Fred Phelps isn't Dead

Well, I suppose in a technical sense he’s dead.

And depending on what you believe, you might suppose his immortal soul lives on in some other realm. I like to imagine he’s been astonished into silent weeping by the radically inclusive love of God, and that the self-loathing he tried to slather onto others here on earth has been flaking off under the force of that love.

I like to imagine that his old mantra, “God hates fags,” has been replaced by a new one: “Even me? You love even me?”

But when I say that Fred Phelps isn’t dead, I mean that his spirit of dogmatic pugnacity lives on. That signature Phelpsian hatred—wrapped up in a message of divine mandate, bow-tied with Bible-verses, and then shoved in our faces as if it were the gift of Christ to humanity—is alive and well.

And it comes at us in more and less blatant forms.

Redemption Strikes at Westboro Baptist Church

One of the most fascinating--and, for me, moving--things I've read in the last few weeks is this profile of Megan Phelps-Roper, granddaughter of Fred Phelps. Just a few short months ago, she made the monumental decision to leave the church--Westboro Baptist Church, to be precise--in which she had not only grown up but in which she had been essentially cocooned all her life.

The tiny Kansas congregation is, of course, infamous for protesting at events such as soldiers' funerals and gay pride parades, bearing hateful signs such as "God Hates Fags" and "You're Going to Hell." Megan Phelps-Roper was something of a rising star within the congregation, a true-believer, and so her defection came as something of a surprise to Jeff Chu, the author of profile.