The Shadow of Falwell

I have been resisting the urge to blog about Falwell. I have. I've resisted even though the reverend has been in my mind constantly since I read about his death yesterday at age 73. I've read a dozen stories about Falwell in the last 12 hours, from the secular and Christian media. Friends and foes. No one is short on opinions. Do you really need to hear mine?

The man is not getting an easy ride into the sunset of memory. I don't think I've read a story that didn't refer to his inflammatory preaching: that the Supreme Court was wrong to desegregate; that John Lennon's music was responsible for his death; that 9/11 was a punishment for feminism and homosexuality. Those statements of his - some repented, others not - will be his legacy, as much as the conservative political movement he delivered to the republicans, built out of pious Americans.

But journalists have been holding back on the "warts and all" treament. Here's an interesting piece by Brian Montopoli about covering controversial figures like Falwell. The kind - and most common - take on the story has been to say how Falwell's influence had waned; that even though he spread hatred, he wasn't nearly as influential as you might think. From Rachel Zoll at the AP:

Many had already been looking beyond Falwell and his allies for new leaders when the pastor died. A 2004 poll for PBS's "Religion & Ethics Newsweekly" found that U.S. evangelicals had a lower regard for Falwell than for Pope John Paul II. Falwell became such a polarizing figure that his role in the 2004 Republican National Convention was limited to appearing at a closed-door rally for religious activists.

Falwell's remaining clout was concentrated in the Lynchburg school he founded, Liberty University, where thousands of young conservative Christians are being educated.

The kindest treatment I've seen so far was an odd piece at the Washington Post, a journalist's memory of meeting Falwell shortly after his famous 9/11 remarks. I'm quoting the piece at length - it's worth it. If Falwell had a mortal sin, it seems to me, that sin was arrogance. Imagine the reporter's surprise when he confronts Falwell about his remarks - and gets this response:

But as soon as I mentioned the issue -- I don't think I even managed to get a question out -- he fired back his answer:

"I misspoke."

Misspoke?

"I apologize for my September 13 comments because they were a complete misstatement of what I believe and what I've preached for nearly 50 years," he said. "Namely, I do not believe that any mortal knows when God is judging or not judging someone or a nation. . . . It was a pure misstatement, unintentional, and I apologize for it uncategorically."

Misstatement? I muttered. Wasn't it a rather lengthy thing to dismiss as a misstatement?

"About 35 seconds," he said. "I think somebody said it was 37 seconds."

I was stunned. Reporters dream of asking a question so good that some big shot is forced to admit that he's completely full of baloney, but it never actually happens. They always have an answer. But Falwell was capitulating, confessing. Somehow, though, I didn't feel triumphant. I felt as if he were Muhammad Ali and I were George Foreman and he was doing the verbal equivalent of the rope-a-dope on me.

I looked at my list of questions and asked: What does it mean to lift the curtain of protection?

"That was part of the misstatement," he said. "I have no way of knowing when or if God would lift the curtain of protection."

Did God lift the curtain around Pearl Harbor? I asked.

"My misstatement included assuming that I or any mortal would know when God is judging or not judging a nation," he said. "Therefore I don't know if God was judging America in 1941 or 1812 or on September 11, 2001."

I asked another of my questions and Falwell got peeved.

"I said I've misstated," he replied, "and all reasonable people have already accepted the apology and you're the first one that's challenged it."

By now, I was squirming. His abject surrender had made all my questions obsolete. I was on the verge of asking him, What's your favorite color? Instead, I managed to stammer out: Have you taken more heat on this than anything else in your career?

"Oh, no," he said. "As a matter of fact, most of the heat I've taken has not been because of the statement. It's from people who are upset that I apologized. Thousands of people of faith in America unfortunately agreed with the first statement. . . . They were incensed that I apologized."

He took a sip of diet cola and leaned back in his chair. He looked relaxed, maybe even a tad smug.

Humility to his Christian principles? Or political craftiness? That's the enigma of the man. If we're kind, we'll let the grace of that one moment - "I misspoke" - be his epitaph.