The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Thousands pay tribute to megachurch pastor
‘He did not waver in his testimony,’ says mourner.
The line of mour n ers stretched out of the sanctuary into the hallway, curved left and extended the length of the huge, high-ceilinged building, spilled out of the door into the crisp air and radiant sunshine, angled onto the sidewalk and paralleled the church wall all the way to the parking lot.
Just after 10 a.m. Saturday, more than a thousand people were waiting to pay respects to the Rev. Charles F. Stanley.
“He reminded me of the Apostle Paul in scripture,” said Marva Gillis of Atlanta, about to get in line. “He brought me to a knowledge of Jesus.”
She started listening to him on the radio when she lived in Boston during the 1990s, she said. “He did not waver in his testimony.”
Stanley, who died Tuesday at age 90, built an evangelical global broadcasting empire from the pulpit of First Baptist Church of Atlanta.
The founder of In Touch Ministries, which trans- lated his sermons into 55 languages and broadcast them in 180 nations, Stan- ley pastored for a half-century at First Baptist, one of metro Atlanta’s leading megachurches.
His funeral is being held privately, but thousands came to Dunwoody to say goodbye and others watched online.
Inside the sanctuary, the only sound was a single, comforting piano.
A woman dressed in black approached the casket hold- ing a glass cup with a single red flower, its vivid color echoing the mass of flowers that lay on top of the casket. The woman, her dark hair pulled back, knelt, her face dipping into the shadows. Outside in the sun, Norka Stover and a companion were moving toward the line.
“I have been listening to his services for many years,” said Stover, who said she had translated some of his sermons for use on Spanish television. “His Bible teaching was so clear. He was a great impact on my life.” Stanley was born in 1932 in Dry Fork, Virginia, during the height of the Great Depres- sion.
His father, the son of a Pentecostal evangelist, worked in a textile mill but died of kidney disease when Stan- ley was an infant and he was raised by his mother, Rebecca, a factory worker. He said he had decided by age 12 to become a preacher.
Inside the sanctuary, the air was cool, lights on only at the front of the room, where the casket lay.
Toward the back of the expansive room, a long boom swung periodically, carrying a camera feeding the livestream of the event. Other cameras were mounted on pillars in the half-darkness. The many hundreds of crimson-colored seats were nearly all empty.
“He was like a parent to me. The minute I heard him first, 15 or 20 years ago, we connected,” said Thomas Southwell of Cumming, who had been near the front of the line and was getting into his red pick-up truck to leave. “He was straight to the point. You obey God and leave the consequences to Him.”
Inside the sanctuary, a tall man with white hair wearing a brown suit patiently stood near the door, moving slowly until he was at the front of the line. He stepped in front of the casket and stood unmoving in the near silence.
A few seconds passed. He nodded to an usher and walked away.
“He lived the example of what all of us would like to be,” said Susan Hammond of Stone Mountain, about to get in the long queue. “He spoke from the heart and he was totally of the heart.”
Stanley did face contro- versy. He headed the Southern Baptist Convention, his election bolstered by support from Billy Graham, during the mid-1980s. He led the denomination to the right politically on many social issues.
He also maintained a public stance against same-sex marriage, describing homo- sexuality as “destructive behavior.”
Later his own marriage dissolved, raising questions about inconsistency
in church policies regarding divorced men on the pulpit.
Inside the sanctuary, a man in a checked shirt, his hair close cut, his hands in his pockets, moved in front of the casket, his head down.
Coming out into the sun after viewing the casket, Jermaine Enoch of Atlanta said he had known Stanley since the 1980s.
“He was a father, a mentor, a leader, a friend,” said Enoch, adding Stanley had helped him find work and with marriage counseling. “He taught me to take notes — biblical notes.”
Inside the sanctuary, a dark-haired, middle-aged woman led a trio to the front of the casket. Though her voice was inaudible, she slowly waved her left arm, as if in fervent prayer, then moved away, leading the others.
For a few moments, the piano stopped and the only sound in the large room was the soft whirr of fans that cooled the machinery.
At one point, Stanley’s son Andy Stanley, founding pastor of North Point Ministries, moved to the front of the room, touching the arm of a mourner in front of the casket.
He smiled and moved on. Outside, Monique Anderson Walker, a Maryland resident, was getting out of a ride share.
“His message didn’t change with whatever political things were going on,” said Walker, whose parents — neither of them Baptist — listened to Stanley. “He was a true follower of Jesus Christ.”
Inside the sanctuary, a man in a bas e ball shirt approached the casket, Bible in hand. He stood for a few moments, head down, then seemed to sigh, nodded to one of the ushers and moved on.