no strings on love

I was at a Rich Mullins concert some time in the early nineties when, in the course of his concert banter, his tone took a turn that became as dangerous as it was didactic. “We should all be praying,” he said, “that Bill and Hillary Clinton would be killed in a car accident.” The words he spoke were incongruous with those he wrote and sang. I didn’t know where they came from and was both surprised and angry. Granted, my politics were then and are now closer to the Clintons than to his and I couldn’t understand how Rich could pray for God to kill someone he disagreed with.

Jerry Falwell died today.

According to the story I heard on NPR, he collapsed in his office about 11:30 this morning and could not be resuscitated. He was 73. I don’t know much, if anything, about Falwell beyond his public persona. I also don’t know of much of anything he and I agreed upon. In one article, he described God as “pro-war.” On September 13, 2001, he said, "I really believe that the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians, who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way — all of them who try to secularize America — I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen.'"

I know that’s not all he said. I also know I don’t think what I consider to be an arrogant and judgmental expression of faith does much to help anyone. Of all the times I saw him on television, I don’t remember one instance where he appeared to be willing to learn something; he was always the one with the answers.

Some years back, Billy Crockett and I wrote a song together called “No Strings on Love,” which grew out of our desire to speak to the wideness in God’s mercy. Here are the lyrics:

got to tell you what I know
there ain’t no strings on love
wherever you are wherever you go
there ain’t no strings on love
you might scream and stomp the floor
pack your bags and hit the door
God keeps coming back for more
there ain’t no strings on love

told you about the prodigal son
there ain’t no strings on love
party time when he came home
there ain’t no strings on love
you’ve been running so have I
got a few more tricks that we can try
we’ll get tired by and by and
there ain’t no strings on love

they say life is all a competition
how can you survive
without some ammunition

lose your looks your hair falls out
there ain’t no strings on love
some of you know what I’m talking about
there ain’t no strings on love
you might live on borrowed time
broken heart a troubled mind
God thinks you’re the keeping kind
there ain’t no strings on love

spend your life keeping score
there ain’t no strings on love
joneses just moved in next door
there ain’t no strings on love
what you learned on grandpa’s knee
was equal reciprocity – forget it
ally ally oxen free
there ain’t no strings on love

they say life is all a competition
how can you survive
without some ammunition

listen to me one more time
there ain’t no strings on love
sunday morning friday night
there ain’t no strings on love
sunny day pouring rain
avalanche or hurricane
God keeps calling out your name
there ain’t no strings on love

When we wrote it, the open invitation was aimed at those who were marginalized. It puts to music what is proclaimed in many UCC churches on a weekly basis: “Whoever you are and wherever you are on life’s journey, you’re welcome here.” I was singing to the unloved, the outcast, the great unwashed, if you will – all those being kept down by The Man. I was singing to the very people Falwell was damning with his words and actions.

If grace is true and God is love, the invitation is for The Man as well. There ain’t no strings on love – even for Jerry Falwell.

That sentence is easier to write than it is to live – and it wasn’t so easy to write. The people I want most for God to judge are the people who have used or are using God like a club to beat people into submission, or at least scare the hell out of them. My righteous indignation remains intact as long as I don’t humanize the objects of my judgment. Then I read things like this:

In some ways, Falwell was an unlikely religious leader. He was born Aug. 11, 1933, and grew up in Lynchburg, the son of a one-time bootlegger who hated preachers. His grandfather was a staunch atheist.

Falwell was working out some old family stuff in the way he lived his life. I’ve done a little of that myself. (I’m not necessarily proud of that, but it’s the truth.) When I read that sentence, I realize he was probably a pretty wounded guy, just like the rest of us. I abhor that he dealt with his woundedness by inflicting pain on others. I think he was wrong – a lot. I have spent a good deal of effort reaching out to those who have been on the receiving end of his vitriol. I think he did damage to the image of Christianity in our country and around the world when he kicked into zealot-with-a-clear-conscience mode. And Jesus ate with the Pharisees just as he did with the sinners.

Sometimes, I suppose, we fall into both categories.

To me, Jerry Falwell was somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun. As a member of the United Church of Christ, I’m one of those who lives in “the last house on the left” in the Christian neighborhood. The boundless, stringless love of God covers the whole map.

I trust, tonight, that God surprised Jerry Falwell when God saw him and hollered, “Ally, ally, oxen free.”

Peace,
Milton