So why would I go to Jerry Falwell's funeral?
Aside from personal reasons, I saw it as a historic event and living only and hour and a half from Lynchburg I saw it as a wonderful excuse to play hookey from work. Few people I told questioned it, I guess they thought it was just another off the wall thing for me to do.
The local public radio station I listen to this morning said the schools were letting out early because of the expected high volume of traffic. They told of certain roads and exits that would be closed after certain times and I sipped me coffee. I had done me homework last night and pinpointed on mapquest the location of the Thomas Road Baptist Church (which is not on Thomas Road) as just north of Liberty University, not far at all from where I had lunch with Lynne and Ellemeno on Jake's birthday last year.
So after gassing up (there goes Xmess this year) I took Rt 57 north to Chatham, and then left on Rt. 29 another 45 miles to Lynchburg. There were signs at businesses on the way offering their condolences to the Falwell family, and a helicopter circling in the air. I parked my car in a strip mall down the hill from the church and stocked up on batteries.
When I had been there in December I remember seeing a huge patch of hill side above the town had been cleared off. I was now landscaped into a huge circular "LU" with a gazebo at the top. Branded you might say, the property of Liberty University. Unavoidable as an all seeing full moon. I trudged up the hill to my first ever encounter with the members of the Westboro Baptist Church.
The "God Hates Fags" gang had about 6 members present, none of them Fred Phelps, (he was at another protest)but I think they are all his kin people. The main woman, I think she is Phelps daughter, was straining to hold up three signs at once proclaiming the "Gay Loving" Falwell was now burning in hell and eating up the media attention. They were conducting intervies left and right, with local TV stations, a Christian based youth group from the Bedford, VA area, law enforcement and me. I approached one young lady and struck up a conversation:
"Are you from Kansas?"
"I sure am."
"I drove thru there once, it is a beautiful state."
She agreed it was and then went on to describe how part of it was destroyed in the recent tornado.
"God sent that tonado to destroy Greenburg because of the sin its people were living in" (paraphrasing) "He destroyed the whole town, except for a tavern".
I thought to myself that quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin: "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." I took her picture and moved on.
A side note: If I outlive Fred Phelps and am at all able to get to his funeral, I will be there. I will be tailgating (pun acceptable to me) and I invite the world to join me.
Crossing the road I noticed several Harley riding type people were helping with the traffic direction, like they were needed. I saw the Liberty University Police, The Lynchburg Police, The Lynchburg Sherriff's Deputies, The State Police, Several people in military uniforms and a legion of badge carrying Liberty University staff managing things. Since he was going to be buried such a short distance away I couldn't imagine the bikers were going to give him an escort.
The Thomas Road Baptist Church has one very striking architectural feature about it: A false front. It looks like a massive three story structure that is actually a facade for a foyer leading into a long hallway, but I will get back to that. Not seeing anything else of interest I focused in on the rapidly moving line of people. I knew Falwell had been on display for two days already and thought maybe this was the last of those to view his body. I decided I would take a chance myself and went searching for the end.
The end was around the corner and way down the side of the church, about a 5 minute walk. When I finally fell in it moved well and I thought they were probably hearding them by like at Gerald Ford's viewing. The crowd was largely white, under 45, many were students. Many of the families had more than 4 childrens and the mother looked salon polished. There were a few minorities including one group of men who seemed to have travelled from Asia for the even. As we momentarily stopped I saw I was in front of Falwell's designated parking space, the sign decorated in flowers of remembrance. We picked up again, passing the media pavilion that was adjacent to the VIP entrance. I heard an official sounding voice say "This is the last thousand" hearkening thoughts of some biblical amount of people who would be welcomed into the kingdom, and that was prophetic. The line had continued to grow behind me but after me and the 5 behind me entered the church another authoritative voice commanded: "Close the doors!" I looked behind me to see the stunned look of a suit clad father toting one of his daughters. The looks on their faces was one of disbelief. Here I was, a tourist and temple defiler, taking the place of someone who truly wanted admittance.
O-well.
It turns out there was no more viewing. The huge sanctuary was filling with people for the funeral. I was in! I asked myself again: "What am I doing here? What purpose does my being here serve?" I meandered down the hall that reminded me of a swanky hotel, and a bit like Heritage USA (another story), past the gift shops, the book displays. I found a coffee bar called "The Lion and The Lamb" where I got a sandwich, smiling to myself, if there was a lamb in the house it was me. But I had no paint brand, so I passed for just another person.
