Okay, so Jerry Falwell has died.
I don't celebrate death. It's not a bad thing; it's just that I find death to be a better time to celebrate life.
I don't crow over death. The worst human being has a family who loved him. And if God has chosen to keep a person on the earth for any period of time, I figure He has a reason for it.
I don't tell other people how to deal with death. It's their choice. Any number of feelings would be completely valid in circumstances like these.
I don't condemn people to hell. It's not something that I'd want anyone to do to me, and it's not something I could do to anyone else, no matter how bad the offense. Besides, it's not my place; I couldn't do it if I tried.
I don't try to tell God what to do.
But I hope. I hope that any legacy of hatred is short-lived. I hope that evangelical Christianity turns back to find its original roots in the compassion of Jesus Christ.
And I hope that God greets Mr. Falwell at the gates of heaven, ushers him inside, and says, "All of that stuff you said I said, I never said. It's time for us to really talk."