ROSENBERG - The NFL quarterback drawing fire for not standing for the Star-Spangled Banner is, in one way, in a league with the thousands of people descending on Rosenberg for a regional convention that wraps up Sunday. Jehovah's Witnesses have long refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance or participate in other patriotic ceremonies.

They also don't celebrate birthdays, get blood transfusions, vote or join the military because of their religious beliefs.

Jehovah's Witnesses count 8.2 million members worldwide and may be among the world's faster-growing religions.

"I tell people if you read this, it is like winning the lottery," said a woman who shared a copy of The Watchtower, the group's perennial publication that began in the late 1800s, outside a Whataburger near the Fort Bend County hall, one of the largest gathering points for the religion in Texas.

They have stood at the forefront of multiple successful Supreme Court fights, fortifying the type of free speech rights that enable San Francisco 49ers Colin Kaepernick to take a knee at the start of football games in protest of what he sees as racial oppression.

Jehovah's Witnesses know they may seem unusual to some outsiders as they canvas neighborhoods, preaching the benefits of a life dedicated to their lord and warning of a coming doomsday to those they encounter.

A few blocks from the Rosenberg restaurant, the immaculate 130,000-square-foot Assembly Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, was already filled with more than 2,000 members.

Among the youngest attendees here was an 11-week-old girl named Madeley, from The Woodlands, who was cradled in her mother's arms. Among the oldest was Dr. Kenneth Riggle, who turns 101 this year.

Another was Jon Beck, 61, a church elder and fifth- generation Jehovah's Witness, who was delivered into this world as newborn by Riggle at a long-gone Montrose clinic.

"He is one of those doctors where you have to listen because he must be doing something right," Beck said admiringly of the centenarian.

Beck, a spokesman for the gathering in Rosenberg, said that all of the religion's teachings were drawn from the Bible.

"We do respect the flag and others' right to salute it, but like Jesus Christ, our beliefs follow his example of remaining neutral politically and nationally," he said.

The Rosenberg hall, which was built by more than 13,000 volunteers two decades ago, might seem off-kilter for some Christians. There is no priest or pastor leading a service, nor is there a cross or crucifix front and center.

Members took notes and followed along with various speakers on their tablets and old-school Bibles.

One participant told of the double-edged sword of the Internet and how it could be used for good and bad. There also were cautions against being alone with a member of the opposite sex to whom you are not married and advice for how to deal with a spouse who does not believe in the church.

The church clearly defines what members should and should not do and offers speakers who tell of their own ordeals, decisions and consequences.

One young woman told her story of deciding not to attend a university, as she agreed with church cautions that it could cause temptation.

An older woman recalled how she faced the challenge but later found strength in following a church policy of no longer communicating with members - in this case her own daughters - who decide to no longer be Jehovah's Witnesses.

"It would have been easier to lose them in death," she said, adding that her daughters later again embraced the church.

Philip Jenkins, a history professor at Baylor University's Program on Historical Studies of Religion, said Jehovah's Witnesses have a distinctive way of interpreting the Bible and practicing their religion.

"They are very cut off from the world; they work with each other and believe pretty much that the rest of the world is in the hands of the devil," said Jenkins, noting their reputation as a group seems to differ from how they are one-on-one. "In theory, you can deal with them as these rock-hard cult folks, but when you actually deal with them on the streets, they are very funny, regular, ordinary people."

Around town, Rosenberg residents repeatedly gave good marks to the conventiongoers, part of a series of conventions that have gone on here throughout the summer and serves as an economic engine for a rural pocket in the fast-growing county.

"I can tell they are very generous people," said James Cross, as he worked the register at the Whataburger.

He noted that the restaurant already had taken in at least 60 donations, mostly from churchgoers, at part of a campaign to support the Houston Food Bank.

"It is more of an atmosphere, a positive attitude," he said. "It can be contagious, even for the people working here."

Marina Sebesta at a nearby Comfort Inn described them as considerate, "definitely kind" and respectful of others.

"It is never an issue where they are trying to shove religion down your throat," she said.