You can always tell Jehovah’s Witnesses by their tracts.When I heard a tap, tap, tap on my front door the other day I was handed a flier and a cheery invitation to an important celebration (Easter).The circumlocution used for the holiday made we wonder so I flipped over the tract and saw the familiar JW on the bottom.I always treat religion at my door with respect because, well, you never know.It’s this latter bit—the uncertainty—that has always given me pause when it comes to missionaries, domestic or imported.Missionaries by definition believe their particular spin on religion is the only correct one, otherwise there’s no reason to convert others.This is often the highest hurdle over which globalism must leap—the willingness to admit one might be wrong.
I could be wrong about this, but I have always considered the willingness to admit you might be incorrect as a sign of spiritual maturity.I also know from my youth that that kind of uncertainty can drive you crazy.We want to know we’re right!But then, who doesn’t?Those of us who think globalization is a good thing have failed to take into account just how difficult it is for many people to admit possible error.For the vast, vast majority of human history we were separated from one another by natural boundaries.Travel for leisure did not exist.Within a local group beliefs would likely be fairly uniform.Then you encounter others who might say, well, you’re wrong.That’s seldom a welcome prospect.
More than air travel, the internet has shown us, as we connect, just how diverse a species we really are.What about that missionary at my door?For religions indoctrinated into one doctrine this can’t be easy.I’ve had conversations with Jehovah’s Witnesses before.There’s no convincing them they might be wrong.Missionaries come with the assurance they’re saving you.Rare is the proselytizer who’s there possibly to learn the truth. As I think about it, after decades of attending church how many times has anyone wanted to have an in-depth conversation about belief? Outside confirmation class, that is. And even there, when most are either teenagers or older specialists in some secular business, discussing deep issues seems to make others uncomfortable. When the missionaries come, I want the conversation to go both ways. I’ve spent half a century thinking about these things, after all. When there’s a tap, tap, tapping at my door, I wonder what tracks will be left behind.
