No. No. This can't be happening. Jerry Falwell can't be dead. I just saw him two days ago. He saw me in the hall of Thomas Road Baptist Church and came over to congratulate me on the article I wrote about him. He said, "That was very fine work, Kevin," and then he shook my hand. His handshake was firm, healthy, robust. Just last week, in a convocation sermon, he told us, "G.o.d's man is indestructible until he has finished the work G.o.d has called him to do."

That's what he said. G.o.d's man is indestructible. And yet, at the moment, everything seems terribly wrong, almost post-apocalyptic. Professors are sprinting through the corridors of DeMoss Hall, ties and lab coats flapping behind them, emitting bloodcurdling yells.

"There will be an emergency meeting for all students and faculty at Thomas Road, immediately!"

In a daze, I walk the half mile to Thomas Road, where a lone spotlight is shining in Dr. Falwell's usual place at the pulpit. The church pianist plays a soft, spa.r.s.e melody while hordes of shrieking, distraught people flood in. Dorm 22 gathers in a single row of seats near the middle.

Paul Maddox is staring blankly ahead, backpack hanging from his shoulder.

"I never thought . . ."

"I know," Zipper says. "I can't believe this is happening."

Over the next twenty minutes, thousands of members of the Liberty community pile into the sanctuary. Professors in suits sit next to varsity athletes in uniform, all of them picking liberally from the tissue boxes being pa.s.sed around the rows like collection plates. When the sanctuary reaches capacity, Ron G.o.dwin, the university's executive vice president, steps to the pulpit.

"This morning at about ten to seven," G.o.dwin says, "I received my usual wake-up call--Dr. Falwell confirming when he wants to have breakfast. Today, Dr. Falwell and I had breakfast at Bob Evans. It was breakfast as usual, filled with vision, plans for the future, and joy. . . . Dr. Falwell's staff entered the office this morning and found him unconscious. Resuscitation was attempted there and was unsuccessful."

He steps back from the pulpit, composes himself, and returns.

"Staff, faculty, students . . . a giant has fallen. Dr. Falwell was p.r.o.nounced dead at 12:40 PM PM today. He is with the Lord." today. He is with the Lord."

A Thomas Road a.s.sociate pastor steps to the pulpit. "Take the hand of the person next to you," he says, "and let's pray together for the next few moments."

Paul clasps my hand tightly. As we pray, I look up at the mourners around me, more despondent than any group of people I've ever seen. Men are baldly weeping, women are flailing and howling. This is the kind of guttural, last-ditch grief I've only seen on the evening news from tornado survivors or parents who have lost their children. These are the tears of people with no contingency plan.

"Father," prays the pastor, "on rare occasions in history, you choose to raise up giants. Men and women of unusual vision, of unusual compa.s.sion, with a love for humankind that transcends that which is normal. Lord, we thank you today that we've been able to walk in the shadow of such a man. We know, Father, that Dr. Falwell has been faithful and he is with you in paradise. . . . May we carry forward the unfinished work that Dr. Falwell so n.o.bly began."

In the near silence of the sanctuary, I sit in my seat trembling, pulse resonating in my chest cavity. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to leave Liberty tomorrow, right after my Theology exam, and drive back to my old life. My bags were packed, my gas tank was full. Everything was tidy and neatly wrapped. Everything was done.

After the service, students and faculty are ricocheting around Thomas Road's lobby, sobbing and holding each other and giving teary interviews to the local media, who arrived several minutes ago and who seem to be taking quotes from all warm bodies. I push through the press line ("Excuse me young man! Do you attend Liberty University? Do you have any thoughts on Rev. Falwell's death?") and start the walk back to campus with my hallmates.

"It still hasn't sunk in for me," says Paul, walking across the parking lot. "Like, he's gone."

"It doesn't make any sense," says Zipper.

"Do you remember his last convo speech?" says Lucas, a junior on the hall. "Where he was talking about G.o.d's man being indestructible until he has finished the work G.o.d wants him to do?"

"Ugh," says Paul. "This is so crazy."

