16 March 2014

Yes, evil exists in this world, and he's the face of much of it.

So, apparently, America's major source of embarrassment is on his death bed.

Facebook and Twitter and every other social space on the Internet is painting a picture of a world without much sympathy for the idea that Fred Phelps might not be with us much longer.

Maybe.

I won't rejoice when he's dead. I think what he's done with his life is nothing more than painting in lowlights and monochromatic flatness, bereft of contribution other than to his own bank accounts; that doesn't give me license to tapdance on the man's grave.

And that church is still out there. He was supposedly excommunicated by his own church, and I really want to know why, but whether he's with them or not it exists through his own efforts.

But no, when he dies, I will not cheer. I won't be happy about it. I'll shrug it off. But it's not something that will make me happy. A life lost is opportunity lost; he'll never have the chance at redemption in the eyes of most of humanity.

Hell, who knows, maybe that's why he was kicked out of his church. Maybe he had a nice one-on-one with the Big Guy and realized he was so, so very wrong. Maybe God looked right at him and told him simply, I don't hate anyone, but you broke my heart.

I doubt it, but still.

Whether he dies now or whether he dies a year from now, I would hope there aren't massive throngs of people gathering to celebrate.

What I really hope are that thousands of gay men and women gather together in a massive ring around the site of his funeral, where they will pray for his lost, misguided, angry soul.

It would be the right thing to do.

And it would piss him off so very, very much.

No, I won't rejoice; I won't be happy. But that would be a just sendoff, methinks.