Losing My Religion

Fifteen years ago, I officially lost the religion that solely defined me for the first twenty-two years of my life. I have to admit it's a topic of conversation I avoid because of the feelings it evokes. For years, when friends would talk about their religion and their religious experiences growing up, my heart would stick in my throat, and I would repeat in my head, "Please don't ask, please don't ask." For years after losing my religion, I couldn't discuss these experiences without completely losing my composure. If I could clearly and definitively describe my experiences as bitter or painful, I think I would feel much more comfortable discussing them. But there were many parts of my religious experience I appreciated and enjoyed. I still at times yearn for the warm blanket of comfort I felt in my congregation; however, I know those feelings of nostalgia are tainted with fear and manipulation.  As a result, I feel a mixture of sadness, loss, gratitude and relief when I reflect on the faith that defined me as person for so long.

Shortly after my older brother was born, my mother was contacted by Jehovah's Witnesses who were preaching "door to door."  My mom invited the Witnesses to come back and after studying and learning about the faith, she felt moved to join the local Congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses.  By the time I was born, both of my parents were members of the local congregation and the organization at large. Throughout my childhood and teenage years being a Witness was the most important, defining part of my life. Every week, my family attended a two-hour meeting on Sunday mornings. On Monday or Tuesday evenings we participated in an hour long Bible Study, which for years was held at our home.  On Thursday nights, we attended another meeting that clocked in around an hour and half, and most Saturday mornings I spent preaching "door to door" for two to three hours while most kids my age were watching The Smurfs or The Snorks in their cozy living rooms.  Our weekly meetings super-ceded everything.  We only missed when we were ailing, and it wasn't uncommon for us to slog through all sorts of inclement weather on Saturday mornings to preach God's Word. I never went to a birthday party.  I never had a birthday party.  We didn't celebrate Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas.  I stood politely and silently as my classmates pledged the flag every morning at school. In high school, I wasn't allowed to play sports, go to dances, or take part in school activities. I wasn't allowed to date as a teenager and would only be allowed to date another Jehovah's Witness when I was ready to get married. My only sleepovers were at the home's of other Jehovah's Witnesses, and my only "true" friends were Witnesses.

Given the list of things I wasn't able to do, one might think I had an unhappy childhood, but in all honesty, I would describe my childhood as exceedingly happy.  I grew up in a tight-knit, loving family. Because our faith strongly discouraged us from associating with our extended family who were not Jehovah's Witnesses, and we didn't participate in events which typically bring families together, I think we clung to our small unit with all our might.  We ate dinner together nightly as a family, attended our weekly meetings together, and let our faith first and foremost guide our lives as a family unit.  We were a model family in our local congregation. Jehovah's Witnesses encourage their believers to only associate with members of their faith as a "safeguard."  Everyone outside the organization is viewed as "worldly" and all dealings with "worldly" individuals should be kind, courteous and most importantly distant. With the exception of my grandparents, I considered my congregation to be more of my family than my own "blood" relatives and treated them accordingly.  My best friend growing up was a member of my congregation, and her parents were like my second parents and vice versa.  We slept over each other's houses, vacationed together, and in the summer on the days my mother worked, I would often spend the day with her and her mom.  Our lives were intertwined to the point that we were more like sisters than friends.  I also was fortunate to have a fair number of kids my age in our congregation which was comprised of nearly a hundred members. The larger organization of Jehovah's Witnesses dictated the congregation one attended geographically, and other kids weren't so lucky in other congregations to have so many young people. I felt loved, accepted and secure in this community and still fondly remember many wonderful experiences with the members of the congregation.

As a teenager, I decided to officially dedicate my life to God and be baptized.  This was a serious step and a rite of passage in my faith.  Baptisms took place at events called assemblies or conventions which occurred three times a year.  Our assemblies were held at a facility outside of Harrisburg where a group of eight to ten congregations would convene to participate in two day gatherings for upwards of eight hours each day.  Conventions were held in even larger venues and comprised of congregations from around the state and lasted three to four days. Our yearly summer convention was typically held in Veteran's Stadium in Philadelphia where we often sweltered in the sun while the Phillies were on the road.  I looked forward to these assemblies and conventions because it meant I would meet new Witnesses who were my age and stay overnight in hotels for a mini-vacation.  I can still remember the excitement and pride I felt about my baptism at the age of fifteen.  The weeks leading up to my baptism, I met with different elders in my congregation to discuss why I wanted to be baptized and the great obligations that came with being a baptized member of the congregation.  I was also questioned regarding the basic tenets of our faith and my overall knowledge of the Bible.

After my baptism, I worked to be a sterling role model in my local congregation.  I faithfully attended meetings, prayed several times during the day, spent hours studying the Bible and the publications distributed by the organization, and frequently dedicated sixty hours a month in the summer preaching from "door to door."  I knew my goals for the future.  I would hopefully be married by the age of twenty or twenty-one to a Jehovah's Witness, preach from "house to house" like Jesus Christ, and wait patiently for Armageddon and my salvation from this evil world.  I thought I had everything figured out and knew what God had in store for me.