Back in my room, I glance at my cell phone. I'd left it on my desk during the service. I have twelve new voicemails, which I scan quickly.

"Kevin, Aunt Deborah here. What's going on down there?"

"Kevin, it's Mom. Did you hear what happened?"

"Oh my G.o.d, dude. This is unreal. Did you get his last interview?"

I open my e-mail--thirty-seven new messages. I click the first two and am shocked by what I see.

This is Annie Scranton with MSNBC. I'm writing to you to see if you might be available to do a quick three-minute phone interview with us regarding the Rev. Jerry Falwell. Please call me as soon as you get this. Please call me as soon as you get this.We would be interested in speaking with you if possible.Todd StarnesNews AnchorFox News Radio Eric comes into the room. "Hey, man, some guy from ABC News just called the hall phone looking for you. He said it's about your article on Falwell. I told him you'd call back."

I can't call back. I can't answer any media requests, in fact. How could I ever act as a Liberty spokesperson for a national audience? No, it's too stressful. For the next few hours, I sit in my room cowering in my chair as the phone calls and e-mails pour in. Many of my secular friends are overjoyed about Dr. Falwell's death, and they a.s.sume I am, too. They leave voicemails saying things like, "I am dancing in the streets right now" and "I don't want to express joy at someone's death, but . . . it's Jerry Falwell." One friend forwards an article t.i.tled "Ding Dong, Falwell's Dead."

What can I tell these people that will make any sense? I'm not celebrating Dr. Falwell's death, but I'm not exactly distraught, either. I haven't gotten much past shock, to be honest. What the h.e.l.l is going on? Did Jerry Falwell really die on the next-to-last day of my Liberty semester? Did I really get the last interview of his life? If G.o.d really did make all this happen, the guy has a macabre sense of humor.

By nightfall on the day of Dr. Falwell's death, Liberty barely resembles itself. Satellite-topped news trucks form a half-mile line along the entrance road to campus, and swarms of microphone-swinging reporters make undisturbed pa.s.sage between parts of campus nearly impossible. My friends and I have been cooped up in Dorm 22, watching the TV coverage of Dr. Falwell's death and avoiding the media outside. I'm in SLD Jake's room with Paul Maddox and Aaron McClain, a senior who lives down the hall.

"I was just out for dinner with my girlfriend," says Jake, "and there were probably ten times when one of us just stopped talking and said, 'Jerry Falwell's freaking . . . dead.' "

"It's not going to sink in until next year," says Paul. "Not until the first convocation."

Dr. Falwell's death might not sink in until next year, but the response from Liberty students has been quick and heavy. Dozens of freshly minted Facebook groups pay tribute to the founder--"Champions trained by Jerry," "Students Mourning Jerry Falwell," "Jerry Falwell WE WILL MISS YOU." Several students painted the spirit rock, a large boulder near the basketball arena, to read: "In Loving Memory of Dr. Jerry Falwell: Fought the fight, finished the course, kept the faith." Other students decorated his reserved parking s.p.a.ce with flowers and cards.

Obviously, Liberty's reaction is very different from the outside world's reaction. All day, we've watched as national news outlets have summarized Dr. Falwell's life as "controversial" and "provocative," and that's the positive stuff. The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force released a statement that read, "We will always remember him as . . . someone who demonized and vilified us for political gain and someone who used religion to divide rather than unite our nation." The atheist kingpin Christopher Hitchens went on CNN an hour ago to denounce Dr. Falwell, calling him an "ugly little charlatan" and saying "I think it's a pity there isn't a h.e.l.l for him to go to."

"There hasn't been that much respect paid to Dr. Falwell today," Jake says, twirling a pencil in his fingers. "I mean, they're talking about how he blamed 9/11 on gay people. And yeah, he said some real bad stuff, n.o.body disagrees about that. But they never mention Liberty or Thomas Road or any of the good stuff."

"Yeah, I thought they might pay a little bit of respect to a man's life, even if they don't respect what he did," says McClain.

"Guys," says Jake after a long silence, "Liberty is never going to be the same."

