in the evening of life we shall be judged on love.

This is what I thought of when I heard that Fred Phelps is on his deathbed.

We have much to be judged on when he comes, slums and battlefields and insane asylums, but these are the symptoms of our illness, and the results of our failures in love. In the evening of life we shall be judged on love, and not one of us is going to come off very well, and were it not for my absolute faith in the loving forgiveness of my Lord I could not call on him to come.

But his love is greater than all our hate, and he will not rest until Judas has turned to him, until Satan has turned to him, until the dark has turned to him; until we can all, all of us without exception, freely return his look of love with love in our own eyes and hearts. And then, healed, whole, complete but not finished, we will know the joy of being co-creators with the one to whom we call.

Amen. Even so, come Lord Jesus. -Madeleine L’Engle (the closing paragraphs of The Irrational Season)

I am grateful to believe that Mr. Phelps will soon be entering into a deeper understanding of the relentless love of God.

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