Gay Men Take Cause to Falwell's Door

Couple Finds Kindness, if Not Acceptance, in Evangelist's Church

LYNCHBURG, Va. -- In another time and place, Mel White and Gary Nixon would have been known as the two old bachelors who live in the small white house on the corner.

They take turns walking their Shih Tzu, Bentley, to the park and unfurling the American flag from their front porch. They smile and wave jauntily when worshipers on the way to Thomas Road Baptist stare at their rented house across the street from the church where the Rev. Jerry Falwell has preached for 46 years. And every Sunday, they join congregants in the pews to hear Falwell preach. Lately, he's been preaching about them.

It has been a month since White and Nixon signed a one-year lease on the two-bedroom house with aluminum siding and black shutters and began introducing themselves around town as the "two gay guys who moved in across from Jerry." They came to Lynchburg on a mission: to persuade Falwell and his church that they can be gay and worship God at the same time, and that their love for each other is not a sin.

White and Nixon decided to move here after Falwell said that homosexuals, as well as abortionists and the American Civil Liberties Union, were symptomatic of the immorality that made the Sept. 11 attacks God's retribution on the United States -- a statement for which Falwell later apologized.

White couldn't pass up the chance to take a challenge to Falwell's door. Theirs is a long, contentious, yet oddly warm relationship. Before he came out of the closet, White was the ghostwriter of Falwell's autobiography. A friendly bond of sorts has continued between the fundamentalist preacher and the activist who spearheads a group seeking acceptance of gays in mainstream churches. Even as they joust over a core issue of principle and belief, they still like one another.

Nixon does not share his partner's sentiment. His dislike of Lynchburg's most prominent citizen runs so deep he refuses to even look at Falwell on the pulpit. But he holds out hope that they can change the perceptions of what Nixon calls "the Falwellians."

"Maybe something will finally click in their heads," said Nixon, 52, "and they'll say, 'Pastor, you're wrong. I've watched these two guys, and they're just like us.' "

In this community of 68,000 where Falwell has built a church with 22,000 members, the pair expected to encounter overt hostility and repeated attempts to convert them. But so far, White and Nixon have been greeted with surprising cordiality. Their house has been furnished and their refrigerator stocked by the congregation of a church across town. Even at Thomas Road Baptist, a choir member raced up to them to say she and her mother wanted to drop by for a visit.

"I thought they'd be hurling books at us, and instead they're hurling hellos," said White, 62, as he sprawled in his living room on a donated couch. "It's always 'Hi, honey, I saw you on TV.' Wherever we go, people smile and wave."

So far, only a few angry messages have popped up on their answering machine. One woman said simply, "Sinners, sinners," and hung up. A man finished a vituperative rant with, "I wish you would die off. You are completely abnormal."

But the hatred has been counterbalanced. They have yet to cook a meal because worshipers from other churches have brought them so much food. Some residents have mailed them checks to help defray their $600-a-month rent. A local bookstore called and asked for suggestions on stocking volumes about gay men and lesbians.

"The description of Lynchburg as the buckle on the Bible Belt is no longer apt," said the Rev. Roger Zimmerman of First Christian Church, where a ministry plan adopted last year explicitly extends its welcome regardless of sexual orientation. "There are scores of gay men couples and lesbian couples who are living in committed relationships in Lynchburg. Of course, most don't do it openly."