Tomorrow is technically the last day of school, but Liberty has given us all the option of remaining in the dorms until Dr. Falwell's funeral, which is slated for a week from today. I decide to stay the extra week, if only because I'm too stunned to go anywhere. Dr. Falwell died, the doctors say, of a heart attack that capped years of persistent cardiac problems. Which means, I suppose, that when we had our interview less than two weeks ago, he wasn't simply tired from overwork--he was nearly dead. That realization, along with every other emotional shock of the past twelve hours, has put me in a state of semi-paralysis.

Before going to bed tonight, I brush my teeth, set my alarm, and check Facebook one last time. There, on the most tragic day in the thirty-six year history of this university, a student has added a new item to the list, "You Know You Went to Liberty If . . .": Today was the hardest day of your year, and it had nothing to do with exams. Today was the hardest day of your year, and it had nothing to do with exams.

Over the next two days, Liberty's campus is overrun with tens of thousands of evangelical Christians who have flocked to Lynchburg to pay tribute to the fallen chancellor. Those of us who live here full-time have been giving directions to pastors from Peoria, electricians from Nevada, and homemakers from Little Rock (one of whom told me, upon walking around Liberty for a few hours, that "someone should write a book about this place").

On Thursday, Dr. Falwell's body is brought to the atrium of DeMoss Hall for an open-casket viewing. I wait in a two-hour line to pay my last respects, and when I finally make it up to the front, I see Dr. Falwell lying there in his black suit and red tie, a leather Bible clutched to his chest, his casket surrounded by two armed policemen. I've only been to one other open-casket viewing, and I forgot how expressionless and waxy a dead man looks. I stand there for a few minutes, next to an elderly Christian lady who is weeping quietly and whispering, "Praise G.o.d, praise G.o.d."

On my way out of the atrium, I run into Johnny Hager, the managing editor of the Liberty Champion Liberty Champion.

"Kevin!" he says. "Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you."

Johnny and I got to know each other while I was working on my Falwell article. He's a bright, sweet-natured guy with a stocky build and a spa.r.s.e goatee. When I ask him how he's holding up, he shakes his head.

"I never thought my last week at Liberty would be like this," he says. "It hit me about an hour ago. I was there, looking at Dr. Falwell, and then all of a sudden, I realized that he's actually gone forever. I just started to cry."

Johnny and the rest of the Champion Champion's editors decided to reprint my article in a special memorial edition they're putting out later this week. As I suspected, my interview with Dr. Falwell was the final print interview of his life (not the last interview altogether, though, since he gave an interview to CNN after we met), and the response has been overwhelming. Since Tuesday, I've gotten scores of e-mails from Falwell supporters, who tell me things like "I am sorry for your loss" and "Thank you for this article about a wonderful man who is surely today with Our Lord. He will truly be missed."

I'm having conflicted feelings about the article I wrote for the Champion Champion. On one hand, I'm glad to have met Dr. Falwell. It gave me a glimpse of a side of him that has been largely ignored in the reports of his death, which have focused almost exclusively on his moments of political buffoonery. At the same time, all the Falwell-related coverage has made me question my willingness to excuse him for his sins. Did I really have a good time interviewing a guy who once called gay people "brute beasts," who protested the Civil Rights Act and called the Prophet Muhammad a terrorist? And if I did, what does that say about me? Can't I call evil by its proper name? Has this semester made me a moral milksop?

I will stand by one thing I wrote: like him or hate him, Dr. Falwell was no phony. All week, I've watched as liberal commentators and op-ed columnists have placed Dr. Falwell in a category of deceitful charlatans alongside Jim Bakker and Ted Haggard. And while I understand the urge to do so, it's wrong. Not only is it wrong, it's dangerous. If you chalk Dr. Falwell's entire career up to a charade, you risk obscuring the fact that there are millions millions of Americans, Liberty students and alumni included, who believe the same things he believed. Dr. Falwell may have used manipulative tactics to get his message across, and he may have abused his bully pulpit, but he was hardly a lone voice, and that's a much harsher reality to process. of Americans, Liberty students and alumni included, who believe the same things he believed. Dr. Falwell may have used manipulative tactics to get his message across, and he may have abused his bully pulpit, but he was hardly a lone voice, and that's a much harsher reality to process.

