OUT OF RESPECT for Matthew Shepard and his family and friends, this memorial Web site maintains a temperate, considerate tone throughout. There are no invectives, no political agendas, no graphic replays.

     Yes, the poignancy, the pathos, the soul's anguish — these are all here. That is natural and unavoidable. I was deeply grieved by Matt's untimely death, as were millions of others who didn't get to meet him in this life.

     Yet, from the beginning, I wanted to provide a memorial Web site that would hold God and everlasting life in view. It is my hope that visitors to the site will leave feeling better than they did when they came in — and that they will keep returning.

     The first part of the site is my impression of Matt's story, showing how it resonated with me personally. Following this is a selection of poems and short essays by friends who have shared with me their heartfelt thoughts and feelings about Matt.

J. H.

Background

MATTHEW SHEPARD was the 21-year-old University of Wyoming student who met an untimely death at the hands of Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, both about his age, following their encounter at Fireside Lounge in Laramie, Wyoming, Tuesday evening, October 6, 1998.

     The primary motive is said to have been robbery; but once the assailants had determined that their prospective target was a young man who happened to be gay, then other factors came into play. Pretending to be gay themselves, they lured him from the bar to their truck, which belonged to McKinney's father. From there, they went to a remote deer fence on the edge of town. The gun, the rope, the fence — the principal objects used in the crime — are already well known.

     Henderson pleaded guilty on April 5, 1999. McKinney was found guilty at the conclusion of his trial nearly seven months later on November 3. Both men are now serving life terms in prison without parole.

First News — and Reactions

I GENERALLY DON'T WATCH television news. But on Thursday evening, October 8, 1998, I was in the right place at the right time to make the emotional connection with Matt's story.

     During a network break on The Weather Channel, I surfed to pick up part of a cable news broadcast. There I first heard Matt's name mentioned. I learned of the attack that had taken place just outside Laramie in the dark of night, less than 48 hours earlier.

     Matt's picture — the well-known profile photo of him in a checked shirt — evoked my parental feelings. I wanted to hug the kid — you know, the way a daddy would hold his own son — and encourage him not to let go of his life.

     In the early evening of October 7, Aaron Kreifels, a fellow University of Wyoming student, was out riding his bike. He had wanted to get off the difficult road and find another way back to town but had, instead, felt impelled to keep going along the route he was following. His bike then struck a rock, and he found himself on the ground. When he looked up, he saw Matt on the fence where McKinney and Henderson had left him about 18 hours earlier.

     At first, Aaron thought he was seeing a scarecrow. However, he soon realized that this was a live person on the fence — someone who needed heroic emergency aid. He then hurried to the nearby home of University of Wyoming professor Charles Dolan to call for help.

     According to the October 15, 1998, edition of the Denver Post, Aaron was convinced — and I certainly believe him — that God wanted him to find Matt. Thanks to his perseverance, he did find him. Matt was then reunited, although briefly, with his family.

     For a total of five days after the night of the attack, Matt did not let go of his life. Several other writers on the subject have felt that he was subconsciously determined to hold on long enough to be with his parents and his brother, Logan, one more time here on earth before the hour of parting.

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Dark News — and Grief

I FOLLOWED THIS STORY each day in the news, waiting and hoping for a report of improvement in Matt's condition.

     That report never came. Early Monday morning, October 12, I saw a cable news flash, notifying the world of Matt's passing.

     I just couldn't accept it. Millions of people around the world shared my feelings for this young man. We had never met him. In fact, before October 8, we had never heard of him. But we wanted him back. His story had deeply stirred us — so deeply that it would change our lives forever.

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A Difficult Trip

ON LEARNING that someone has died, I'm not one who yields to tears right away. This is especially true in the case of someone I have never known. In the case of Matt, it took me four days. It might have been only two days if I hadn't been busy on Monday and Tuesday getting ready for a ten-day road trip.

     On Wednesday, October 14, I left my home in Michigan to begin the first day of the journey. The destination was Boston, where I've lived three times. I had been looking forward for a long time to visiting there again.

