People called in on us at odd times of the day, any day of the week. One never knew exactly who was coming. Friends of mine had told me to keep a lookout as the Jehovah Witnesses were very much in evidence in Kingston. Now here they were, two of them knocking on our door. My feeling was anyone who wants to talk about God is welcome.
They came in, sat down and immediately launched into their ‘sales pitch’. The afternoon seemed to be turning into an endless session of quotes which I hardly recognized as they were using only their version of the Bible. I made it a point to mention that we would prefer to pray with them rather than discuss too much. I then became acutely aware that one of them had been a Catholic at one stage. I asked him directly and he flinched a little before admitting that he had indeed been a Catholic before joining the Jehovah Witnesses. The other had a withered arm and, it seemed to me he was trying his best to hide his obvious interest in what was going on here and the alternative views I then began to put forward.
I had listened to their comments and had noticed that there was a sadness underlying all they said. Everything they said was a quotation and seemed to lack a personal, experiential awareness of the Love of God. I remarked on this and talked about God, present here and now, as one encounters Him in humans, in miracles, the ordinary and all his expressions of love for us.
“It is good”, I said, “to give examples from the Word of God, the Bible, but does God ever talk to you directly in your everyday life?”
“No!” they both said emphatically. “God does not speak to people like that. It is only through his written word that he communicates.”
I looked at the lovely bunch of roses sitting in the vase across the room and asked the young men if the roses said something to them of God’s love. I was not sure they grasped the meaning of my question. So, I started to tell them about the beauty and fragility of creation and how the Creator, God, was ever present to us in the beauty of His work.
I finished by saying, “Do those roses not speak to you of God? Is God not speaking to you now through those roses?” They were silent.
Just then the bell rang, and Ursula went downstairs to answer it. She opened the door and there stood our friend, Carol, with a single stemmed red rose held proudly in one hand. “I have to talk to David,” she said. “I have something from Sister Peggy.”
She dashed up the stairs and, in less than a minute after I had asked that question, there she was, striding in clutching that one solitary rose. “This is for you David”, she said as she walked into the room. She went on to explain that she had visited Sr. Peggy at her convent seven miles away. Sr. Peggy had stooped, picked a rose and said, “please give this to David.”
I thanked her and she promptly left.
The two Jehovah Witnesses were startled, and it must have seemed to them as though someone had staged the proceedings.
God was still at work. I have no doubt that somewhere in the soul of one or both of these dear children of His, he left a seed of love, a message that he is ever alive and present and with them in all of His creation. Praise God!