I grew up in the Westboro Baptist Church. Here’s why I left | Megan Phelps-Roper

I grew up in the Westboro Baptist Church. Here’s why I left | Megan Phelps-Roper

I was a blue-eyed,
chubby-cheeked five-year-old when I joined my family
on the picket line for the first time. My mom made me leave
my dolls in the minivan. I’d stand on a street corner
in the heavy Kansas humidity, surrounded by a few dozen relatives, with my tiny fists clutching
a sign that I couldn’t read yet: “Gays are worthy of death.” This was the beginning. Our protests soon became
a daily occurrence and an international phenomenon, and as a member
of Westboro Baptist Church, I became a fixture
on picket lines across the country. The end of my antigay picketing career and life as I knew it, came 20 years later, triggered in part by strangers on Twitter who showed me the power
of engaging the other. In my home, life was framed as an epic
spiritual battle between good and evil. The good was my church and its members, and the evil was everyone else. My church’s antics were such that we were constantly
at odds with the world, and that reinforced
our otherness on a daily basis. “Make a difference
between the unclean and the clean,” the verse says, and so we did. From baseball games to military funerals, we trekked across the country
with neon protest signs in hand to tell others exactly
how “unclean” they were and exactly why
they were headed for damnation. This was the focus of our whole lives. This was the only way for me to do good
in a world that sits in Satan’s lap. And like the rest of my 10 siblings, I believed what I was taught
with all my heart, and I pursued Westboro’s agenda
with a special sort of zeal. In 2009, that zeal brought me to Twitter. Initially, the people
I encountered on the platform were just as hostile as I expected. They were the digital version
of the screaming hordes I’d been seeing at protests
since I was a kid. But in the midst of that digital brawl, a strange pattern developed. Someone would arrive at my profile
with the usual rage and scorn, I would respond with a custom mix
of Bible verses, pop culture references and smiley faces. They would be understandably
confused and caught off guard, but then a conversation would ensue. And it was civil — full of genuine curiosity on both sides. How had the other come to such
outrageous conclusions about the world? Sometimes the conversation
even bled into real life. People I’d sparred with on Twitter would come out
to the picket line to see me when I protested in their city. A man named David was one such person. He ran a blog called “Jewlicious,” and after several months
of heated but friendly arguments online, he came out to see me
at a picket in New Orleans. He brought me a Middle Eastern dessert
from Jerusalem, where he lives, and I brought him kosher chocolate and held a “God hates Jews” sign. (Laughter) There was no confusion
about our positions, but the line between friend and foe
was becoming blurred. We’d started to see each other
as human beings, and it changed the way
we spoke to one another. It took time, but eventually these conversations
planted seeds of doubt in me. My friends on Twitter took the time
to understand Westboro’s doctrines, and in doing so, they were able to find inconsistencies
I’d missed my entire life. Why did we advocate
the death penalty for gays when Jesus said, “Let he who is
without sin cast the first stone?” How could we claim to love our neighbor while at the same time
praying for God to destroy them? The truth is that the care shown to me
by these strangers on the internet was itself a contradiction. It was growing evidence that people on the other side were not
the demons I’d been led to believe. These realizations were life-altering. Once I saw that we were not
the ultimate arbiters of divine truth but flawed human beings, I couldn’t pretend otherwise. I couldn’t justify our actions — especially our cruel practice
of protesting funerals and celebrating human tragedy. These shifts in my perspective contributed to a larger erosion
of trust in my church, and eventually it made it
impossible for me to stay. In spite of overwhelming grief and terror,
I left Westboro in 2012. In those days just after I left, the instinct to hide
was almost paralyzing. I wanted to hide
from the judgement of my family, who I knew would never
speak to me again — people whose thoughts and opinions
had meant everything to me. And I wanted to hide from the world
I’d rejected for so long — people who had no reason at all
to give me a second chance after a lifetime of antagonism. And yet, unbelievably, they did. The world had access to my past