In a way, Dr. Falwell's sincerity has also made me feel a bit--a tiny tiny bit--bad for him. I remember something he told me during our interview, when I asked him what his biggest wish for this year's graduating Liberty seniors was. He responded, "I hope that they're spiritually ready for the greatest challenge any American graduating cla.s.s has ever faced. Islamic terrorism is out of control, and we're at war, and America doesn't seem to have the necessary resolve to be able to win. It's going to be, in my opinion, a very long war. I think it's going to go on a hundred years. And it's going to take resolve or we won't win. I pray that our graduates will go out and turn the country around." bit--bad for him. I remember something he told me during our interview, when I asked him what his biggest wish for this year's graduating Liberty seniors was. He responded, "I hope that they're spiritually ready for the greatest challenge any American graduating cla.s.s has ever faced. Islamic terrorism is out of control, and we're at war, and America doesn't seem to have the necessary resolve to be able to win. It's going to be, in my opinion, a very long war. I think it's going to go on a hundred years. And it's going to take resolve or we won't win. I pray that our graduates will go out and turn the country around."

At the time, it struck me as an uncharacteristic moment of insecurity on his part. This war is going to go on for a hundred years? Isn't this the guy who used to say that America could be restored to its full greatness within his lifetime?

But since Dr. Falwell's death, I've read a number of statements he made in which he seemed less than confident about the success of the Religious Right's agenda. Like when he told Christianity Today Christianity Today in 2004 that he thought it would take "at least another forty years" to overturn in 2004 that he thought it would take "at least another forty years" to overturn Roe v. Wade Roe v. Wade, or when he told the Washington Post Washington Post that he wasn't happy about the Republican candidates in the 2008 election, saying, "There are no Ronald Reagans out there." that he wasn't happy about the Republican candidates in the 2008 election, saying, "There are no Ronald Reagans out there."

Dr. Falwell has always claimed that the Moral Majority was a success. And politically, he may be right. His efforts turned millions of evangelical Christians into ballot-punching Republicans, and the presidential elections of the 1980s were altered significantly by the presence of a huge new voting bloc. But what does the Moral Majority have to crow about today? Look around. Roe v. Wade Roe v. Wade hasn't been overturned. h.o.m.os.e.xuality is becoming more culturally benign every day. The tenets of feminism have become enshrined in much of America's social landscape, and p.o.r.nography is more widely available than ever before. If Dr. Falwell had been a simple huckster, none of this would have bothered him. But I think he was in it to win. I think he wanted America to be saved, and I suspect it was painful for him to see his dream slipping away. hasn't been overturned. h.o.m.os.e.xuality is becoming more culturally benign every day. The tenets of feminism have become enshrined in much of America's social landscape, and p.o.r.nography is more widely available than ever before. If Dr. Falwell had been a simple huckster, none of this would have bothered him. But I think he was in it to win. I think he wanted America to be saved, and I suspect it was painful for him to see his dream slipping away.

Dr. Falwell, as many in the media have noted this week, was an old lion of American evangelism. Religious leaders all over the country have expressed their sadness at his pa.s.sing and their appreciation for his historical legacy, but buried in the subtext of those comments is always the notion that Dr. Falwell, and the brash, bulldoggish Christianity he pioneered, is largely a thing of the past. In 2005, Time Time magazine ran a cover story on the twenty-five most influential evangelicals in America. Dr. Falwell didn't make the list. A 2006 Pew Poll pegged his approval rating at 44 percent--among magazine ran a cover story on the twenty-five most influential evangelicals in America. Dr. Falwell didn't make the list. A 2006 Pew Poll pegged his approval rating at 44 percent--among evangelicals evangelicals. Near the end of his life, the man who had been the public face of American evangelicalism for almost two decades had been ceremonially put out to pasture by his descendants, many of whom favor a kinder, gentler approach to spreading the gospel. America's Christians have moved on from the Moral Majority's agenda, and I have no doubt that the evangelical church will survive Dr. Falwell's pa.s.sing.

