The Birmingham Congregation quickly recommended my appointment as an elder, and the Society approved it without delay. Additional ‘privileges’ soon followed: I was assigned as Circuit Assembly Accounts Overseer, given speaking parts at Circuit Assemblies, appointed District Convention News Service Overseer, and given speaking assignments on District Convention programs.

Being kept busy with these activities helped me to suppress the questions that had troubled me in previous years. This is a common method of ‘thought control’ — the more one is immersed in the activities of a group, the more the group’s influence is reinforced and integrated into one’s sense of identity. The Witnesses’ pervasive self-identification as “the Truth” is an example of the kind of mental reinforcement typical of high mind control groups.

However, things began to shift for me in the late 1990s with the rise of the Internet and newfound access to dissenting opinions and counter-evidence. Initially, I joined online chat groups intending to defend the Organization, confident that my years of involvement had ‘inoculated’ me against apostate thinking. I was certain that I was well-equipped to expose false teachings and correct any misunderstandings I encountered.

The first ‘crack’ in that certainty came through reading works by the 20th-century Christian apologist C. S. Lewis. I even used some of Lewis’s ideas in congregation talks, and much to my amusement received several compliments on them.

Lewis’s writings began to dismantle the mental barriers I had erected toward mainstream Christianity. His clear, logical explanations of orthodox Christian faith did not align with the narrative I had been taught about ‘Babylon the Great’.

The second ‘crack’ in my certainty emerged during an online debate in a chat group (it was either JWD or H2O) where both critics and defenders of the Society engaged in discussion. I was attempting to defend the Society’s blood policy when a woman — whose name I can no longer recall, though “Alice” seems to fit — challenged me. She pointed out glaring inconsistencies in the policy and presented compelling reasons why it lacked genuine scriptural backing.

In frustration, I responded by labeling her a modern-day “Jezebel,” attempting to dismiss her with an ad hominem rather than engaging with her arguments. But the unsettling truth was that I couldn’t effectively refute her arguments. This left me troubled and forced long-suppressed questions to resurface, returning with an urgency I could no longer ignore.

At the same time, new concerns began to arise, one of which was the seeming dishonesty in how the District Convention News Service Department engaged with the local media during convention season. It was 1997, and I was serving as the “News Service Overseer” for the convention at the Pontiac Silverdome in Pontiac, Michigan.

For context: In the lead-up to the summer conventions, the local Convention Organization holds preparatory meetings. For this particular convention, a notable guest from Bethel joined us — Judah Ben Schroeder, the son of Governing Body member Albert Schroeder. Judah Ben attended both our final preparation meeting and the convention itself. What follows is a simplified recreation of that last preparatory meeting, where all department overseers were present with Judah Ben Schroeder.

Scene:   Local Kingdom Hall, convention overseers and their assistants are gathered for the final preparation meeting with the Society’s representative…

Convention Overseer:   Brothers, welcome to our final meeting in preparation for the summer District Convention. Today, we’ll review the directions from the Governing Body and address any final questions you may have regarding your responsibilities. We’re also privileged to have two members from the Headquarters staff with us to assist with any concerns. Let me introduce Brother Judah Ben Schroeder, son of Governing Body member Albert Schroeder, and Brother Someone-or-other (I can’t recall his name).

Judah Ben Schroeder:   Greetings, brothers. We bring you the love of the Governing Body. We’ll be attending the convention alongside you, observing the operations and reporting back to Headquarters with any recommendations, including your suggestions. Please feel free to approach us during the convention, and of course, we’ll do the same if we have observations to share.

Convention Overseer:   Thank you, Brother Schroeder. We look forward to your insights. Now, brothers, you’ve each received a packet of instructions for your departments. I trust you’ve reviewed them carefully. Let’s open the floor to questions. Brother News Service Overseer?

News Service Overseer (me):   Yes, Brother Convention Overseer. I’ve reviewed the Society’s instructions for handling News Service and I have one observation and one question. The instructions specify that attendants will escort anyone from the media directly to the News Service Department to prevent unqualified Witnesses from speaking to them, which I understand as a way to avoid potential embarrassment in public media. However, my question concerns the specific direction we’re to give reporters.

