The other side of the door

[Times photos: Lara Cerri ] One recent Saturday, Karen Casper rings a mid-Pinellas doorbell during her weekly “door-to-door service.” If no one is home, she’ll jot down the address so Witnesses will know to try that home again — “So that we’re thorough,” she says. “We value peoples’ lives. We want to give them an opportunity.”

By SHARON TUBBS, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published July 11, 2002

Seemingly tireless, Jehovah's Witnesses knock on doors each week, sharing their faith and magazine articles. They consider their evangelistic treks a spiritual mandate. Meet a few on their journey.

SEMINOLE -- On a Saturday morning, when other pajama-clad kids were still rubbing their sleepy eyes, 10-year-old Jeremy Geddings was wide awake and studying.

As Jehovah's Witnesses, Jeremy and his parents were about to join about 100 others in a brief review session before dispersing for weekly "door-to-door service."

Like 6-million Jehovah's Witnesses worldwide, they believe evangelism is a spiritual mandate, spelled out in the Gospel of Matthew 24:14. And though many have tried to stop Jehovah's Witnesses, they won't quit knocking -- not even in the sweltering heat of a Florida summer.

An organized religion headquartered in Brooklyn and complete with its own legal department, Jehovah's Witnesses have fought what they call infringements on their free speech for years. According to the book Jehovah's Witnesses: Proclaimers of God's Kingdom, Witnesses have been persecuted for their beliefs since the 1920s and 1930s in countries around the world. Their literature was confiscated in Italy and Hungary. They were arrested in several countries, including Germany, Romania and the United States.

Witnesses say they have continually been forced to fight against limitations on their evangelism. Some cases traveled to the U.S. Supreme Court -- most recently one in which the court struck down a small Ohio town's requirement that all canvassers register with the city and carry a permit to knock on doors.

The victory "reinforced something that we've fought for for many years," said Charlie Wolfersberger, a Witness in Seminole.

In his button-down shirt, khaki pants and tie, young Jeremy read the week's message in the Witnesses' Awake! and Watchtower magazines and thought about what he would say to people who opened their doors this morning. He underlined sentences in one article, "Mankind's Problems: Will They Ever End?"

Jehovah’s Witnesses Henry and Karen Casper talk to Donna Hengstebeck and her 8-year-old daughter, Alexis, in Largo. “Our endeavor is not to convert the world,” Henry Casper explains. “Jesus said preach the good news of the kingdom. Some will respond. Some will not.”

Witnesses in Pinellas County typically meet in smaller groups of about 15 or so on Saturdays. But Henry Casper, a traveling overseer for congregations in southern Pinellas, has come to join them. Members of at least three congregations gather together at the Kingdom Hall on Park Boulevard.

About 100 congregations, including 15,000 to 20,000 Witnesses, share Kingdom Halls throughout the five-county Tampa Bay area.

The review session begins promptly at 9 a.m. and Casper, wearing a dark suit, dress shirt and tie, stands at the front of the room like a professor in a lecture hall.

"How should we feel about the preaching and the work that it's accomplishing?" he asks, calling on a man whose hand shoots up.

"More valuable than ever," the man says.

"The Watchtower goes back to what year? Brother Anderson?"

"1879," Anderson answers.

"Yes, very fine," Casper says, his refrain for correct answers. "Very fine."

The women and girls wear dresses. Men wear slacks, dress shirts and ties. After a half hour, Witnesses decide how to partner. Small laminated maps of local neighborhoods are distributed .

Wolfersberger leads the group in prayer before they depart.

"Our dear God Jehovah, we are so grateful that we can be used in some small way," he prays. "Sometimes, if they don't receive us well, well, we know they also have many problems to deal with. . . . Please, bless our work this morning."

By 10 a.m., Witnesses are filtering into the parking lot, headed for their "territories." Casper and his wife, Karen, ride with Wolfersberger and his wife, Gerry. Jeremy, his mother, Tammy Berger, stepfather Bill Berger and another woman load into their van to tackle the same area as the Wolfersbergers, a slice of Seminole near Oakhurst Road.

According to their records, this area is due for a visit. Witnesses haven't visited there in about six months.

People work such different schedules nowadays, Mrs. Wolfersberger says. "We try to go back two, three or four times until we find somebody home."

Jehovah’s Witnesses meet at a Kingdom Hall for a review session and to get their assigned territories before going door to door. Chip Weaver checks the map while Jim Chlebus waits.

Karen Casper positions herself on one side and knocks on her first door of the morning. "I don't like to be right in their face when the door opens," she says. "It startles them."

No one answers, so she folds a biblical tract and tucks it between the door and the door frame. "Would You Like to Know More About the Bible?" it reads. On the back, it lists addresses for Jehovah's Witnesses offices in various countries, including Australia, Canada, Ghana, Jamaica, Kenya, Malaysia, South Africa and Witness headquarters in Brooklyn, N.Y.