As for Liberty, I'm not so sure.

This year's commencement took place in Liberty's football stadium on Sat.u.r.day, although I'm not even sure the 2,500 graduating seniors wanted to be there. Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich had the unenviable task of addressing the cla.s.s of 2007 five days after the spiritual foundation of their school was ripped out from under them, and while everyone tried their hardest to make the occasion enjoyable--there were even some antics involving Silly String--it was pretty obvious that any joy in that stadium was merely window dressing. Before the degrees were conferred, a ten-minute video montage of Dr. Falwell's life was shown on the giant screens, leaving very few dry eyes and even fewer people who felt like celebrating. Administrators eulogized the Chancellor, the university's flags were lowered to half mast, and the top of one graduate's cap read, "I LOVE YOU, JERRY." One of my hallmates called it a funeral with diplomas.

The next day, Thomas Road Baptist Church held its first Sunday service without its founding pastor. Dr. Falwell's youngest son Jonathan, heir apparent to the Thomas Road pulpit, gave an emotionally charged sermon comparing the church's situation to the scenario that faced Israel after the pa.s.sing of its leader.

"After Moses died," he said, "G.o.d gave Joshua, Moses' a.s.sistant, the instructions to cross the Jordan River into the land he had promised them. Today, Thomas Road, we are all Joshua. We must carry on the vision my father had fifty-one years ago for this church. We must cross this Jordan."

After church, I followed several thousand Thomas Roaders out to the parking lot, where we waited for Dr. Falwell's casket to be brought--in a horse-drawn carriage flanked by a squadron of police cars--into the church sanctuary, where it would lie in repose for two more days. As we waited, a few members of the congregation began to gossip about Dr. Falwell's upcoming funeral.

"I hear President Bush is making a surprise appearance."

"I heard Mel Gibson is coming in his private plane."

"Wow. You think he'll sign autographs?"

"I'm not sure. But I heard the prime minister of Israel is coming, too."

"We're going to have to camp out in line overnight to get a seat."

Most of my friends have gone home for the summer. The university gave us all the option of staying an extra week, but I was one of only four or five Dorm 22 residents to take them up on it. For the past six days, I've been living in solitude in an empty dorm room on an empty hall, speaking to no one, and not really doing much of anything, all because I wanted to attend Dr. Falwell's funeral tomorrow. I'm beginning to wish I had left with everyone else.

Part of what's bothering me about the grief-laden exercises of this week is that I'm not actually sure what the object of my grief is. I feel emotionally low, but when I try to match my state of mind to an external factor, I always come up short. Am I sad because Dr. Falwell died? Sort of, but I was much sadder to see my grandmother go, and I didn't mourn her death nearly as intensely. Am I feeling guilty because I was the last person to interview Dr. Falwell at length? Sure, but I've a.s.suaged my guilt with the fact that for a final print interview, mine was pretty charitable, especially compared to the hammering he's gotten from the mainstream media this week.

My dad called me today. I've been avoiding my phone all week, but I was feeling so moody and homesick that I picked up. We ended up talking for almost an hour. I told him all the stories of the past week, from the death announcement at Thomas Road to the horse-drawn carriage to the spectacularly overshadowed commencement exercises, and when I finished, he asked me, "So, how do you feel about Jerry Falwell?"

For me, this is the hardest question he could have asked. Because when my dad asks it, he doesn't just mean, "How do you feel about Jerry Falwell?" By extension, he's also asking, "How do you feel about Liberty?" and "How do you feel about evangelicalism?" and "How do you feel about the time you've spent there?" I still don't feel totally equipped to answer any of those questions. Not even remotely. But since tomorrow marks the end of my semester, I suppose I should try my best. So here goes.