The instructions suggest we emphasize that the convention significantly benefits the local economy, estimating that each attendee contributes about $100 per day through hotel stays, meals, and fuel purchases. However, that seems inaccurate — especially here in Pontiac. Most attendees live within an hour’s drive of the stadium, and only a small fraction stay overnight. Even for those who do, families often share rooms costing around $60 a night, which amounts to no more than about $5 per attendee on average.

Additionally, most attendees bring food or eat at the stadium rather than dining out. In my experience, few attendees refuel near the venue, preferring to fill their tanks closer to home where gas is cheaper. Realistically, I estimate attendees might contribute closer to $10 to $15 per day on average, far from the $100 figure we’re asked to share with the media. Would it not be better to develop a more realistic estimate for our interviews?

Convention Overseer:   Well, Brother News Service Overseer, I believe it’s always best to follow the instructions provided by the Organization, don’t you agree? What’s your view, Brother Schroeder?

Judah Ben Schroeder:   Absolutely. The Governing Body’s guidance is always reliable, and they wouldn’t direct us to do anything inappropriate. It’s important to trust that they know what’s best.

Convention Overseer:   So that’s what we’ll do, won’t we, Brother News Service Overseer? We’ll give the Press interviews just as the instructions outline.

News Service Overseer (me):   (mumbles agreement) …

Epilogue:   During the convention, I gave interviews to the local press but somehow neglected to mention the supposed economic benefit the event was said to bring to the community. The following year, I was reassigned as Assistant News Service Overseer, replaced by a more compliant elder. This change may also have been influenced by the questions I raised with Judah Ben Schroeder during the convention regarding the enforcement of the Society’s blood policy in Romania. The reassignment didn’t trouble me — I had a feeling this might be my last district convention.

Another troubling issue arose when I was assigned to serve on an appeal committee for a man who had been disfellowshipped for allowing his adult disfellowshipped daughter to move back into his home. His appeal was that if he had refused, she would have been homeless, left to live on the streets. He explained that, in good conscience and in love, he could not abandon her in such desperate circumstances.

During the appeal committee meeting, the man broke down repeatedly in tears, torn between his desire to remain faithful to Jehovah and his love for his daughter. He could not reconcile how showing love in this way could be considered sinful. As the committee deliberated privately, three of the four elders voted to uphold the disfellowshipping. I alone felt that the punishment was unjust and should be overturned.

When we called the circuit overseer to report the split decision, he insisted I align with the majority to ensure a unanimous outcome. Reluctantly, I complied and agreed to uphold the disfellowshipping. The decision weighed heavily on my conscience. I felt deep shame for condemning a man for doing what I knew I would have done in the same situation.

I was now emboldened to read former Governing Body member Ray Franz’s book Crisis of Conscience. Having spent over six years in the Service Department at Bethel, witnessing firsthand ‘how the sausage is made,’ I recognized the truth in what Ray had written. His insights confirmed my misgivings about the Organization. This was the final straw.

It became undeniably clear to me that The Watchtower was not divinely directed but just another man-made religious sect like others that thrived by exerting psychological control over its members. It was time to fulfill the promise I had made to my father so many years earlier — never to let someone else do my thinking for me.

In 2000, my online research led me to a group called BRCI — Biblical Research and Commentary International. This organization, composed of former Jehovah’s Witnesses, provided support to those questioning the Watchtower’s teachings and sought to help them overcome the fear and mental control imposed by the Organization. While BRCI’s members held a variety of religious beliefs, they were united by their shared experience as former Witnesses. Their mission focused on offering practical guidance for those seeking to leave the Watchtower with minimal emotional harm to themselves and their families.

With a great deal of trepidation, I decided to call the phone number listed for the group and spoke with a Canadian woman named Grace Gough. When she asked for my name, I declined to provide it, as I was still serving as an elder at the time. Grace mentioned that BRCI’s annual meeting was only a few weeks away and would be held near her home in St. Jacobs, Ontario. Remarkably, this aligned perfectly with a work trip I had scheduled to Toronto, putting me close to their meeting location on the Saturday they were gathering. The timing felt almost too good to be true, perhaps not a coincidence?

On my way home from Toronto that Saturday, I made a slight detour to attend the BRCI meeting and see what it was all about. I was nervous about stepping into the room, but imagine my surprise when I recognized my old Bethel roommate Bob Witty running the sound system for the event!

