It is
difficult to conceive of a religious movement more embarrassingly entangled in
the ruins of its own failed prophecies than the organization now known as
Jehovah’s Witnesses. One of the most striking and frankly bizarre illustrations
of this is the construction of literal houses for the physically resurrected
dead—yes, actual buildings, real estate, complete with addresses and
deeds—built on the unfounded expectation that long-dead biblical patriarchs
would soon knock at the door. Such was the spectacle of Watchtower eschatology
in the 1920s and 30s.
In 1925, a
devout Russellite, Andrew N. Pierson, built cottages in Cromwell, Connecticut,
for his deceased family members, believing they would be resurrected imminently
in fulfillment of C. T. Russell’s prophetic speculations. That this man loathed
Rutherford, Russell’s dictatorial successor, did not prevent him from absorbing
the same delusional timetable. Pierson’s misguided piety was a microcosm of a
broader movement that replaced sacred tradition and doctrinal continuity with
apocalyptic guesswork and speculative theology.
But the
greater scandal lies not with Pierson’s personal folly, but with Rutherford
himself, who took the failed prophecy of 1925 and used it as a pretext for
constructing a mansion in San Diego—Beth Sarim—which he claimed was
built for Abraham, Moses, David, and other ancient “princes.” Yet as the world
reeled from the economic devastation of the Great Depression, this Watchtower
president lived in ostentatious luxury, chauffeured in a 16-cylinder Cadillac
and enjoying a ten-bedroom palace with palm-lined grounds, under the flimsy
excuse that he needed the warm climate “for his health.”
And who paid
for this absurd house supposedly built for resurrected patriarchs? According to
official Watchtower publications, it was a “gift” from unnamed “friends”—a
nebulous phrase that conveniently shields the organization from financial
transparency. The irony is grotesque: while Rutherford’s followers were selling
their homes and livelihoods to finance the Watchtower’s publishing empire and
door-to-door campaigns, their leader was sipping wine in California, awaiting
King David to arrive and claim the guest suite.
Let that
sink in: during a time of worldwide economic collapse, when real human beings
were suffering hunger, eviction, and joblessness, a man who claimed to be "God’s
mouthpiece" built a mansion—not for the poor, not for missionaries, not for
widows or orphans—but for dead men who never showed up. When 1925 passed
without resurrection, the mansion remained. When Rutherford died in 1942, the
“princes” still hadn’t come. The house was quietly sold in 1948, the prophecy
conveniently “adjusted,” and the faithful instructed to move on as if nothing
happened.
This is not
biblical faith. This is cultic absurdity, a form of religious theater that
builds houses for the dead while ignoring the gospel of the living Christ. Real Christianity teaches the resurrection of the body—but it never required building
vacation homes for the saints. The Church venerates the patriarchs of old—but
never taught they would return to govern from San Diego. Real Christianity proclaims
Christ crucified and risen—not date-setting fantasies and eschatological real
estate.
Beth Sarim
stands as a monument not to hope, but to hubris. To a false prophet who refused
to repent of his errors, who manipulated sacred Scripture to justify personal
comfort, and who mocked genuine Christian faith with theatrics better suited
for a charlatan than a shepherd. It is a physical, historical witness against a
system that continues to demand unquestioning allegiance, while rewriting its
past every time reality fails to conform to its expectations.
Those who
trust the promises of Christ do not build mansions for the dead. They build the
Kingdom of God in love, in truth, and in fidelity to the Church that He
founded. No Cadillac, no mansion, no failed date of resurrection can compete
with that.