god loves everyone. even fred phelps. by jonny
	Have you ever heard of Fred Phelps? Well, he’s a disbarred lawyer and a Baptist preacher in Topeka, Kansas (my home state) who truly hates gay people and believes God does, too. He’s very old and kind of fancy with his white hair and cowboy hats. Sometimes he wears sunglasses that make him look a little like Elvis. He enjoys going to funerals of gay men and protesting, like Matthew Shepherd’s in Wyoming. How do you protest a funeral, you ask? Well, you show up with some of your friends and you march around and chant mean things because you don’t believe that person deserves to be buried. I don’t know where this kind of hatred comes from in a human, but I guess we’re all capable of it in one way or another. I can easily drum up hatred for Fred Phelps, for example. I think we’re reading a different Bible, me and Fred. In mine he would play the guy who is always getting on Jesus for spending time with the wrong people, like prostitutes, tax collectors and adulterous women. In his he would play God himself. As a Christian I have heard a lot of arguments against homosexuality. Obviously there’s places in both the Old and New Testament that denounce it, and a lot of folks love quoting those sections. I know people that have never even opened the Book that love quoting those sections. “I can show you in the Bible where it says that homosexuality is a sin,” they say with a little sparkle in their eye. When I mention a few less popular parts of the Bible, these same scripture experts are quick to give many legitimate reasons why those things don’t count anymore and are being taken out of a cultural context. My point exactly. I can show you in the Bible where there are harsh words against divorce and eating shellfish and charging interest and rules about sacrificing bulls and what to do with menstruating women and slaves, I say with a sparkle in my eye. But this eye sparkling is getting us nowhere. We attack each other with our little agendas and we’re forgetting the half million verses about love, compassion, forgiveness and grace. And then there’s that one thing about not judging each other that I hear Jesus whispering in my angry little ears at times like this. Then there’s the argument that yes, we all sin and no sin is greater than the other (although I don’t think people really believe this), but the problem with homosexuals is that they know what they’re doing is wrong and make no attempt to stop it. In other words, a man may have cheated on his wife, but he’s stopped the affair and changed his ways. Gay people are too accepting of themselves and their gay lifestyle. I feel like this argument’s secret subtext is, “It’s not fair. I work hard to do what I’m supposed to and they get to have all the fun.” I’m not real sure why people who are not personally of the homosexual persuasion obsess the way they do over those that are. It reminds me of the third grade boys at my church who are constantly tattling on each other, almost hyperventilating as they frantically report the misdeeds of the other kids, causing me to shout, “Just worry about yourself please,” about 100 times a Sunday. And my very least favorite argument is that no one is “born gay.” It’s a choice an adult makes and a wrong one at that. This is crazy talk. I wish there was a law that everyone had to have at least one close gay friend. Of course everyone does have at least one gay friend. They just don’t know it. So maybe the law should say you have to actually know that your friend is gay. I don’t think you can be in a gay person’s life, knowing him or knowing her as a human and not as an object or a symbol, and still believe that one day that person decided to be gay and discriminated against in almost every way possible. Just like I didn’t one day decide to be straight. I’m tired of arguing. And this is why. I’m an actor, and when you’re involved in the theatre one of the special perks is that you get to have a lot of gay friends. Way back when I was 19 years old I did a Cole Porter musical review in my university’s summer theatre program. I was in actor heaven, rehearsing all day, performing at night, surrounded by crazy personalities and non-stop laughter. My very enthusiastic grandpa came with my parents and sisters to see the closing show, and afterwards he said, “That was better than anything I ever saw on Broadway.” Days later he shocked us all by dying suddenly of a heart attack. All the family gathered, crying and laughing together as we told stories about this man we all loved. It was then that I realized he’d never seen a Broadway show. But still, it was a good production. And it was my grandpa’s last. It may have been fellow actor Laurent’s last, too. I lost touch with him after that summer, but he would forever have a little spot in my heart. He was the very definition of gay, constantly happy and cheerful with the most wonderful high pitched laughter. He died of AIDS a few years later and his funeral made the news. Not because he was famous, but because Fred Phelps and his followers showed up with signs saying very untrue things like “God hates fags.” I like to imagine the welcome Laurent got in heaven that day, if for no other reason than his funeral was protested. I see a glittery Broadway musical with a gigantic group of fabulous looking men singing “Start Spreadin’ the News” as they lift Laurent up in the air and decorate him with feather boas and a tiara and give him a microphone. The silliness of Fred Phelps would suddenly be put in perspective and forgotten altogether. “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me,” Jesus said. No one protested my grandpa’s funeral. I try to imagine what it would have felt like had there been a group of people holding signs against him and the way he lived his life. It’s impossible for me to picture this because it’s so absurd. My grandma and all my family were allowed to mourn his death and celebrate his life in peace. About a year ago I caught the local news here in New York, and there was Fred again. Some high school boys were sodomized on Long Island by some stupid football players, and so Mr. Phelps and his crew headed east. This time they protested the tolerance of our society and its loosy-goosy attitudes toward sin that would allow such a thing to happen. Little children held signs. According to the local newscaster there were much worse signs that couldn’t be shown on TV. An exhausted protester being interviewed rolled her eyes and said something like, “They wonder why this kind of thing happens. Well, it’s because people nowadays think it’s okay to sin and God isn’t going to do anything about it.” I guess she was implying that God sent the football players to sodomize the boys to punish all of us for our sins. When I think of all the Christians in this world who dedicate their lives on matters close to Jesus, like helping the poor (Jesus talked about this over and over and over again, never once mentioning homosexuality), fighting for the rights of everyone, taking care of old people, taking care of children, feeding the hungry, healing the sick and so much more, I wonder how anyone could be so inspired by hate. And in the name of God? This must really get on his nerves. So I was watching this newscast and my heart was pounding and I was remembering Laurent, and my dog hid under the desk like he always does when he senses my blood pressure rising. And then something changed. I think I heard a little angel chorus singing. Across the street from this mess was a man very quietly holding a different kind of sign. His said: “God Loves Everyone. Even Fred Phelps.” And I calmed down, remembering why I’m a Christian in the first place. No, Mr. Phelps, God doesn’t hate homosexuals. He doesn’t even hate you. For the many Christians out there who are working really hard to reject the homosexual community, to take away their rights, to see them as lesser than, teaching their children the same kind of hatred, I just want to say: oh, stop it. I never want to speak to Fred Phelps himself because I feel he’s gone over the deep end. Plus he scares me. But I would like to have a word with that eye rolling protester. I want to say to her, “There is nothing to fear in a non-heterosexual person. There is no threat to you or to your kids. You should probably stop picturing homosexuals having sex with each other. This is too upsetting for you. I don’t want to picture anyone I know having sex. And stop quoting God’s words against other people and start looking for stuff in there that applies to you. If you’re like me, I bet you’ll find something. Now be nice.” Then the angels would sing, the protester and I would hold hands and Fred Phelps would have one less supporter. That’s a sweet little fantasy. Actually what would happen is I’d get very angry and awkward and all my good intentions would be forgotten. I would yell and scream at this person and get hit on the head with a really mean sign. So I’ll just write instead. I wonder what Fred Phelps’ funeral will be like. It’s not too far off, I’m sure. How about we do this? We get all the people that he’s hurt over the years, family and friends of those whose funerals were stained by his presence and everyone else like me who feels confusion and outrage over his actions. We all dress in really bright colors and stand peacefully across the street. Not yelling, not protesting, just remembering. And maybe holding a sign that Jesus wouldn’t be against holding himself. november 2004