because it was all over the internet — thousands of tweets
and hundreds of interviews, everything from local TV news
to “The Howard Stern Show” — but so many embraced me
with open arms anyway. I wrote an apology
for the harm I’d caused, but I also knew that an apology
could never undo any of it. All I could do was try to build a new life and find a way somehow
to repair some of the damage. People had every reason
to doubt my sincerity, but most of them didn’t. And — given my history, it was more than I could’ve hoped for — forgiveness and the benefit of the doubt. It still amazes me. I spent my first year away from home adrift with my younger sister, who had chosen to leave with me. We walked into an abyss, but we were shocked to find
the light and a way forward in the same communities
we’d targeted for so long. David, my “Jewlicious” friend from Twitter, invited us to spend time among
a Jewish community in Los Angeles. We slept on couches in the home
of a Hasidic rabbi and his wife and their four kids — the same rabbi that I’d protested
three years earlier with a sign that said,
“Your rabbi is a whore.” We spent long hours talking
about theology and Judaism and life while we washed dishes
in their kosher kitchen and chopped vegetables for dinner. They treated us like family. They held nothing against us, and again I was astonished. That period was full of turmoil, but one part I’ve returned to often is a surprising realization
I had during that time — that it was a relief and a privilege
to let go of the harsh judgments that instinctively ran through my mind
about nearly every person I saw. I realized that now I needed to learn. I needed to listen. This has been at the front
of my mind lately, because I can’t help but see
in our public discourse so many of the same destructive impulses
that ruled my former church. We celebrate tolerance and diversity
more than at any other time in memory, and still we grow more and more divided. We want good things — justice, equality,
freedom, dignity, prosperity — but the path we’ve chosen looks so much like the one
I walked away from four years ago. We’ve broken the world into us and them, only emerging from our bunkers long enough to lob rhetorical grenades
at the other camp. We write off half the country
as out-of-touch liberal elites or racist misogynist bullies. No nuance, no complexity, no humanity. Even when someone does call for empathy
and understanding for the other side, the conversation nearly always devolves into a debate about
who deserves more empathy. And just as I learned to do, we routinely refuse to acknowledge
the flaws in our positions or the merits in our opponent’s. Compromise is anathema. We even target people on our own side
when they dare to question the party line. This path has brought us cruel,
sniping, deepening polarization, and even outbreaks of violence. I remember this path. It will not take us where we want to go. What gives me hope is that
we can do something about this. The good news is that it’s simple, and the bad news is that it’s hard. We have to talk and listen
to people we disagree with. It’s hard because we often can’t fathom how the other side
came to their positions. It’s hard because righteous indignation, that sense of certainty
that ours is the right side, is so seductive. It’s hard because it means
extending empathy and compassion to people who show us
hostility and contempt. The impulse to respond in kind
is so tempting, but that isn’t who we want to be. We can resist. And I will always be inspired to do so
by those people I encountered on Twitter, apparent enemies
who became my beloved friends. And in the case of one particularly
understanding and generous guy, my husband. There was nothing special
about the way I responded to him. What was special was their approach. I thought about it a lot
over the past few years and I found four things
they did differently that made real conversation possible. These four steps were small but powerful, and I do everything I can to employ them
in difficult conversations today. The first is don’t assume bad intent. My friends on Twitter realized that even when my words
were aggressive and offensive, I sincerely believed
I was doing the right thing. Assuming ill motives
almost instantly cuts us off from truly understanding
why someone does and believes as they do. We forget that they’re a human being with a lifetime of experience
that shaped their mind, and we get stuck
on that first wave of anger, and the conversation has a very hard time
