Want to know where I'll be sitting at the Memorial this year?
Last year I was travelling during the Memorial and attended a local congregation there. They had better wine glasses at this hall, but otherwise everything was the same. I think Witnesses do it up as best they can, this being their only holiday.
I got lots of love when I first walked in. A new face always gets hit up by the greeters. My accent gave me away as a foreigner and I dropped a few theocratic terms to confirm my status as a legit Witness.
You are one of four types at a Memorial. Half the group will be the regular congregation members. They are the ones bustling around, shaking hands, talking loudly.
Then there are the "Easter" Witnesses, the ones that drifted away and now only show up for the Memorial. Every year more join this club, and less go to the weekly meetings. They look just like faithful brothers and sisters, except that they are the ones getting bustled, shook and talked at.
Then there are the obvious outsiders, the few that actually accepted invitations to attend. For some reason they are usually dressed badly, and some of the guys will have a beard or goatee. Only here would they feel like a freak, but the contrast is extreme. I quickly identified 5 newbies out of a group of 180. The whole territory,every house in this congregation's town, got a invitation tract and only 5 show up. At least tract-work is easy service.
And finally there is the dangerous kind. We had one at our hall last year. Some crazy woman looked all right for starters, but when they passed the wine, she took a big swig and proclaimed, "Now I'm anointed, and you can't stop me!" Obviously an apostate freak. Turns out she had a buddy filming the whole thing with a hidden camera. See you on YouTube, weirdo.
So when the greeters spotted me at the door, I was pegged: either a visiting Witness (rare) or an apostate (scare). I casually mentioned the name of my congregation, plus I had the new song book. At least I relieved their tension.
I picked a seat by the wall to be out of the way and settled in. The swirl of loud-talking went on around me. Being in another congregation was interesting. I noticed the friendliness was focused, almost manic, towards outsiders and inactive ones. People in this hall saw each other every week, but tonight there was fresh meat. Behind me someone blurted a joyful sob, "Danny's here. Danny is back!" Danny was a 20-something deer in the headlights. But no one talked to him. Lots of head-nodding and winking, but no contact. Definitely disfellowshipped.
The old Memorial trance set in as soon as we started singing. This is as close as we get to Catholic Mass. The same songs, the same talk, the same ritual, all my life. I like it, I'm not complaining. Jehovah's Witnesses will never do anything approaching pageantry and sometimes I wish they did.
Here comes the wine. Nothing snaps the group, even first-timers, out of the doldrums of that oh-so-interesting talk (forgive me Jehovah, I'm just sayin') like a bunch of elders in formation. Wine glasses are ceremonially passed down each row in each seating section. The center row is flanked by two elders that relay the glass back and forth through the rows, moving down the aisles. Everyone gets a chance to hold the emblems.
But the side rows are funny to me. One elder hands the glass to the person sitting on the aisle, who passes it on. Person to person and finally to the last seat against the wall. That person holds the glass for a magic moment, then passes it back the way it came. So the people in the side rows get to hold the wine glass twice. And that is what I loved about sitting in the side rows as a kid.
But the real reason everyone perks up at the emblems is the expectation that someone might partake. There are no anointed in my hall, but our neighboring congregation has six. Really, six. And five of those started partaking in the last 5 years. I don't get how someone can just decide that they are going to heaven one day, but whatever. What really lifts my brow is that there are two married couples there who both claim to be anointed. Can't judge, won't judge. But we'll see.
There is always the morbid thought that someone will spill the wine or bread, or a new person will miss the point and take a sip. Seriously, did you hear the talk? "Don't drink the wine!" But this production was going off smooth and the elders were passing the emblems with the combined finesse of bomb squad meets marching band.
I don't know what put this thought in my head. Maybe being a visitor had me observing from outside the group. I could look down the wall in front of me and see each person at the end of the row. They would hold the glass as it was passed to them—magic moment—then give it back. Row after row, one row closer to me. But if you aren't going to heaven and you don't need to pass the glass to someone else, why take the glass?
Why take the glass?
I couldn't answer that. So I didn't.
My row came up in its turn. The sister next to me—a sweet woman in her 60's, next to another single sister in her 70's, braced herself. The 70-something reached her withered hands up to capture the wine glass . The 60-something instinctively posed her hands like she had just released a basketball. Even I held my breath during arthritic transfer. Then it was my turn. But my hands stayed folded in my lap. My neighbor just stared a question mark at me, trying to nudge the glass my way without spilling the wine.
"Oh, no, I'm not anointed. I don't partake." The words calmly poured out of my mouth even though I could feel the eyes on me. The elder attendant tensed, prejudging me the "dangerous kind".
This kind sister's face twisted into confusion—almost betrayal. I read her thought, Why are you refusing Jesus' shed blood?! But I wasn't, anymore than anyone else here was.
And that is how I broke the ritual that night. When the unleavened bread came, I got a sidelong stink-eye just to confirm my blasphemy. And after the Memorial the sister was neither sweet nor kind, just ready to get out of that row and let me leave.
I think I saw with different eyes that night. Maybe I don't have a respectful attitude, but I don't see how I was out of line. I like ritual. I just don't like hypocrisy. And passing a full glass of wine around like a masochistic AA meeting seems stupid to me.
Why not just leave the wine and bread on the table and let the anointed come up? It takes about 15 minutes to cover the whole group. Then the attendants, who have been conducting the wine the whole time, pass the glasses to each other. Who invented this stuff?
I know there are some old and infirm who can't attend, who will have a special ceremony right in their room. Emblems and all. Pass it around, no drinking, everyone feels better.
So that's my little thing. Me, the lover of ritual, snubbing my only chance at it.
See you at the Memorial, I'll be sitting next to the wall.
Another silent witness, as told by V
http://www.freeminds.org/blogs/watchtower-comments/thanks-but-i-ll-pass.html