I also met Grace Gough, who introduced me to the group with a playful jab: “This is that stuffy elder I spoke with on the telephone a few weeks ago.” After the meeting, Bob pulled me aside, and we spent time catching up on everything that had happened in our lives since our days at Bethel. Before we parted, Bob asked if he could pray with me, and I accepted.

While the meeting itself didn’t leave a profound impression on me at the time, reconnecting with Bob planted a seed. Just a few years later, I would join the BRCI board and remain involved with the organization until its closure in the early 2010s.

But now came the moment of truth. I had no idea how I was going to tell Suzanne about the conclusions I had reached. When I got home that evening, I sat down with her on the sofa and said, “Honey, there’s something we need to talk about.” Without much preamble, I simply said, “I’m going to resign as an elder. I don’t believe this is ‘the truth’ anymore, and I can’t in good conscience continue teaching something I don’t believe.”

Before I even finished speaking, a broad smile spread across Suzanne’s face. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said. “I don’t believe it anymore either.” I was stunned. We had both kept our doubts hidden from each other to avoid upsetting the marriage, yet those doubts had been quietly growing in both of us for over a year.

In the weeks that followed, I shared with Suzanne the questions that had troubled me since our time at Bethel, as well as the new ones sparked by reading Crisis of Conscience and engaging with critics online. Strangely, I never thought to ask her what had caused her own doubts, though she made it clear that she had become deeply unhappy as a Witness. For her, it seemed less about doctrinal issues and more about the ongoing stress and discomfort of life within the Organization. Clearing this hurdle together was a relief, but I knew the next steps would be more challenging.

I informed the body of elders that I needed to take a break from my role as an elder due to the growing demands of my job and the stress I was experiencing. They kindly offered to lighten my responsibilities, but I made it clear that I needed to step down entirely. While they weren’t certain what was behind my decision, there had been some murmurs within the congregation — and even from a neighboring congregation where I had recently given a public talk — that my talks were not strictly following the Society’s outlines.

However, no formal accusation of ‘apostasy’ was ever made, and neither Suzanne nor I were ever disfellowshipped.

We decided the best course of action was to quietly ‘fade’ from the Organization, attending fewer and fewer meetings over time. The local elders visited us twice during this period, but they never asked the one question I had anticipated: ‘Do you still believe the Governing Body is directed by God?’ I had prepared a response, ready to say that it wasn’t my responsibility to prove the Governing Body’s authority, but theirs to prove it to me, and therefore I didn’t feel obligated to answer such a question.

Fortunately, the elders left us alone, whether out of respect for my history in the organization or due to Suzanne’s father’s prominence as both an elder and a doctor, I can’t say. Regardless of the reason, we were relieved they didn’t pressure us further.

The situation was more painful when it came to friends and Suzanne’s parents.

One day, I came home from work to find Suzanne in tears, devastated by a letter she had received from her lifelong best friend, Tia — who had also been the maid of honor at our wedding. In the letter, Tia harshly condemned Suzanne for “leaving Jehovah” and explained that their friendship could no longer continue if Suzanne was no longer one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I had never seen Suzanne so heartbroken. Losing the friend she cherished like a sister was a pain she carried to her death.

Even in Suzanne’s final days battling cancer — when her illness was well known throughout the local Witness community — Tia never reached out. Suzanne’s only consistent support during the last eight months of her life came from her cousin Gwen, who remained a Witness, and from three former Witnesses: Jann, Rhonda, and Brenda. Their kindness and presence meant more to Suzanne than words can express.

My family had no particular interest in whether we remained in the religion or not. Suzanne’s brothers, Marc and Paul, had both left the Witnesses years before us. However, because we had distanced ourselves from them during that time, their relationship with us was understandably strained — at least until Suzanne’s illness, when they became genuinely supportive.

Suzanne’s parents, however, seemed convinced that I was the ‘apostate’ responsible for their daughter leaving the faith. I saw no point in correcting them. When they invited us to their home to discuss our decision to stop attending meetings, I explained that we had questions the Society had not answered and that we would welcome their insight if they were willing to hear us out. But they refused to even listen to our concerns. Suzanne’s mother, Barbara, maintained occasional contact with her daughter, taking her shopping now and then, likely hoping that this might encourage Suzanne to return to the faith.