The things I hated about Dr. Falwell are the things lots of people hated about him. I hated his intolerance, his quickness to judge and caricature. I hated the way he invented outside threats to fuel his own ministry, and I hated his anti-intellectualism. I hated that unlike some of my friends at Liberty, who have never met any gay people, Dr. Falwell was fully aware of how h.o.m.ophobia operates and what its effects are, and he exploited it anyway.

What did I like about Dr. Falwell? Well, I liked his compa.s.sion among his people. I liked his Wonka-esque whimsy and his prankster streak, and I appreciated him as a talented pastor. But more than that, what I liked about Dr. Falwell was that he made me question my own a.s.sumptions. I sat in the Thomas Road choir loft week after week, listening to him preach to his congregation, and the more I heard, the less angry I became about the fact that any of this existed. In a way, I think Dr. Falwell functioned for me as a sort of human Rorschach test. Over the course of the semester, as my thoughts about faith and people of faith became more nuanced, so did my opinion of Dr. Falwell. I could appreciate his love for his flock in large part because I had learned to love them myself. And at the beginning of the semester, when all I saw in Dr. Falwell was hatred, I may have been saying more about my own heart than his.

The only solid Falwell-related conclusion I've found this week came from Valentina, a girl from my Daytona Beach evangelism trip. I had dinner with her a few days ago, and afterward, we sat in my parked car, having the "I can't believe he's dead" conversation that has been on infinite loop around here. At one point, after trying to condense her own opinions about Dr. Falwell and failing, Valentina looked out my pa.s.senger-side window and said, "Think about it: if it hadn't been for Jerry Falwell, this school wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have met my friends. I wouldn't be the person I am now."

That's all I can say today. Whatever Jerry Falwell has been to the world, however he'll be remembered, I have to acknowledge that if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have come to Liberty at all. I wouldn't have met Valentina or Jersey Joey or Paul Maddox or Pastor Seth or Zipper or Anna. For better or worse--and I'm not quite sure which it is yet--the man changed my life.

Meanwhile, my dad is still waiting for an answer to his question: what do I think of Jerry Falwell?

"He was a complicated guy," I say.

"That's it?" my dad says. "A complicated guy?"

"Yep. That's it."

He'll never understand.

I refuse to camp out overnight for a funeral. Camping out in line should be reserved for U2 concert tickets and newly released video game systems, not remembrances of the dead, even if that dead is a major American religious and political figure. So on Tuesday, the day of Dr. Falwell's funeral, when several thousand people were waiting outside the doors of the Thomas Road Baptist Church, clamoring for seats to the most high-profile event in this city's history, I take the opportunity to sleep in.

At noon, and not a moment before, I shower, shave, comb my hair, change into my one and only suit, and walk over to Liberty's basketball arena, where Dr. Falwell's funeral is being shown via simulcast. I take a seat in one of the middle rows, next to a family of four from Charlottesville, all dressed in their Sunday best. I've always thought it was weird that people dress up for funerals the same way they dress up for weddings--after all, the person in the casket can't see what you're wearing--but it's doubly weird when the funeral you're watching is being projected on a Jumbotron screen from a half mile away. I do notice that the element of distance has made this basketball arena a more relaxed environment than over at the church. A few rows away, while waiting for the service to begin, an elderly female attendee breaks out her knitting needles.

Technically, I could have gotten into the service at Thomas Road even without waiting in line overnight. I could have asked to sing in the church choir, which has been asked to sing the "Hallelujah" chorus at the end of the service. But I couldn't. I already feel duplicitous enough. Yesterday, I learned that the special edition of the Liberty Champion Liberty Champion, the one with my article reprinted inside, is being handed out at Dr. Falwell's funeral, meaning that thousands upon thousands of people are processing their grief over his death, at least in part, through something I wrote. If that weren't enough, I then got a call from a Champion Champion staffer who told me that the Jerry Falwell Museum is planning to add my article to its permanent collection. I managed to wait until the phone call was over to scream. staffer who told me that the Jerry Falwell Museum is planning to add my article to its permanent collection. I managed to wait until the phone call was over to scream.