ever moving beyond it. But when we assume good or neutral intent, we give our minds a much stronger
framework for dialogue. The second is ask questions. When we engage people
across ideological divides, asking questions
helps us map the disconnect between our differing points of view. That’s important because
we can’t present effective arguments if we don’t understand where
the other side is actually coming from and because it gives them an opportunity
to point out flaws in our positions. But asking questions
serves another purpose; it signals to someone
that they’re being heard. When my friends on Twitter
stopped accusing and started asking questions, I almost automatically mirrored them. Their questions gave me room to speak, but they also gave me permission
to ask them questions and to truly hear their responses. It fundamentally changed
the dynamic of our conversation. The third is stay calm. This takes practice and patience, but it’s powerful. At Westboro, I learned not to care
how my manner of speaking affected others. I thought my rightness
justified my rudeness — harsh tones, raised voices,
insults, interruptions — but that strategy
is ultimately counterproductive. Dialing up the volume and the snark
is natural in stressful situations, but it tends to bring the conversation
to an unsatisfactory, explosive end. When my husband was still
just an anonymous Twitter acquaintance, our discussions frequently
became hard and pointed, but we always refused to escalate. Instead, he would change the subject. He would tell a joke or recommend a book or gently excuse himself
from the conversation. We knew the discussion wasn’t over, just paused for a time
to bring us back to an even keel. People often lament that digital
communication makes us less civil, but this is one advantage that online
conversations have over in-person ones. We have a buffer of time and space between us and the people
whose ideas we find so frustrating. We can use that buffer. Instead of lashing out,
we can pause, breathe, change the subject or walk away, and then come back to it when we’re ready. And finally … make the argument. This might seem obvious, but one side effect
of having strong beliefs is that we sometimes assume that the value of our position
is or should be obvious and self-evident, that we shouldn’t
have to defend our positions because they’re so clearly right and good that if someone doesn’t get it,
it’s their problem — that it’s not my job to educate them. But if it were that simple, we would all see things the same way. As kind as my friends on Twitter were, if they hadn’t actually
made their arguments, it would’ve been so much harder for me
to see the world in a different way. We are all a product of our upbringing, and our beliefs reflect our experiences. We can’t expect others
to spontaneously change their own minds. If we want change, we have to make the case for it. My friends on Twitter didn’t abandon
their beliefs or their principles — only their scorn. They channeled their
infinitely justifiable offense and came to me with pointed questions
tempered with kindness and humor. They approached me as a human being, and that was more transformative than two full decades
of outrage, disdain and violence. I know that some might not have
the time or the energy or the patience for extensive engagement, but as difficult as it can be, reaching out to someone we disagree with is an option that is
available to all of us. And I sincerely believe
that we can do hard things, not just for them
but for us and our future. Escalating disgust
and intractable conflict are not what we want for ourselves, or our country or our next generation. My mom said something to me
a few weeks before I left Westboro, when I was desperately hoping there was a way
I could stay with my family. People I have loved
with every pulse of my heart since even before I was
that chubby-cheeked five-year-old, standing on a picket line
holding a sign I couldn’t read. She said, “You’re just a human being, my dear, sweet child.” She was asking me to be humble — not to question
but to trust God and my elders. But to me, she was missing
the bigger picture — that we’re all just human beings. That we should be guided
by that most basic fact, and approach one another
with generosity and compassion. Each one of us
contributes to the communities and the cultures and the societies
that we make up. The end of this spiral of rage and blame
begins with one person who refuses to indulge
these destructive, seductive impulses. We just have to decide
that it’s going to start with us. Thank you. (Applause)