After eating I wandered about, signed one of many registers they had set out, designated for "Family and Friends", "Church Members" and "Guests". I noted with interest that not long before the register had been signed by Michele Williams. Across the way, being ignored, was a table with letter sized sheets of paper, pens and a basket. A sign invited people who wanted to send a person message to the Falwell family to do so.
I told the Falwell family I was an out and proud homosexual, and that I had come here this day to offer Jerry Falwell my forgiveness for the things he had said about me. I told them I meant no offence to them and I hoped for blessings for us all. I signed my name and dated it and put it in the basket. There, I had my protest. I got my program then and went into the holy o' holies. It was a huge place with a huge balcony and a back drop of fluffy white clouds projected onto the walls. That is where heaven is, somewhere on a cloud. Plasma monitors all over so it didn't matter I was behind a post.
At first I walked down toward the casket, as close as I could get. It was roped off and guarded. A small rounded thing with iridescent colors, it put me in mind of both a Miata and an Altoids Tin. I went to the back of the room and got a folding chair and took in the pregame powerpoint presentation. It featured still photos and video clips from Falwell's' life, in the corner the "Jesus First" logo of the Moral Majority. I remembered a class mate in high school who had one of those pens on his lapel and how now the same guy can be found trolling at the local reservoir for someone to go down on. The images were rather inane, pictures of him with republican presidents starting with Nixon, and suddenly there flashed a sleeping Jerry Falwell on a plane, with someone holding a Tinky Winky doll up beside his face. A cackle of laughter swept thru the holy o' holies and the fare became lighter. There was Falwell diving for first base when he was only half way down the base line, Falwell in a dunking booth, Falwell in suit and tie going down the waterslide at Heritage USA after the PTL Partners had bailed the operation out. The hundred member choir filed in, and then everyone rose, and the family came in, not 20 feet from me.
The funeral was quite the production. There were singers belting out praise, the ones not crying. There was the fella with the big ears who a week ago had shared Falwell's last breakfast at the local Bob Evans. There was the friend of 60 years who told of driving a thousand miles one way to go to Bible college in Missouri. Another friend of shorted duration who could hardly get the words out. Then came Dr. Ronald S. Godwin.
I have never heard of this guy before, but he presented himself as a member of the "Bush Cheney Administration" (when have you ever heard the Vice President included like that? Evidence of who is really calling the shots I think.)He is apparently on the White House Staff and read the message from George and Laura. Then the things he said, truly scared me. He spoke of Falwell's place in the policy making of the government I live under. It was creepy. Very creepy. It got no better when Billy Graham's son Franklin took the pulpit and praised Falwell, the misquoted. He said: "He championed traditional family values, who would have ever thought that would be controversial?" which got several amens. I thought to myself: Glad I could help.
There was much applause, several standing ovations, including one for his daughters unscheduled remarks. Toward the end I stopped clapping. It is never my custom to bow my head when others pray but 99.9% of them did. I sat there taking it in and marveled at this huge machine, built to turn out Christians, to tell them how to think and feel and act. How far we have come over all these generations, what a monster we have created out of our need to perceive and describe a imagined larger reality than ourselves. I know Falwell did some good things, like an alcohol treatment program and a home for unwed mothers, but in the analysis, they too are vehicles for indoctrination. The speakers reminding the congregation that Falwell's legacy was bring his way of thinking into the mainstream and impact the events of the world. Join our church, be one of our numbers, we are borg, we will make you immortal.
As they called people to come forward and dedicate or rededicate their lives to the man who had been a Sheppard, I decided it was time for me to dedicate myself firmly to my beliefs: namely that I am not a Christian. I do not believe I or anyone else was born less than perfect. I do not know what comes after death, nor do I know what comes before births so I am not worried about it. I do not believe in damnation. I do believe in treating people with respect, no matter how little they deserve it sometimes. I forgive those who offend me, as a way of not carrying around the injury of their offence.
It would be nice if there is a heaven, a wonderful place were all we have known and loved are waiting for us, and we will spent forever being perfectly happy, but I am not holding out for it.
I cut out right at then end. Outside amidst the press photographers I encountered this redneck couple, the man with rotten teeth and the woman chain smoking. They asked me if there were extra programs inside. I assured them there was. They complained bitterly about not being able to get in, about the press and their impact on the family. "They need to grieve" she said "not have to face this". I told her I imagined they were used to this and she roughly retorted "not the grandchildren, Jerry shielded his grandchildren"
Jerry is gone I thought. The grandchildren will grow today. I however, am still here. My presence there today served that silent purpose. I was not done in my the mans intolerance, I was made stronger by it.
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2574310 times)