That hope, however, never materialized. When Suzanne was diagnosed with cancer in the summer of 2005, her parents kept their distance from me, though Henri did answer my medical questions related to Suzanne. Apparently he felt it okay to do so since the Watchtower permitted the handling of “important family matters” with disfellowshipped individuals (though, remember, neither Suzanne nor I were disfellowshipped).

Henri and Barbara owned a timeshare in Florida, where they spent a month each winter. They left for their vacation on Saturday, January 21, 2006 — the same day Suzanne was admitted to the hospital for what would be the final time. Chemotherapy had caused blood clots to form in her leg, bringing her immense pain. She was admitted to University of Michigan Hospital. Her doctor discontinued chemotherapy and switched to radiation treatment, but this too failed to halt the cancer’s spread. After two weeks in the hospital, on February 4, Suzanne was discharged to begin hospice care at home, where she would spend the final two weeks of her life.

I immediately notified Henri and Barbara that Suzanne’s hospice nurse had given her no more than two weeks to live. Despite this, they chose not to cut short their month-long vacation. (At the funeral, Henri tried to explain that it had been Barbara’s insistence to stay in Florida despite knowing that their daughter could die any day.) They arrived back in town on Saturday, February 18 — the day Suzanne passed. Even then, they could not be bothered to visit her quickly, despite the fact that she had already been in a coma for more than a day.

Marc and Paul Enfroy, along with their wives, and Suzanne’s cousin Rodger Sullivan and his wife Gwen, were at the house that day when the hospice nurse informed us that Suzanne had at most a few hours left to live. Henri and Barbara had landed at the airport earlier that afternoon, and Marc called them to share the nurse’s update. Despite being told by Marc that Suzanne’s death was imminent, they informed him that they would not come to the house until after they had taken a nap, as they were exhausted from their trip.

I was sitting beside a comatose Suzanne’s hospice bed, holding her hand, when Marc relayed their response. Then — both Marc and I witnessed it — a tear rolled down Suzanne’s cheek. Though comatose, she had clearly heard that her own parents were in no hurry to be with her during her final moments.

I was stunned by their indifference. Not only had they refused to cut their month-long vacation short to spend time with their dying daughter, but now even their nap took priority over seeing her one last time. They eventually arrived late in the afternoon, but their visit was brief, and they soon left. Frankly, I was glad they did.

Suzanne slipped away that night at 9:58 p.m. Every year on the anniversary of her passing, I honor that moment in solitude. In a darkened room, I light a votive candle, reread one of our early love letters, and play Enya’s “Shepherd Moons” — the song that we played at Suzanne’s funeral.

We held Suzanne’s funeral service on February 25th at the McCabe Funeral Home in Farmington Hills. Marc and Paul created a beautiful video montage of Suzanne’s life, accompanied by “Shepherd Moons.” My brother Stu recorded a special version of “If” by Bread, one of Suzanne’s favorite songs. The funeral parlor was adorned with flower arrangements, including one from Brenda and Jann that featured a ceramic angel, which I have kept with me ever since. We also displayed some of Suzanne’s watercolor paintings throughout the parlor, offering a glimpse into her artistic soul.

I was initially moved by the number of Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to express their condolences before the service—at least fifty gathered. However, I was shocked when they all left before the service began. Later, I discovered that Henri and Barbara had advised the Witnesses to leave, as Suzanne’s disfellowshipped brothers, Marc and Paul, and I were participating in the eulogy. Although I had included both her parents and her brothers in the service to honor Suzanne fully, her parents’ actions deprived many attendees of hearing the heartfelt memories we shared of her life and spirit. It was an outrageous affront, but not entirely surprising: Jehovah’s Witnesses can justify any action, no matter how unkind, if they believe it is in support of the Organization.

