any other aspect of my life, ignoring details is uncharacteristic. I agonize over which 13.5 ounce can of coffee is the best deal, but in making life’s most important choices, I chose to ignore many obvious warning signs.
TMS