100 thoughts on “I grew up in the Westboro Baptist Church. Here’s why I left | Megan Phelps-Roper

  1. It was protests like the ones she mentioned that turned me into an atheist. Thanks to civil conversation i became a Republican.

  2. https://www.facebook.com/maliheh.mazloomi.9/videos/383493639271118/UzpfSTEwMDAzMjc2NDMyODc5MDoxNTU0NjIxOTg4ODkyNTc/

  3. I'm surprised that the Baptist Church at large has not made this group stop calling themselves Baptists. Baptist theology in no way condones hatred of any individual or group, only sin

  4. I blame the foundation she grew up in, as soon as she gained her independence and begun to understand the world more and that what she represented was not of GOD. She departed and i am proud of her and i hope GOD saves her family and make them reunits under love not hate

  5. She’s beautiful and seems like an interesting person on top of it. Hopefully she can put this behind her and help other grow.

  6. Religion is a distraction to the world but once people have access to internet no lies would be told anymore. People will see it for what it is…

  7. Extreme props to Megan for an incredibly brave resistance to her family and that church!
    I really thought that Westboro Baptist was just a troll organization, not an actual church… I was disturbed that someone would present Christianity that way. I'm more disturbed that these assholes actually believe what they do/did is right!!

  8. The way she describes the people who she and many of the other people at her old church had antagonized for years, how they accepted her even with her faults and past hurtfulness, how they forgave her and gave her the benefit of the doubt? THAT is how Christians are told to act, to love one another and give everyone, no matter their sins or past, a chance to be forgiven, to move past their, well, literal past, and push forward into become a much better person.

  9. The way she describes the people who she and many of the other people at her old church had antagonized for years, how they accepted her even with her faults and past hurtfulness, how they forgave her and gave her the benefit of the doubt? THAT is how Christians are told to act, to love one another and give everyone, no matter their sins or past, a chance to be forgiven, to move past their, well, literal past, and push forward into become a much better person.

  10. Also, I was a bit aprehensive about this at first, but the TED talk was really amazing, one of the best ones I've heard, and I'm pretty sure I'll be sending this to everyone I know.

  11. Also, I was a bit aprehensive about this at first, but the TED talk was really amazing, one of the best ones I've heard, and I'm pretty sure I'll be sending this to everyone I know.

  12. sin of god i cant even look a woman in the eye read the old test i was born out of wed lock so its a sin for me to even go out side an look at the woman who dont even put on out fits any mores o

  13. Christians as a whole are the single most flawed human beings ever. That's why I do not call myself a Christian but I love Jesus Christ

  14. seeing her doing this is wild bcos she was a strong young face of that church for years. i always knew she’d see the light and wanna leave

  15. Megan, you have such a gift! What you say so eloquently is so very meaningful and powerful. And your argument which is based on reason is full of humility. People will be drawn to you.

  16. Jesus IS LOVE….yes, the "sin" is what is "hated" but not the sinner…He died FOR us so that we may reflect that. We can disagree and show love – THAT is all that wins a soul.

  17. The problem is that a lot of people with such offensive beliefs are so entrenched, so immovable and so determined in their ideology that they’re not going to change. In fact, a study in Far Right doctrine argues that giving such viewpoints publicity simply yields more interest in that belief system. It emboldens and legitimises the very thing that we are trying to debate with but it’s ultimately futile.

  18. Where is God in all this. They denied God been able to change your life. JESÚS SAID I AM THE TRUE AND THE LIFE!!!, you want find the true you most reach out for JESUS!!!

  19. This sounds like cult away from God!! Yes! Be careful people!! if there’s is not God present you are in danger!!.

  20. I’m gay
    I’ve always told other gays growing up in adversity one thing
    This is love
    This is the OTHER SIDE

  21. How dare you your lot was at my dad's funeral with sign say thank go for IED and if your a Christian why do you hate Jews. Jesus is a Jew. He is the saviour of the jews. Your lot still show up at Milatry funerals and disrespect the men and women who left behind children to protect our country may God forgive you

  22. It takes serious conviction to admit you were wrong in a religious sense – especially when so many from that same religious arena will denounce you for doing so. Let truth prevail. In 2003, the g0ys (spelled w. a zer0) movement was founded to confront the precise damage being promoted by BOTH – the religious RIGHT (responsible for grossly misrepresenting the Judeo-Christian Scriptures) and (say "AND") the libertine LEFT (which is responsible for promoting deadly behavior which has killed millions of people) . Particularly offensive on the RIGHT were/are the so-called: Ex-gay miseries, eh … ministries. A goal of the g0ys movement was to cover EXACTLY what IS and is NOT prohibited Scripturally (in the ORIGINAL LANGUAGE TEXTS) and more importantly – precisely WHY. The "WHY" matters. Because when you violate "WHY", – people DIE. Swinging from false-legalism to libertine is no answer. What I find lacking is WISDOM — lacking on BOTH traditional sides of this alleged debate. G0YS (spelled w. a zer0) completely reframe the issue: @t

  23. “This kind of wisdom doesn't come from above. It is earthly and selfish and comes from the devil himself.”
    ‭‭James‬ ‭3:15‬ ‭CEV‬‬

  24. She obviously choose to focus on the compassionate messages of Scriptures rather than condemnatory retoric of those interpreting it. She has not thrown the baby out with the bath water. Good luck to her or maybe God luck.