Mrs. Casper jots down addresses for houses where no one answers, so Witnesses will know to try them again the next time they're in the neighborhood -- "So that we're thorough," she says. "We value peoples' lives. We want to give them an opportunity."

After visiting a home, Jehovah’s Witnesses note what happened on detailed “house-to-house” record forms. They might indicate what magazine article the resident agreed to read, so they can ask about it when they make a follow-up visit.

Witnesses carry detailed "house-to-house" record forms to track their activity on each street. The forms have spaces for the house number, date and remarks. A system of symbols keeps writing to a minimum: CA means "call again;" NH, not home; B, busy; C, a child answered the door; M, man; W, woman.

Four homes are silent before a door creeps open.

"Good morning, how are you?" Mrs. Casper starts in, her face a happy smile. "I know you weren't expecting anyone. We just thought we'd brighten your day a little bit. . . ."

"Ma'am I just got home from work. I'm busy," says the woman's dry voice from the other side of the screen.

"Okay, can I just leave you a tra. . . ."

The door shuts soundly.

"I don't view that as rejection," Mrs. Casper says, her brown pumps clicking against the asphalt as she walks away. "We're calling unexpectedly." The woman probably was very tired, she figures.

More people seem to be at home farther down the street and on the other side of the road where her husband and the Wolfersbergers are knocking.

"Hello!" Mrs. Wolfersberger says to a man working in his garage. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Hot," responds Charles Wallace, his white beard soaking up beads of sweat.

"Just trying to share some hopeful news from the Bible," she says.

Hopeful news? After Sept. 11? Wallace says. "I'll read your stuff," he nods with a cordial tone.

"God does have a timetable," Wolfersberger says. "He said he will put an end to violence."

One street over, people in the Bergers' van have been invited into a pink house for a brief chat. A woman who takes in stray cats and dogs asked another couple of Witnesses into her home.

On the flip side, one man told Witnesses he worked nights. Their visits disturbed his rest. Witnesses recorded the address, so they would know not to visit on Saturday morning.

By now, the temperature is well past 80 and Henry Casper takes out a hanky to wipe his brow. The group decides to stop at the nearby Wendy's for cool drinks.

Refreshed with Hawaiian punch and tea, they drive back to the neighborhood. Jehovah is good -- they find a sprawling camphor tree where they can park their van in the shade this time.

Casper has taken off his jacket. As he strolls down one woman's driveway, he picks up the morning newspaper.

"My name is Henry," he says to the woman who opens the door. "We've been asking folks just briefly, we live in a . . . turbulent world today. Do you think we'll ever see an end to problems?"

"Noooo," the woman says, half-chuckling.

If you could, Casper asks, which problem would you work on?

"Oh . . . crime?"

"We've been sharing an article in our journal, the Watchtower," he says. "If you have 30 seconds, can I share it with you?"

The woman agrees. Casper shows her the article and reads a passage from the Book of Psalms. The woman says she will read the magazines and wouldn't mind sharing her thoughts on them sometime. Casper walks away and notes her address. Witnesses will visit her again. He writes down the article they discussed so he won't forget it. A large part of Witnesses' ministry is "calling on" people who seem interested in learning more about their faith or the magazine articles and holding Bible studies to teach people about their faith. Still, they know many people will never become Witnesses.

"Our endeavor is not to convert the world," Casper explains. "Jesus said preach the good news of the kingdom. Some will respond. Some will not."

Another thrust of their faith is to train children to carry on the work.

Jeremy is walking alongside his mother. They stop at one house displaying a "No Soliciting" sign, but are not deterred. Mrs. Berger says she figures the sign applies to people selling things, not Witnesses spreading good news. Unless a sign says specifically "No Jehovah's Witnesses" -- which some do -- she generally knocks.

Jeremy positions himself by the doorknob and opens one of his magazines.

"Hi, my name is Jeremy and this is my mom," he says when the door opens. They have been spreading the word of Jehovah's Witnesses this morning, he says.

He holds up the article about world problems.

"Do you think that we will ever see an end to problems like these?"

No response.

He reads the sentences he practiced this morning, stumbling only on the four syllables in "illiterate."

His speech finished, Jeremy pauses for a reaction.

"That's very nice," the gray-haired woman says. "But I'm not interested."

Jeremy and Mrs. Berger wish her a good day.

Good presentation, his mother tells him, as they walk away. He grins sheepishly.

About noon, they knock on their final door of the day. No one is home.

Jeremy pulls out his house-to-house form and writes down the address. They will visit again.

Jeremy Geddings, 10, walks with his stepfather Bill Berger as two more Jehovah’s Witnesses climb out of the group’s van. Witnesses believe one of their responsibilities is to train young people to carry on their work.

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