At 1:00 PM PM, Dr. Falwell's funeral begins. Few of the rumored luminaries showed up, but a representative from the Oval Office is on hand, and several evangelical celebrities like Pat Robertson and former Christian Coalition leader Ralph Reed made the trek. The funeral itself is a beautiful, touching service. Franklin Graham, son of Rev. Billy Graham and a Liberty parent, gives a stirring tribute to Dr. Falwell's ministerial legacy. Dr. Falwell's daughter Jeannie eulogizes her father with words that would mist the eyes of anyone with a pulse. Charles Billingsley, the velvet-voiced Thomas Road soloist, sings Dr. Falwell's favorite song, a Bill Gaither gospel number called "Going Home."

Many times in my childhood when we'd traveled so far, Many times in my childhood when we'd traveled so far,By nightfall how weary I'd grow;Father's arm would slip 'round me,So gently he'd say,"My child, we're going home."Going home, I'm going home,There's nothing to hold me here;Well, I've caught a glimpse of that heavenly land,Praise G.o.d, I'm going home.

Everyone around me in the arena is crying, and to be honest, I don't know why I'm not. Maybe I spent all my sadness already. Maybe I'm too consumed with terrible, skin-crawling guilt. I might be half a mile away from the funeral, but I feel like I'm wrapped up in the middle of all of this. During "Going Home," the camera panned across a row of seats in Thomas Road's sanctuary, and I flinched when I saw that a lady in the row had a copy of the Liberty Champion in her lap, opened to my article. in her lap, opened to my article.

Is G.o.d punishing me for meddling in other people's affairs? Is that what this is? A divine comeuppance? Did some cosmic thug bring me to Liberty knowing that I'd end up this way? I don't think so. I don't. But at the moment, I'm not quite sure what the purpose of all this is. I'm not sure if I should apologize, or for what, or to whom. Right now, I just want to leave.

After the choir sings a tear-filled "Hallelujah" chorus, after the pastor gives the final amen, I walk across campus to my car. I unlock it, and I toss my funeral program in the backseat. I take off my tie, I start the engine, and I drive away from Liberty's campus. The sun is shining. I open my window and let the hot wind wallop my face. Praise G.o.d, I'm going home.

Epilogue.

It's midnight at Brown University, and I'm kneeling on the floor of my dorm room, praying.

I've been back at secular college for almost a year now, and I still pray a few times every week. In fact, that's about the only thing my life today has in common with the life I led at Liberty. I don't follow a nightly curfew, I don't avoid R-rated movies, and Lord knows I don't go to Bible study on Friday nights. In fact, I'm not sure when the last time I cracked open a Bible was, but it must have been at least a couple months ago.

If I seem detached from my Liberty persona, it's a recent development. When I first arrived back at Brown, I was culture clashing all over the place. My re-entry shock came in two forms. First, I'd be surprised by something I experienced--an English professor who began the first day of cla.s.s without leading prayer, or a boozy frat party, or the presence of actual, non-closeted gay couples--and then I'd be surprised that I was surprised. Wasn't this normal normal? Had Liberty really screwed my perspective up that badly?

Happily, no. After a few weeks of wide-eyed readjustment, I settled back in at Brown. My friends dragged me out to parties and my professors got me up to speed on my secular studies, and eventually, I felt it all coming back. By Halloween or so, I was able to forget, for brief periods of time, that I ever went to Liberty. I'd land on a Thomas Road Baptist Church sermon while flipping channels on a Sunday morning, and I'd think: did I really do that? did I really do that? It seemed utterly foreign, and I was surprised--and a little embarra.s.sed--that I had once felt so comfortable there. It seemed utterly foreign, and I was surprised--and a little embarra.s.sed--that I had once felt so comfortable there.

I think of Liberty frequently and with great fondness. I don't remember everything I learned in my courses, but a fair amount of theological arcana stuck around, and every time the Bible comes up in one of my Brown cla.s.ses, I'm transported in a flash back to DeMoss Hall. (After my final exams at Liberty, if you're curious, I ended up with four Bs and two As). I've been able to keep abreast of Liberty happenings through Facebook, and just a few minutes ago, I glanced at the photograph I keep on my desk, a shot of my Dorm 22 intramural softball team. We're on the field celebrating a play-off win, and right in front, wearing undereye war paint and sticking out his tongue, is Jersey Joey.