     But what should have been a happy drive turned out instead to be an anguished stretch. I couldn't get Matt's story — or his picture — out of my mind. Being in a different town and a different room each afternoon and evening made it especially hard, even though these were familiar towns where I knew some familiar faces.

     I had no computer access for these ten days. So I had to endure a long wait before joining the discussion forums on the Internet. I was able to keep up with radio news updates while I was driving. In the afternoons, evenings, and very early mornings, there were some cable TV updates. Before starting the trip, I had already learned that the funeral would take place Friday afternoon, October 16, in Casper, Wyoming, Matt's hometown.

     During this week, the first vigils were held in Matt's honor. The Boston vigil took place on Boston Common Thursday evening, October 15, one day before my arrival. I so much wanted to be there that night. I felt like a child who just needed a hand to hold, a shoulder to hug. In fact, a pack of hands and shoulders would have been nice.

     Early Friday afternoon, after settling in, I watched the TV coverage of the funeral, as carried from outside St. Mark's Church in Casper. Preceding it was a rebroadcast of the news conference that Matt's father, Dennis Shepard, had granted to the media earlier that day. His wife, Judy, was at his side.

     Matt's dad thanked the public for the messages of support and love that the family had received from around the world. He paid tribute to his son and asked that the family be allowed to say their farewells to Matt in a peaceful, dignified, loving manner.

A person as caring and loving as our son Matt would be overwhelmed by what this incident has done to the hearts and souls of people around the world. Matthew was the type of person that, if this had happened to another person, would have been the first on the scene to offer his help, his hope, and his heart to the family. — Dennis Shepard

     My tears welled up. The TV screen blurred. For the next three weeks, the teary-eyed spells would come each day — often at unexpected moments.

     By contrast, when I had to deal with the passings of my good mother and father in 1991 and 1993, respectively, the healing process was somewhat shorter both times.

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God's Word — Lifeline in Sorrow

IN DARK DAYS — and bright ones — the teachings of the Bible are my lifelines. I turn to them each day. During this period, I relied on them even more fervently than usual.

     Encouraged, even in these dark hours, by victories over grief earlier in my life, I tried to keep looking upward, not downward. I will always be grateful that my parents introduced me to God's Word in my childhood. In my teen years, the challenges of growing up forced me to lean on these teachings and start making them practical in my own life. Through the lonelier moments of adolescence, I learned that just repeating words, going through motions, is ineffective. The teachings of the Word need to be lived.

     Gradually, the childlike willingness to lean on God's love began to bring relief in the present situation, as I felt sure it eventually would. To a small degree, I have learned that His love is never so near as it is when we feel most alone, helpless, and weak.

     It was late Sunday evening, October 18, two days after Matt's funeral, that I found the lifeline I needed. It had to be more than a coincidence that I was beginning a new Bible study on the subject of life, death, and life hereafter. Just before I went to sleep, one of the last things I read was the promise of Jesus in John 12:32, already quoted above:

And I,
if I be lifted up from the earth,
will draw all men unto me.

     This marked, for me, the start of deliverance from the abyss of grief. To my sense, the word all settles the question. It includes us. It includes our departed loved ones. It includes Matt. I now began to feel the inward assurance that Matt is in the arms of our Lord; that, ultimately, we're all coming home to Him; and that we will be reunited in His time.

     I had just pulled out of Boston and was now visiting my sister and her family in Connecticut for one day on the trip back to Michigan. Earlier that day, during mid-afternoon, she and I had done some leisurely walking through the countryside while the rest of the family did other things. This one-on-one session of walking and conversing with my kin and fellow-believer was most beneficial. It could not have come at a better time.

     During our walk on this unusually warm October afternoon in the American Northeast, I told Sis, "When I get to see Mom and Dad again, I hope one of the first people they introduce me to is little Matt."

     She replied: "He's not 'little Matt' anymore. He has a much greater stature now."

