My initial responses to Fred Phelps's death have been as wide ranging as any blog, Twitter feed, or Facebook rant. Some wish a retaliatory response to his death, wanting to take revenge and protest his funeral with equal ferocity and malice as he inflicted on so many. But now I find myself aligning with those who want to ignore his passing. I want him and his Westboro Baptist Church rendered inconsequential. By writing this, I acknowledge I may propel neither cause.
I saw him once in person protesting Metropolitan Community Church-San Francisco in March 1998. I recall being oddly excited we were important enough for him to haul his "God Hates Fags" posters all the way from Topeka, Kansas to our little slice of heaven here in the Castro district of San Francisco. By then his vitriolic hate speech was getting national attention. The actual event was underwhelming, with more police present (in the 20s) than actual members of his group (about 15). The Reverend Jim Mitulski and the Reverend Penny Nixon coached their congregation on nonviolence: not retaliating in kind, but giving back love to that which is tossed at us in hate. They challenged us to rise above his bilious rage. They also invited him to come in to worship. Not getting the angry response he desired, he left for the next media opportunity.
Their pastoral challenge then still resonates for me now. The moderator of UFMCC, the Reverend Dr. Nancy Wilson, has offered something similar:
"The harm Fred Phelps has done is undeniable. We grieve over every family member who questioned whether God loved them because of the destructive messages of Fred Phelps. Yet, our faith teaches us that hate is a dry and bitter fruit. It is only the persistent and repeated decision to love that can break the cycles of hatred. We choose love."
As I write this now, I figure if not love (I humbly confess I am not there yet), I can, at least, choose to find my way past disgust and anger. In order to do that I need to broaden my memory of what he did, and did not, achieve.
Phelps's public presence was not the reason media coverage of the AIDS crisis was so painful. In the 1980s, politicians and conservative evangelicals were too busy ignoring the epidemic. The challenge and hardship then was trying to gain some degree of dignity and respect. Effecting public policy was a dream. Phelps and his cohorts had been protesting since the 1970s. At the time, nobody listened to him either.
In the 1990s, however, something happened that changed everything. Matthew Shepard's murder �" beaten and found tied to a Wyoming fence �" tore at the heart of the LGBT community, and shocked the nation with its brutality in a way that the hundreds of thousands of deaths of gay men from AIDS had not. And here stepped forward this bizarre group protesting Shepherd's funeral. Phelps's revolting national media attention continued with as many visible LGBT funerals as he could find. And when he could no longer feed on that issue he moved beyond LGBT funerals to those of fallen American service people. This new, unjustifiable, protest made plain his and his group's naked cry for attention.
That his group grounded their hate as faith must have grated against every right-wing conservative Christian. That he grounded his faith on a literal interpretation of the Bible must have been equally disturbing to them. For in his consistency he proved that a lack of intellectual reasoning applied to biblical interpretation renders any conclusion morally bankrupt. No self-respecting Christian organization could align themselves with such bizarre public displays (not even the Ku Klux Klan supported him). Phelps was their embarrassing Id: the shadow side of the conservative religious right screaming out of the closet. Being the extreme right he pushed many two steps toward the center with some modicum of tolerance (admittedly not progress enough).
For Phelps's part in the LGBT civil rights movement, I must thank him. I agree with blogger JanJDad:
"He achieved the most epic fail in modern history. Not only did he not inspire a single person to his point of view, he drove millions away in revulsion. For everything he lost in personal credibility and respect, he helped fortify the well being of those he sought to destroy." This irony provides some solace.
That Phelps, unwittingly, advanced civil rights and religious tolerance is cause for celebration at his passing. I celebrate this while working to accept the challenge of my mentors. For in truth, all spiritual disciplines ask the same: to rise above the hate that is tossed at us, end cycles of violence, and take personal responsibility to transform the hate we receive into love.
Perhaps you will join Wilson in praying for those he hurt, and for his group's turn from hate. And, perhaps, you can join me in offering thanks for the anti-example he set for millions.
Better still, perhaps you will follow Judy Shepard (mother of Matthew Shepard), who gave this comment to the Advocate last week:
"Regarding the passing of Fred Phelps, (husband) Dennis and I know how solemn these moments are for anyone who's lost a loved one. Out of respect for all people and our desire to erase hate, we've decided not to comment further."
The Reverend Robert Shively is the senior pastor at Metropolitan Community Church-San Francisco.