Joey still calls me every few weeks, both to tell me about his exploits at Liberty and, I suspect, to experience secular college life vicariously through me. (He began one check-in by asking, "Rooster, you got any loose broads up there?") By Liberty standards, Joey's not doing very well these days. As he predicted, his efforts at personal reform failed, and he's now committing regular acts of actual rebellion. Recently, he told me about sneaking out after curfew, taking up a smoking habit, and spending a sinful spring break in Florida. Joey's stories always come packaged with a tiny bit of remorse, but mostly, he sounds excited to be getting away with it all.

"I'm livin' large, Rooster," he says. "Larger than this place, that's for sure."

Paul Maddox has had a rough-and-tumble year since I left. During the summer, Paul went to visit his girlfriend Lauren, met her parents, and ended up asking for--and receiving--their permission to seek Lauren's hand in marriage. "I just think it's the right thing," he told me. "I know it was a quick decision, but I feel like it's going to work out." It didn't. He proposed, she accepted, and a month later, Lauren broke up with him, saying that she needed to wait until after college to get married. Paul spent months in a heartbroken slump, and briefly considered dropping out of Liberty. Then, in the spring, he dug himself out. He refocused on his academics and his faith and even tried out for the Liberty football team again. Against all odds, he made the varsity squad.

"Will I get any playing time?" he said. "Maybe. It doesn't matter, really. I'm just blessed to be out there."

Updates from the rest of my Liberty friends come through the grapevine in bits and pieces. James Powell, the new RA on Dorm 22, has proven himself to be a capable leader, and most of the guys seem to think the hall is in good hands. Zipper, my former next-door neighbor, moved across campus to take a position as the Spiritual Life Director on another hall and is going through training to become an RA next year. Max Carter, Liberty's student body president, was admitted to the University of Virginia law school, where he'll matriculate next fall. Travis, Jersey Joey's roommate, accepted Jesus as his savior last September, in part due to the influence of a Christian girl he wanted to date. Eric, my old roommate, is planning to go to seminary after college, and he still sees Henry, our third roommate, walking around campus sometimes. Anna, my Christian crush, left Liberty after the fall semester. She returned home to Delaware, where she's been taking cla.s.ses at a medium-size state school. "I liked Liberty's Christian atmosphere," she told me, "but there weren't enough free-thinkers there. I was toughing it out, and I don't think college is something you should tough out. I want to enjoy myself."

Overall, Liberty seems to be doing quite well these days. After Dr. Falwell's death, his sons, Jerry Jr. and Jonathan, took over the helms of Liberty and Thomas Road, respectively. Their ascendancy worried many of the Lynchburg faithful, and some predicted a quick downfall for the Falwell empire. But today, both the school and the church are thriving. Unbeknownst to many Liberty students, Dr. Falwell carried more than $30 million in life insurance policies, the dividends from which went to Liberty's general fund upon his death. For the first time in history, Liberty is a debt-free school. Enrollment is up 10 percent from last year, new buildings are sprouting up every day, and student morale is at an all-time high. Thomas Road, too, is experiencing unprecedented growth, adding 1,200 new members to its ranks in the months following Jonathan Falwell's installation as senior pastor.

There are people, of course, who say that Liberty will never be as good as it was, that Dr. Falwell's death spelled the end of Liberty's glory days. But almost every Liberty student I've talked to reports that while adjusting to new leadership has been difficult, the transition has been largely positive. Under Dr. Falwell's guidance, Liberty was frozen in place by a half-century of ideological inertia, and his pa.s.sing has freed the school from its bindings. Jerry Falwell, Jr. is just as conservative on social and theological issues as his father was, and from all reports, he intends to keep Liberty headed a few miles to the right of center, but the younger Falwells belong to a different generation of evangelicals, and the difference on campus is palpable.