     What I had been able to apprehend, through my own prayers and researches up to this point in life, made it easier for me to grasp the truth of what she was saying. Since that day, I have gradually gained further insights on the subject by continued study and prayer. Her words make perfect sense to me.

     Also, one concept that has grown clearer to me since that afternoon is that, in heaven, we won't need introductions. We will know each other. A passage that I feel strongly points to this concept is the transfiguration narrative of Matthew 17:1–9. Simon Peter recognized that he was seeing Moses and Elijah, both of whom had left this world centuries before the disciple was born.

     Early Monday morning, Sis recommended that I review the counsel of St. Paul in 1. Thessalonians 4:13–14, also quoted above. The text I read at this moment was from the Revised Standard Version (RSV):

But we would not have you ignorant, brethren,
concerning those who are asleep,
that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.
For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again,
even so, through Jesus,
God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.

     This doesn't mean that we don't grieve. But our grief is not without hope, because there is the promise of the life beyond this temporal, earthly life. One Gospel narrative that I have found especially helpful in bringing this out is Jesus' raising of Lazarus (see John 11:1–44).

     Even more strengthening, I find, are the accounts of Jesus' reappearance to his disciples after his own resurrection. See, especially, Luke 24 and John 20. Paul's revelations in 2. Corinthians 12:2–4 — which came to him after he had been stoned by angry opponents at Lystra and left for dead (see Acts 14:19–20) — are part of what some moderns might term a near-death experience. This account and St. John's vision, as recorded in Revelation 21:1, 3–4, I find greatly encouraging.

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Setback, Recovery, and Progress

     After resuming the trip home on this bright fall morning, I hit a sharp, although brief, emotional setback around noon at Ellenville, New York, when I paused to fill up the gas tank. I even remember the station — a Getty station on NY-52, right after you leave US-209.

     After finishing at the gas pump, I drove to the far side of the lot to check the tires and pump them up, if necessary. As I kneeled down to take care of the tires, I felt the sharp stabs of grief again. It was such a contradiction. This was such a beautiful fall day, and yet this was one of the lowest, most painful moments of the trip back. I didn't feel like driving again right away, although I knew I had to go on.

     Before pulling back onto the highway, I paused and just sat still a moment, remembering what I'd been reading. Then I was able to continue. By Honesdale, Pennsylvania — the destination town for that day, which I reached about two hours later — things were decidedly better. I persisted in prayer during some long walks that fall afternoon through this picturesque small town. In the evening, I continued with the Bible study I had just begun. This helped greatly.

     Seeing these two towns again always reminds me of Matt, and so does visiting my sister's town. Yet now, every time I visit these places, instead of feeling down again, I feel grateful for each victory, however small, in the struggle — victories that began late on that evening of October 18. Honesdale is now, in a small sense, like sacred ground to me.

     Continued prayer and searching and study along these lines during and after this period helped me gain a little more of the inward sense, hard to put into words, that Matt Shepard lives — even though we can no longer see him here. He is not letting go of his life, because God, the Giver of all life, isn't letting go of him.

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Sharing the Burden

ON FEBRUARY 5, 1999, the TV program Dateline NBC ran a segment that featured Matt's parents. One interesting item the interview brought out — something I hadn't heard before in connection with the tragedy — was that, despite the outpouring of emotion for Matt from around the world — or perhaps because of it — his parents themselves had yet, at that time, to go through the grieving process.

     A subject I touched on earlier: I was bereft of both parents between 1991 and 1993. As children, we generally expect to outlive our parents. This follows the natural order of things, and it may be one factor that helps us, ever so slightly, to adjust after the hour of parting. Yet it is still quite an adjustment for a grown child to go on without a loved parent.

     But when a parent is bereft of a child — especially as the result of a crime — this is wholly out of the natural order. In the case of Matt, millions of us who hadn't known him personally were deeply grieved. Again, as I've already said, we wanted him back. Nevertheless, compared to the anguish we felt, the hurt for his parents must have been beyond telling.

