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    Re: WestBoro Baptist to Protest at Local Funeral Archived Message

    Posted by jdg on January 5, 2011, 7:04 pm, in reply to "Re: WestBoro Baptist to Protest at Local Funeral"

    PROTESTING IN BETHALTO



    by Amie Sudbring on Wednesday, January 5, 2011 at 9:16am



    PROTESTING IN BETHALTO

    by Patrick C. Heston on Tuesday, January 4, 2011 at 5:06pm



    One thousand U. S. flags, spaced thirty feet apart, impressively line both sides of state routes 111 and 140, as well as Moreland Road, in my town.



    Yesterday, as the casket of Lance Cpl. Kenneth Corzine was carried to a waiting hearse by half-a-dozen Marines in perfect dress and rhythm, and as the motorcade moved mournfully along its way, those flags blew to attention in a stiff, steady wind and maintained their salute through the entire procession.



    Even the most clenched heart unfurled at the sight.



    The flag-draped coffin of the 23-year-old Bethalto native, who died Christmas Eve from injuries sustained nearly three weeks earlier when an IED detonated in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan, was a painful reminder of war's reality, as well as its rammifications.



    In a fresh and painful manner, war hit home this week in my town.



    Wars happen. Soldiers die. We read about it daily in the morning paper and hear about it nightly on the local news. Newsprint and film footage, however, don't bring everything into our living rooms. There's something about living rooms that provide a safe distance from battlefields.



    But not always.



    Occasionally, war hits home.



    This is one of those occasions--at least, for Bethalto, Illinois.



    Bethalto is my town.



    Bethalto was Kenny Corzine's town. He grew up here. He graduated from the same high school as did my children, the same high school my granddaughter attends, the same high school with concerts and plays I attend and with sports teams I follow.



    Bethalto is a great town.



    But in a day or two, Bethalto will be the town of an organized protest.



    That's another one of those things you hear about but never expect to experience.



    But, now, it has hit home.



    Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas is known world-wide as an extremist group that strategically disrupts military funerals. Unashamedly anti-gay and outspoken in their opinions of an unjust and unjustifiable war, they call their organized protests "respectful."



    The group's website, however, is anything but respectful, calling military funerals "pagan orgies of idolatrous blashphemy." And concerning those who may object to their presence and protest at a funeral, spokeman Shirley Phelps-Roper says, "I am afraid they are not understanding First Amendment rights."



    Of course, the kicker in all this is that Westboro Baptist Church has heard from God on the matter and is simply doing what He told them to do.



    As a result, Bethalto must now batten down the hatches, ready itself for an unimaginable media invasion, and stand meekly against Westboro Baptist's divine battering ram, having done nothing more than watch one of its beloved citizens sacrifice his life for his country.



    The protest is coming.





    But first, I protest.





    I don't protest Westboro's or anyone's right to peacefully assemble, or protest or demonstrate, even though I may be in sharp disagreement with them or find their words and actions repugnant. The right to have your peaceful say in a peaceful way is constitutionally guaranteed, and though I may sometimes bristle at what I hear or object to what I see, I will grant that right. More, I will guard it. And that means guarding it even for a group of extremists.





    Nor do I protest the characterization of war--or, at the very least, some wars--as unjust and unjustifiable. Being a patriot, which I proudly am, is a far cry from being a nationalist, which I am definately not. Talk of unjust and unjustifiable war(s) may not bring from me the response you might expect. I am a pacifist at heart, though fully cognizant of that fact that my position may not be the right one.



    But I do protest.



    I protest hate mongering masquerading as truth speaking.



    I've never known anyone--gay or straight--hated into the kingdom of God. But I have known many, myself included, loved into that kingdom. I've never known anyone--hawk or dove--berated into the kingdom of God. But I have known many, myself included, graced into that kingdom. I've never known a hatchet man to save a person. But I have known lovers to do it all the time.



    Over the years, I have learned that "the truth" as declared by many is but a deceptive mantle used to hide the ungodly hatred in our hearts--hatred for people who, good or bad, right or wrong, saved or lost, are made in God's image and loved in Jesus. And even when "true truth" is spoken, it must be spoken in love and in the spirit of Jesus (Ephesians 4:15). Truth is not license to be brutally anything--not even brutally honest.



    There are worse things than "not understanding First Amendment rights." One of them is not understanding truth-in-love.



    I protest invoking God's name to justify human actions.



    I once heard Oprah Winfrey lament that for centuries the Bible kept African Americans and women enslaved. My heart resonated with her pain, but I wanted to say to her, "No, what we did with the Bible kept them enslaved." God's word, like God himself, sets people free. It is correct, however, that for centuries we shaped scripture to fit our prejudices. We invoked God's name to justify our actions, keeping African Americans enslaved and women second class citizens.



    It wasn't right then.



    And it's not right now.



    If you tell me that God hates gays, then I tell you that you don't know the God whose name you invoke.



    If you tell me that God told you to blatantly protest military funerals by actually showing up at the funerals, and that if grieving family members happen to get in the way and get their hearts even more shattered in the process, then that's just too bad, then I tell you that you don't know the God whose name you invoke.



    Of all names, God's is the one we should not so casually drop.



    When we do, it can be Hophni and Phineas taking the ark of the covenant into battle all over again. It can be the seven sons of Sceva traying to cast out demons all over again. And just as in those cases, God won't play your silly little game.



    I protest the presentation of an infinately dimensional God as a one-dimensional partner in anyone's agenda.



    I know very little about Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. But what little I know tells me they are a very small church. Oh, not in members and income and facilities--though they may be that--but in heart and mind and spirit. And certainly in their view of God-in-Jesus. Their God--the big gay-hating, military-funeral-crashing, bitter and vindictive and anger-stuck-in-his-craw God they espouse--is, in reality, remarkably small.



    What else can you call a God who has no room for compassion?



    What else can you call a God who has no room for grace?



    What else can you call a God who has no room for love?



    What else can you call a God who has no room for forgiveness?



    What else can you call a God who has no power, save that of brute force to make sinners knuckle under?



    What else can you call a God who is so limited as to operate in only one dimension?



    Westboro Baptist Church: your God is way too small.



    As a kid, I watched a television episode of the Twilight Zone where a meek, mousy little man, wearing thick glasses and surrounded by walls of file cabinents, meticulously kept track of every person in the world. He concluded from his years of observation that everyone was evil. So evil, in fact, that drastic measures were called for. One day, he put into operation his plan. When the clock in his office struck a certain hour that particular afternoon, he had arranged--in a way that can only be aranged in the Twilight Zone--that everyone in the world would shrink in proportion to how evil they really were. With glee, he awaited the hour. When it came, he found--much to his surprise--that he had shrunk to become the smallest man in the world.

    Westboro Baptist Church: you're small like that.


    Please don't drag my God to your level.

    

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