In the late Fall of my senior year of high school, my Grammy, who was my greatest life champion, asked me if I wanted to go to college.  My response was an immediate and definitive N-O.  Jehovah's Witnesses did not go to college.  Since the end of the world was around the corner, there was really no need to worry about my job security or financial future after all.  Sure, I was smart and academics came easily, but college?  After my Grammy planted the seed though, the idea took root. I loved going to school.  I loved reading and learning. But, of course, my first love and priority would always be my religion. My Grammy was persistent and frequently told my father "what a waste it would be not to send Jennifer to college."  While my Grammy had quietly accepted we didn't come over for Christmas dinner and settled for buying me a Savings Bond around my birthday, she was insistent I be given the opportunity to go to college, an opportunity she had been denied by her own parents. My father relented and said he would support my decision. If I wanted to go to college, he would allow it. Of course, there would be no dorming, but I could select any college in the area and commute.

In the Fall of 1995, I headed off to a small, local college.  I noted my path had changed slightly, but my ultimate goals remained the same.  I would still marry a Jehovah's Witness, get a better job after college that would allow me to preach from "house to house" like Jesus Christ, and wait patiently for Armageddon and my salvation from this evil world.  Over the next four years though my perspective on the world changed dramatically. There wasn't just one single moment that triggered my disillusionment with my religion; rather, it was a collection of events which opened my eyes to the faults in my faith.  As an English major, I learned how to interpret literature from many different perspectives and could support these interpretations with the text. I began to consider this idea in relation to the Bible. While the people who wrote the magazines and publications for Jehovah's Witnesses claimed to be inspired by God's Holy Spirit, I began to question their inspiration. I started to question the "wickedness" of "worldly" people. A lot of "worldly" people were kind, lived good lives and looked out for others. I noted some members of my own faith followed the principle of "do as I say, not as I do" and were far from kind. I noted the inconsistencies in the message of love and tolerance I preached with the actual realities of my religion that at times espoused intolerance and judgment. I looked at some of the senior members of the congregation who had put off having children and living life in some respects because Armageddon was around the corner. They tried to conceal their sadness and regrets with smiles, but I could see in their eyes how they looked at our family and other families and longed for the one they had forgone too many years ago so they could better serve God. Finally, I struggled to reconcile how my all powerful God of love could allow cancer to wither my Grammy's body and what I thought was an indomitable spirit to nothing in a matter of months; an injustice that years later can still suck the air from my lungs.

I graduated college and debated my future.  I knew I no longer believed in my religion, but I was terrified of what I would be without it.  All of my friends, "my family" were Jehovah's Witnesses. The moment I chose to leave, they would no longer be allowed to associate with me or speak to me. I also thought of all the examples of members who left the "flock" of the organization who led lives of sin. There was always a veritable parade of former Witnesses who were now drug addicts, thieves, alcoholics, or single mothers left jilted because of their promiscuous behavior. No one who ever stopped being a Jehovah's Witness ever ended up with a better life, or at least that's what I was told on an all too regular basis.  As I struggled with this dilemma and considered my future, I knew I couldn't pretend to be a part of a religion I no longer believed in and began to recognize how I had been in many ways duped, manipulated and coerced into subjection by fear. Fear of losing my family. Fear of losing out on my divine reward. 

After graduating college, I decided to take a job two hours away from the place I called home which inevitably enabled me to cleanly sever ties with my religion. When I first moved to the Philadelphia area, I did go to a few meetings at the local Congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses but quickly realized it wasn't what I wanted nor did I need it. I decided to "disassociate" myself from the organization stating I no longer wanted to be a member and to remove my name from their rolls.  With that decision, I lost a lot--my childhood best friends, a congregation of individuals who had been my family since I was born, and the one thing that had defined me and my purpose in life for so long. The loneliness and fear I felt was further compounded as my parent's thirty year marriage disintegrated. The feeling of being alone was at first crushing and terrifying. I must admit at times I doubted my decision. Had I made a foolish mistake? Maybe I should return, tail between my legs, and repent? But those feelings and doubts dissipated with the passage of time and were replaced by relief and a sense of freedom I had never felt before. The mental clarity was intoxicating.

Losing my religion is by the far the hardest decision I have ever made and also by far the best decision I ever made. In all reality, I don't have any regrets or lingering animosities about being raised as a Jehovah's Witness. Sure, more than a decade later, I would be lying if I were to say I didn't terribly miss my childhood best friend. When my Dad tells me he saw a member of the congregation at the grocery store who we knew for over twenty years, and this person avoids even making eye contact with my Dad, my heart hurts. But I guess this is how we have to pay for our sins--I had done the same to other people who decided to leave or were forced to leave the congregation. When my Dad came to visit us this past Christmas, a holiday I now relish spending with my family, he asked if I ever felt deprived during my childhood because of how I was raised.  I immediately responded no. My parents did a wonderful job of making me feel loved. I don't question their motivation or intentions for a second. They were just doing what they thought was best for their family. I also reassured my Dad because of my religious experiences and in spite of those religious experiences, I have become a strong, independent, tolerant, kind and loving individual who sees the best in this life. While I may not lead the life I was indoctrinated to follow during my formative years, I have no qualms or reservations about the path I picked. I am far from perfect. I am human and full of flaws like everyone else on this planet.  I also remind myself, I have little time for regretting the past.  I spent far too many years waiting on a future that wasn't to be and want to spend my energies and time enjoying the present.