Rev. Jerry Falwell packed his bags and went off to meet his maker today. His one-way trip to god’s house turned into a nightmare when he realized that no one was home.

…Or at least that’s how The Onion might write it.

I really have to wonder if old Jerry was pissing himself with fear just before he bought it or if, even when facing the end of his bigoted, horribly dishonest, hypocritical life, he still really believed a legion of singing angels would welcome him into heaven where he would live in paradise forever.

No man is oblivious to all of the shitty things he’s done over the years. The people he’s stepped on, the lies he’s told, the lives he’s destroyed - especially when he can see the end approaching, he knows. He’s painfully aware. I think old Jerry knew all too well. His overt racism and voracious support of the Apartheid government in South Africa, his backstabbing of supposed friends, his fabrications and bribes to state troopers in his efforts to smear Bill Clinton (as if Bill wasn’t fucking up enough without outside help), homophobia (”AIDS is the wrath of a just God against homosexuals.”), a $6.5 million dollar SEC prosecution, fear mongering and censorship…
If the man actually believed in the god he exploited every day, then he had to be terrified of the judgment he would also believe was waiting for him in the afterlife.

Or maybe Jerry truly believed, right through to the end, that he was a righteous servant of god who followed Christ’s teachings with every breath. I highly doubt it - assholes know that they’re assholes - but
for the sake of argument, let’s say he was wacko enough to really think of himself as a saint. What a bummer it would be for him to find out that the basis for his entire life doesn’t actually exist. An epitome of “oh shit” moments.

Personally, I think the god of Christianity is about as plausible and real as a giant three-legged panda bear floating in space and controlling all of the universe with it’s unfathomably intelligent pancreas. Maybe there is a god, or at least something bigger than our puny mortality, but we as humans sure as hell don’t have a handle on it and it couldn’t give two shits about the tripe we made up in it’s name and the horrible things we’ve done to one another claiming it as our justification.

Either way, Jerry’s fucked. He either believed completely that his god existed and, knowing was a shitsucking bastard he’d been his entire life, was terrified of meeting his maker… or he really thought he led a
selfless life serving god and man to the best of his ability. Expecting that heavenly reward of paradise forever, he’d instead meet with something completely different. The harsh reality that the god he used
as a weapon is nothing more than an imaginary friend and that he, the self-important Reverend Jerry Falwell, was nothing more than worm food.

Good riddance, Jerry. I hope someone shits in your casket.