R.I.P. Fred Phelps (Reflections on Lent 3)

Rev. Fred Phelps, quite possibly the single most reviled religious leader in America, died this morning at the age of 84. Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas were infamous for blaming every calamity, large or small, which befell the United States on our nation's tolerant attitude towards the gay and lesbian community. This notorious pastor and his tiny flock of mostly relatives pounced on the national stage by picketing the funerals of Iraq and Afghanistan casualties, claiming that the combat deaths were God's punishment on America for our liberal sexual mores. Rarely has hate speech been more flagrant. Rarely has such speech inspired more outrage from both gays and straights, Christians and non-Christians, military and civilians.

But this morning, Fred Phelps was silenced.

I am a pastor with LGBT people in my congregation. I am also the dad of an Operation Iraqi Freedom veteran. I'll confess it: my first reaction to news of Phelps' death was, “Good. I hope he burns in hell.” But then I read the comments posted on the Huffington Post in reaction to this man's passing. Without exception, the remarks expressed either forgiveness, exhortations not to respond to hate with more hate, or a prayer that Fred Phelps would find the peace in death which eluded him in life. Today, a little bit of my faith in people was restored.

(You can read the comments if you click on Fred Phelps.)

In this Sunday's gospel from the Revised Common Lectionary (John 4: 5-42) we see another example of divine forbearance. Jesus and his disciples are passing through Samaria. While the boys go off to the local 7-11 to buy some lunch, Jesus rests by the town watering hole. Here he meets someone whom his culture dictates he should have nothing to do with. She's A) a woman, B) a Samaritan, and C) a gal whose been around the block a few times (if you know what I mean!).

But none of that matters to Jesus. Jesus looks beyond the man-made prohibitions of society. Beyond gender, beyond, race and religion, beyond notions of sexual ethics. Jesus sees in this woman one created in the image of the Father. He knows everything there is to know about her, and yet he passes no word of condemnation. Maybe, because he knows everything, he also understands everything, too.

When the woman poses a liturgical question to him, Jesus responds by telling her that the form and location of worship don't matter. “The hour is coming,” Jesus says, “and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him.” (Jn. 4:23)

What does it mean, I wonder, to worship in spirit? Jesus goes on to say that God is spirit (v.24). Life? Essence? That which is everlasting? Maybe we're being reminded to ignore the petty things and distinctions of this world which draw us away from the contemplation of our own eternal souls. I honestly don't know right now. I have to think about this.

To worship in truth is a little easier for me to get a grasp on. Jesus knows everything about the woman in this story. He knows the truth. When we worship, we need to worship from a place of our own truth—the fact that we are sinful, opinionated, hurting, guilty of wounding others, lost, and confused. Helpless to put ourselves right. Judgmental. Self-centered.

Yup. That would be me.

And Jesus knows it.

A lot of people give up things for Lent. I think I'll try giving up my arrogance. I can really do without my tendency to pre-judge. I have no right to do so. I'll also try to shed some of my righteous indignation. And for the next week at least I'll try to meditate on what it means to worship in spirit and in truth. But whether I'm successful in this attempt or not—and I know I won't be—I will still find forgiveness in Jesus. Hey! If the LGBT community can forgive Fred Phelps, Jesus will certainly bestow grace on the likes of me.

You know what else I like about this gospel story? When the disciples come back with the hoagies and sodas, Jesus isn't particularly hungry. With the Samaritan woman he's made a real, human, compassionate connection. What's more, since he's touched her life she begins to bring others to him. For Jesus, this must be really fulfilling. He says,

“My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work.” (v.34)

I guess nothing can quite fill us up like the knowledge that our identity comes only from God who made us, knows us, loves us, and in whom there is plentiful forgiveness and peace.

Thanks for reading, friends. Have a blessed Lent, and drop me a comment to let me know you've been here.

PS-I think the hour is coming and is now here when Christians will put a way ALL distinctions in order to worship in spirit and truth. Yeah, I know it's a long shot, but I'm still trying to convince the Pope that, if Jesus can drink with a woman of Samaria, Lutherans and Catholics can fellowship together at the Lord's table. If you're Lutheran or Catholic, and you agree with me, click here.


PPS-(Added Monday, March 24, 2014) Check out this new item on Fred Phelp's funeral: Click Counter Protest.