Is Fred Phelps a Mole for Satan?

A number of years back, there was a gay rights activist here in the Twin Cities (who shall here remain nameless). Everybody knew who he was. He was noisy and egotistical and hateful. He used to actually run his own gay newspaper. He was constantly organizing really obnoxious protests. For example, he would vociferously protest gay rights organizations that didn't take the position that gay sex should be allowed any time, anywhere, including in public places like parks or restrooms or the University campus. Public sex was one of his favorite causes. He accused a Jewish lesbian friend of mine of being a "Nazi" because she disagreed with his views on this subject. For some weird reason, for many years the Twin Cities media seemed to think he was the representative of the local gay community. He was constantly being interviewed in newspaper articles and on local TV news, despite the fact that most people in the gay community couldn't stand him. Whenever he showed up at some GLBT community meeting, mayhem and contention followed in his wake. I once wrote a letter to his paper protesting one of his positions. He changed my letter to make it sound like I was saying the opposite of what I actually intended, and then published the altered letter. That's the kind of guy he was. People stopped reading his paper until it went out of print. People stopped attending his protests until he was basically the only one who showed up at them. People made it clear he was unwelcome at their meetings. The local media eventually got the clue and stopped interviewing him. Gradually, thankfully, he disappeared. I have no idea what's become of him.

I and some friends of mine developed a theory about him. We figured he wasn't really gay. (Nobody knew anybody who'd actually slept with him!) He was a mole of some anti-gay-rights group, with a mission to undermine the gay rights movement from within.

So whenever I read about the activities of the good Reverend Fred Phelps, such as this recent protest at the funeral of a marine who was killed in Iraq, I wonder. Is Fred Phelps a mole for Satan?

Feeling Vulnerable

I spent the last two Sundays in Utah, and the Sunday before that was General Conference, so this morning when I went to Church it had been a whole month since I'd been able to attend regular meetings at my ward.

As I walk through the entrance, I find myself feeling vulnerable. Unlike attending my parents' ward, here I can't hide behind semi-anonymity. Here I'm a known quantity. They know who I am. I'm exposed. I'm just me. Here I feel weak. Here the brokenness is more obvious.

Sister T. finds me and gives me a program. I arrived before they were available, and she's very conscientious about making sure everybody gets one. It's been several weeks since she's asked me when I'm going to get temple worthy. I'm relieved whenever she doesn't make an issue of it.

Sister P. waves and smiles. I have a standing invitation to sit with the P. family during sacrament meeting, since I don't have a family of my own to sit with. But I can never get up the courage to get up and go sit with them. Maybe some day I'll get over myself.

Brother B. finds me and sits next to me. His wife is not able to be there because she has to help their daughter move today. This isn't the first time he's made a point of sitting next to me. I feel awkward about not really wanting to make conversation; I like the reverence of silence before Sacrament meeting. I hope he knows how much it means to me that he wants to share the silence with me.

Sister J. arrives with the kids. Today she's brought me a present... The letters I wrote her from about the spring of 1986 through the summer of 1987. The letters span the time before and after I left the Church. She wants them back; she's just lending them to me so I can make copies of them. I want to read those letters, but I'm afraid to. That was the most painful year of my life. I'm going to have to figure out how to read them. It's not something I can just sit down and do.

The opening hymn helps me. Verse 5 of "Redeemer of Israel" goes:

Restore, my dear Savior,
The light of thy face;
Thy soul-cheering comfort impart;
And let the sweet longing
For thy holy place
Bring hope to my desolate heart

I didn't know this verse existed. I'm so glad our chorister always insists on singing all the verses of every hymn, even the ones printed at the bottom of the page.

During the opening prayer, a brother prays about the "blessings of membership in this ward." At first I feel excluded. But the Spirit says, "You are here because I've called you here. If you did not belong here, you would not be here."

During Sacrament, I feel awful. The Spirit says, "Listen to this prayer. You need to make these promises too, even if you can't partake." I feel better.

It's fast and testimony Sunday, because next week is Stake Conference. I listen to the testimonies. They're good testimonies. They're heartfelt. My heart is breaking. Some day, I think, I'll be able to stand up there too and bear mine. Some day. Just not today.

We have a new Gospel Essentials teacher. He actually calls on me to read a scripture. Wow! God bless Sister S. She created a few extraordinary moments in that class, but for the most part made me feel like a total alien, like a very bad person.

We talk about the Sacrament. We're reading in 3 Nephi 18. My eyes stray over to verse 25:

I have commanded that none of you should go away, but rather have commanded that ye should come unto me....

After the Priesthood opening exercises, Brother B. offers me a ride to Stake Conference next week. I'm looking forward to that. Brother W. sets up a home-teaching appointment for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to that too.

For the first few minutes of Church today, the vulnerability, the brokenness, the broken-heartedness I feel seem oppressive. But it is not long before I realize that this is why I need to be here. This is the only way I can be reached by the healing my Heavenly Father has for me. I have missed this place, these people. Here I know who I am and why I am here. Here I feel the Spirit's presence and comfort most keenly. I'm at peace. It is good to be home again.