  25. I do not forgive you and your mother for holding up that vicious sign (and screaming disgusting things) at my best friend’s funeral. He was a soldier and killed in action.

  26. “I grew up in the Westboro Baptist Church: Here’s why I left”

    Video begins:

    “Because it’s horrible.”

    End of video

  27. Wow what an opening. The whole religion thing is to literally accept people for who they are and where they are spiritually sooo great job guys -_-

  28. She is a class act. Intelligent, compassionate and clearly developed a strong sense of self. I hope she continues to use her voice for good. The Phelps are whackadoo nut job weirdos. Glad she escaped.

  29. this westboro church is incredibly flawed and way out of line.. the church at large is in no way like westboro.. to leave 'the faith' because you were attending a church gone wrong is sad.. anyone with any theological background can see through westboro… Jesus was so very angry with the self righteous religious leaders.. but this does not discount who He is and what He did for us… (find a good church)…

  30. Any church of God must condemn the sin, but love & pray for the sinner. There should not be any hatred, for God so loved the world He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believed in Him shall not perish. GOD IS LOVE. BUT SIN IS SIN. GOD REQUIRES REPENTANCE.

  31. ''In the far distant future, humanity will classify belief in the Abrahamic God alongside belief in fairies, elves and goblins. That’s how ridiculous Abrahamism is.'' – Mike Hockney

  32. Im from Albania Europe and i would want to know how are Christians protestants in Usa divided and are they racist ?im white and ex catholic and a Christian

  33. Jesus is The Truth of life . You dont know what you losing , it was bad because you were brainwashed to Hate . But Christ wants all us in his family . But i know most of us humans wont Believe .

  34. While I don't condone her past, I do commend her for speaking out and severing ties with that cult. That took great courage for her to sever ties with her family.

  35. Why is there subtitles in Bulgarian, and Croatian? Seems so random. 😂
    Btw as a believer in god, and Christian I absolutely dislike that church she was in. They’re extremists. They’re just as bad as extremist Muslims but they don’t see that. God says to love our neighbors, and that all men were created equally. We are here to work together as human beings. God created all of us in his image. I hope that church fails, and that they’re able to see the light before it’s to late. God is love, not hate.

  36. Brave to do and face all that. We all have to grow up and face our own truths and not just our families, but to lose your family over it.

  37. I think what she has done with her life is tremendously courageous. And I hope she continues to try to learn the important lessons from her past and heal the harm that she has caused. At the end of the day, that's the most any of us can do with our own mistakes.

    And, I don't think her prescription for our society writ-large is off-base, either. Maybe a little naive, but not wrong. Finding common ground across difference is a skill most of us lack. And the divisions are becoming increasingly wider and more volatile. Fault lines along which our culture and systems hang. It's scary, and a major intervention is probably needed to bring us back from this terrible place. Again, she's not wrong.

  38. As an LGBT person, I question the use of religion as a hate message. It doesn't make sense to use verses from the bible or use God as a weapon. He/she isn't meant to be a tool for hate. This is just my opinion, and I'm not very religious.

  39. Just finished listening to her incredible book on audible. She is so poised and humble…but her mother, now THAT is the face of satan.

  40. Westboro Baptist Church is actually one of the few that comes close to getting the bible right… Pretty sick stuff in that book of fiction. At least they didn't stone anybody or have any slaves, as the bible allows for.

    Good people do good things… Bad people do bad things… But it takes religion, for good people to do bad things…

  41. Religion is dangerous to teach to young minds. At least wait until they are old enough to have knowledge and critical thinking so they can form good questions.

  42. When the apostles told Jesus he could destroy a certain town if he so chose to, Jesus told them that they were exposing the wickedness in their own hearts by saying such things.

  43. But you see if you left your faith, that mean that you belief wasn’t strong and that faith was made in those of other people but yourself had no connection with what you believed.
    I am a true witness of the power of Christ and who can tell not so??? For I saw with my eyes the glory of God.
    I pray the Lord to come and to show you His glory. Amen.

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