After Suzanne’s passing, I found myself searching for a spiritual home. I visited many nearby Churches: Lutheran, Methodist, Baptist, and non-denominational, hoping to find one to which I felt God was leading me. The one Church I did not investigate was the Catholic Church. My opinion of Catholicism had been heavily skewed, both by the Watchtower and by Protestant Christians. Still, I kept reading. Authors like C. S. Lewis, G. B. Caird, Austin Farrer, Brian Hebblethwaite, Lesslie Newbigin, and Roy Clouser — all Protestants— had opened a door for me, inviting me to enter more deeply into what it meant to follow Christ. Catholic authors, however, remained off-limits.

Even before Suzanne’s death, I had became more involved with BRCI, giving talks at their annual conference and contributing to their monthly newsletter. One of BRCI’s early members was Tom Cabeen — not only an ex-Witness, but like me a former Bethelite. Tom had recently converted to Catholicism, and despite criticism from other BRCI members, he spoke openly about what he had learned as a Catholic. After a couple years of receiving occasional phone calls from Tom — and literally praying that he would stop calling me, lol — I decided to set aside my bias and do some open-minded investigation of the Catholic Church.

What began as a hesitant exploration soon turned into a deep dive into Catholic thought. I read books by Catholic philosophers Edward Feser, J. Budziszewski, Peter Kreeft, and Mortimer Adler, and found them intellectually and morally enlightening. I read books by Catholic apologists such as Patrick Madrid, Jimmy Akin, Tim Staples, Trent Horn, and Joe Heschmeyer, and found their arguments handily exposed the misrepresentations by Jehovah’s Witnesses and Protestants, proving that Catholic doctrines and practices were indeed Scripturally and historically based in early apostolic teaching. Historian and apologist Rod Bennett’s book The Apostasy That Wasn’t proved to me that there was no ‘great apostasy’ from the early Christian Church, and that in fact the early Church successfully fought against heresies such as Gnosticism, Docetism, Montanism, Valentinianism, Sabellianism, Marcionism, Monarchianism, Modalism, Patripanssianism, Basilideanism, Novatianism, Arianism, Donatism, Apollinarianism, and many others — propounded by ‘men speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after themselves’ just as Paul had forewarned in Acts 20:28–30. Reading Catholic theologians like Brant Pitre, Scott Hahn, Romano Guardini, Ronald Knox, Frank Sheed, and Pope Benedict XVI enriched my understanding of Scripture even further. Learning that G. K. Chesterton — the early 20th Century literary critic and author who had profoundly influenced C. S. Lewis — was Catholic, I eagerly read his works. With every book I read, my old misconceptions eroded more. The Catholic Church’s history and theology were intellectually robust and scripturally provable, eminently spiritually nourishing. I began to regret not having investigated Catholicism years earlier!

One day in the Fall of 2012, I nervously knocked on the door of the rectory at the St. Fabian Catholic Church in Farmington Hills, and was greeted by a young priest, Fr. Paul. We talked about my experience and interest in the Catholic Church, and he recommended I enter the RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) — now called OCIA (Order of Christian Initiation for Adults) — program to learn about the Church from an inside perspective. I did so, and about six months later, at Easter of 2013, I was baptized, confirmed, and received my First Communion from Fr. Jeff Day, officially entering the Catholic Church.

I stayed in Michigan until June 2015, when I made the move to Brookings, Oregon. I wanted to be closer to my brothers Steve and Stu in the Sacramento, California area and to experience life near the Pacific Ocean. I bought a home just a mile above Harris Beach State Park. While Brookings was amazingly beautiful, and I loved being able to walk to the ocean, it was still a tiring eight-hour drive from my brothers in California, so in 2018 I made another move to Dayton, Nevada, and then in 2022, to Carson City. Here I am just a little over two hours from my brothers, and just half an hour from South Lake Tahoe, where Suzanne’s cremains are interred in a beautiful pine covered cemetery amidst the magnificent Sierra Nevada mountains … and where I will one day join her.

My dear friend Tom Cabeen went on to be ordained as a Deacon in the Catholic Church. Although I would have loved to follow in his footsteps, by the time I seriously considered it, I was already past the age to begin the years of formation required for ordination. Instead, I’ve found fulfillment in other forms of service: teaching Confirmation classes, serving as an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, Sacristan, and Lector, and being an active member of the Knights of Columbus. Through participating in charity events, volunteering to support the homeless, and engaging with my faith community, I’ve found a rich, rewarding, and spiritually fulfilling life here in Nevada.