Ellis Felker
Ellis Felker lives on a farm near Boaz, in Richland County, Wisconsin. He is a writer, photographer, and owner of Red Oak Greeting Card Company. He is the author of several volumes of poetry including “Gently, Down the Stream” and “Childhood River.” On his “First Words” podcast Felker speaks about his experiences with synchronicity, love, fear, energy, and God. (Courtesy Photo)
Special to United Methodist Insight | Aug. 6, 2025
When Jehovah’s Witnesses come to my door I am always polite. If I have time I invite them in for a conversation. I tell them that I am a pastor and explain that my beliefs are different than theirs, but I respect their commitment to witnessing.
Sometimes these encounters have led to interesting conversations about faith. And when they offer me literature, I graciously receive it and offer them one of my books.
My friend, ElIis Felker, of rural Richland County, Wisconsin, wrote recently about an experience he had when two Jehovah’s Witness men came to his door:
“I was sitting on the couch writing when there was a knock on the door. I looked out the window and noticed two nicely dressed men holding Bibles. Jehovah’s Witnesses! My heart was open as I got up to greet them. We shook hands as they introduced themselves.
“They were sweet men. Kind. Happy. This was Divine timing for me. I knew they would have something to tell me, and me them – something I could add to the spiritual soup that I was always stirring. I asked them if they thought we were living in the end times – would Jesus be coming back soon?
“‘Yes. He’s already here,’ they replied. This surprised me. ‘Do you mean in the flesh?’
“‘No, in the spirit. Jesus returned to earth in 1914. It’s in the Bible.’ There was love flowing between us. They had found their truth and wanted to share it with me, and I listened.
“I told them I was searching and that I felt something was happening on the planet – a rising of both the dark and the light. The trick is to keep focusing on the light, which I have a hard time doing. Sometimes the dark overwhelms me. But I learn from it and I rise again and again.
“After thirty minutes or so we shook hands and I wished them good luck. They gave me some literature and walked to their car, which they had left running for the air-conditioning. Their wives were sitting in the back seat and it was a very hot day. I should have hugged them when they left and told them I loved them. If they ever come again I will do that,” Ellis concluded.
Ellis’s description of his encounter with Jehovah’s witnesses reminds me of a similar incident that occurred with members of one of the churches I served as pastor years ago. I have changed the names in this fictionalized version of the story:
There was a young couple in a small country church who had a beautiful little daughter who was a favorite of everyone in the congregation. Clarissa had golden hair and was pretty and bright, with a sweet disposition. Adela liked to dress her up in frilly dresses and bonnets when they came to church. Everyone loved to fuss over little Clarrie, as her father called her. Gilbert used to take her fishing down by the river that ran through their farm, and they would laugh together at the antics of the muskrats they saw playing along the banks.Then, one day, they discovered that Clarissa had a fast-growing, malignant tumor on her brain. The tumor was inoperable and untreatable. Clarissa died four months later, exactly a week before her fifth birthday. Gilbert picked up Clarissa's lifeless body and carried her across the long river bridge, all the way to the funeral parlor in town.
Adela and Gilbert remained faithful to the church, but the light had gone out of their lives. Everyone in the congregation grieved with them. After several months, it was apparent that both of them were deeply depressed. They talked to the pastor; they went to a therapist for counseling, but nothing seemed to help.
One Sunday morning, almost two years to the day after Clarissa's death, Gilbert and Adela came into the church with smiles on their faces. Everyone could tell that something had happened, but they didn't know what. Gilbert and Adela just said it had something to do with a gift of the Spirit. It wasn't until several months later that the congregation heard the full story.
There was a Jehovah's Witness couple who had been coming to witness to Gilbert and Adela for several years. They never turned them away, even though they were not much interested in the old couple's religion. Gilbert and Adela would listen politely and sometimes they would share a little of their own faith.
After the couple's religious obligation was completed, Adela would always insist that they stay and visit a while. Then she would lead them into the kitchen for milk and fresh bread with homemade strawberry jam.
Often there was hot soup on the stove to go with the bread. They visited about everyday concerns, sometimes laughing and talking until late in the afternoon, well past chore time. When Clarissa died, the old couple came more often and said little about their religion.
Gilbert and Ardella noticed one day that it had been several months since the couple's last visit, and they began to wonder what had happened to them. They had never exchanged last names or telephone numbers. Gilbert and Ardella had no idea where the old couple lived or how to contact them. All they could do was wait and wonder.
Several months passed, and then, one day, the old man showed up on their front doorstep alone. He said his wife had died quite suddenly, and he had been so grief-stricken that he had not been able to get out to do his witnessing. Gilbert invited him in, and Adela made him sit down and have some soup with them. As he talked about his wife's death, they wept with him, and put their arms around him, and loved him.
John Sumwalt
John Sumwalt is a retired pastor and the author of “How to Preach the Miracles.”