Zoom Church For The Deaf-Blind: How The Jehovah's Witnesses Are Adapting

SAN DIEGO, Calif. — While many churches have resumed in-person services, the Jehovah’s Witnesses remain completely virtual in their operations with no plans to reopen.That strategy has posed new challenges for deaf and blind members of the Jehovah’s Witnesses and created a zone of ongoing innovation.

While Zoom services and podcasted sermons have become commonplace for many, those who are deaf or blind—or both—can fall through the cracks. The deaf-blind make up a minuscule portion of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. While the organization keeps no exact data on this demographic, only 323 people in the United States branch receive braille publications, and a minute fraction of those are also deaf.

Despite their proportionally small numbers, the organization has innovated ways to minister to this group, utilizing everything from advanced tactile readers to macaroni. 

John Smith translating a meeting. Photo courtesy of Smith.

Last Spring, according to data from the Pew Research Center, more than 90 percent of Americans who regularly attended religious services indicated that their congregations were closed. As of March 2021, a similar Pew study found that fewer than one in five people who regularly attend religious services said their congregation was closed for in-person services. Only 18 percent of Protestants surveyed and 8 percent of Catholics surveyed said their congregations were not open for in-person services. 

However, the Jehovah’s Witnesses still have no plans to reopen, said Robert Hendriks, spokesperson for the Jehovah’s Witnesses American branch. “It is not enough for us to mitigate risk. We want to eliminate it entirely,” he said. 

As of July 2, 67.1 percent of U.S adults have received at least one dose of the COVID-19 vaccine. Despite this trend, the organization remains nervous about reopening, especially amid emerging variants of the virus.

“Even when the pandemic was raging, there was a significant drop in the Summer, to where some thought ‘this is behind us,’” Hendriks said. “But then the Fall was an unmitigated disaster and by January some thought ‘we will never get past this’... It can’t hurt us to be as cautious coming out of this as we were going in.” 

Weekly kingdom hall meetings are being conducted over Zoom, and the annual convention, a staple in the Witnesses’ calendar, began virtually last weekend for the second time in history and will continue to roll out through August. All door-to-door knocking, Subway ministry, and public outreach has moved online since last March.

As of August 2020, nine out of 10 Americans who attended online religious services said they were either “very” satisfied (54 percent) or “somewhat” satisfied (37 percent) with the experience. But what about those who are unable to participate in widely adopted methods of virtual worship? 

A 2008 census by The National Consortium on Deaf-Blindness estimated the population of deaf-blind individuals in the United States to be around 50,000 people. 

James Ryan, a Jehovah’s Witness in Fall River, Massachusetts, was born deaf and became blind as a result of retinal detachment at age eight. When the pandemic hit last March and public meetings were suspended, his congregation mobilized.

James Ryan attending a virtual meeting with his tactile reader. Photo courtesy of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

“Our first thought was ‘what about James? What are we going to do for him,’” said John Smith, a Jehovah’s Witness in Ryan’s congregation. 

Prior to the pandemic, Smith and Ryan attended an American Sign Language congregation in the area. Smith would sit next to Ryan and tactile sign the talks. When kingdom hall meetings and Bible studies were moved to Zoom, the congregation worried about Ryan slipping into isolation.

After research and conversations with others in the community, “it dawned on me to use email,” Smith said. 

Ryan has an electronic reader that translates emails, articles and verbal communication into braille. During the weekly meetings, Smith and eight other interpreters take turns translating the ASL meeting. They have software hooked up to their smartphones that allows them to speak into their phone speakers and have the words almost instantly translated into braille on Ryan’s reader. 

A substantial portion of the kingdom hall meetings is composed of a question and answer style dialogue. Ryan reads the relevant materials prior to the meetings, and when he wants to respond to a question, he sends an email to his interpreter who raises his hand on behalf of Ryan and acts as an intermediary. 

 “There are not a lot of people I can associate with, especially now. But my brothers and sisters make me feel connected,” Ryan said, “like a family.” 

The curriculum for the weekly kingdom hall meetings is uniform across the entire organization. Since he and the other interpreters were already translating the messages, they reached out to their local leaders to see if any other deaf/blind witnesses wanted to receive the emails, and added another Witness from Pennsylvania. 

“In a weird way, the pandemic is making us closer,” Smith said. 

Kelia Arts, a deaf-blind Witness in Panama City, Florida, needed a different model. Arts lost her sight as an adult and never had the opportunity to learn to read braille. 

Kelia Arts with some 3D letters she received from children. Photo courtesy of Quinton Williams.

Before the pandemic struck, she was taking lessons three times a week, but last March left her stranded. 

“I was so afraid,” Arts said. “I didn’t know what was going on or how I was going to connect.” 

As the country shuttered and everyone sheltered in place, Quinton Williams, Arts’ tactile interpreter and personal friend, struggled with what to do. She and her husband had a somber discussion in the early days of the pandemic. “We were scared of the virus, but the thought of her being isolated with no meetings, we didn’t have the heart to do that,” Williams said. 

Williams, her husband, Arts, and Arts’ mother came to an agreement to establish a strict bubble. They loaded up on gloves, masks, and hand sanitizer and agreed not to associate with anyone else in-person. 

Williams and her husband would drive to Arts’ house for the weekly meetings to act as her tactile interpreters. Through latex gloves, they struggled to communicate the week’s message. 

“We would sanitize everything, and all wear our masks and in the beginning we would all wear gloves, which was really uncomfortable,” Williams said. “Tactile is all about touch, so with the gloves sometimes it was hard for her to feel signs. It was frustrating at times.” 

Arts reading one of her letters. Photo courtesy of Quinton Williams.

Witnesses across the United States came to know of Kelia’s story through the Circuit Overseer of her region and then through word of mouth. Children from across the nation responded. Over the past year, Kelia has received boxes full of 3-dimensional cards and pictures. 

Using macaroni noodles, cotton balls, glitter and whatever else they could get their hands on, kids created illustrations of Bible stories and encouraging notes and sent them to Kelia. 

Arts keeps all of the letters in storage bins in her home and re-reads them daily when she needs encouragement, she said. 

With no in-person meetings on the horizon, Williams and Arts plan to continue their arrangement.

“I am so lucky to have so many people,” Arts said. “I never felt overlooked.” 

Liza is an Associate Editor at Religion Unplugged and Poynter fellow. She is a graduate of The King’s College in New York City and the recipient of the 2020 Russell Chandler Award from Religion News Association for excellence in student reporting.