     I pray that our individual and collective tears — and whatever victories over grief we've gained so far — have helped to ease the pain for Matt's family in some small measure. To my sense, that would make practical the teaching of Paul in Galatians 6:2 to "bear . . . one another's burdens."

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A Human Issue — a Heart Issue

AS I MENTIONED near the beginning, Matt happened to be gay. Although I have never believed, as some do, that this was the sole determinant of Henderson and McKinney's actions, the evidence in the case clearly showed it to have some bearing. Matt had evidently told these two fellows that he was gay. As indicated earlier, they evidently took advantage of this information by pretending to be gay in order to lure him outside with them, where they might more easily carry out their plan of robbery.

     Yet it's good to remember that, when it comes to protecting life and upholding the rights of others, decent people of widely differing cultural, social, and religious backgrounds will fast band together to defend these ideals. I've seen evidence of this many times.

     I am not gay — and, in fact, neither are most of the people in America and beyond her shores who offered their hearts and hands in an outpouring of grief, support, and prayer following Matt's death.

     To my mind — and I believe this is true for most of us — Matt's story is not primarily a gay issue. It's something much bigger. It's a human issue — or, better, a heart issue, if you please.

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Care and Restraint

BECAUSE MY KNOWLEDGE of gay matters is sketchy, I feel it's best for me not to venture into that area of discussion beyond my depth. At present, I feel that we should all try to concentrate on our areas of common ground — on doing those things that we can do together. If we think about it, we really have a lot more in common than we have in differences.

     At this period, we need to look for ways to come together, whenever possible, to hold the line against against violence, defamation, and the degrading and devaluing of human life. There is no warrant — especially any Biblical warrant — for defaming anyone or for the taking of innocent life. I must firmly hold my ground on this point — especially in the face of some misguided pseudo-religious fanatics who would try to twist the historical parts of Old Testament Scripture to fit their twisted agendas.

     Genuine love, where soul touches soul, is something that really transcends the earthly level of things. Yet it benefits us in our humanity. And it can harm no one.

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Dialogue — Not Hard Rhetoric

IN THE END, I feel, we must let God be the Judge. In our humanity, we each have our flaws and problems to resolve. I have mine. Matt had his. You have yours. Who among us has ever resolved all of them this side of the grave? I haven't met one yet.

     In earthly life, we're all dealing with what one of Jesus' parables refers to as tares and wheat (see Matthew 13:24–30). We don't always know right away which is which. So let's not be rushed into pulling up everything at once, thinking that we have to solve every problem today. I've been learning, from my own experiences, to trust God to show us when and how to uproot what He has not planted.

     And, really, what finally matters is not what we say, but what He says. According to His Word, He loves all of us — not just a select few — and His will is for all of us to be saved and come to Him. I would not want to enter heaven if I believed that any one of my brothers or sisters could not join me there at the right time. To me, that would not be heaven.

     For these reasons and more, I urge all parties in the discussion to cease from opportunism and hard rhetoric. I say this to the self-righteous pseudo-religious types, such as those who picketed Matt's funeral. I must also address it to a few in the gay community. Whoever we are — and whatever we are — we all have a lot more to learn about life. We need to be more patient — and more willing to help each other along the road.

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Matt 's Journeys — and Ours

MATT HIMSELF showed indications of coming to faith in Jesus during his teen years. He was what some of us would call a "baby Christian." That's really what I consider myself to be in some regards, even now. It seems that the more I live and the more I experience, the more there is yet to learn.

     Where Matt's nascent faith would have taken him, had he lived longer on earth, is something we can only speculate. But I don't doubt that God is providing him the avenues he needs to continue fulfilling his potential hereafter. Who among us, after all, can realize all of our potential while still on earth?

     Life is sacred. In Matt's life on earth, there was clear evidence that he had a big heart and generous soul that were not far from God. In light of this, I feel we can take heart that he is progressing well in the light that our heavenly Father shines on his pathway — and ours.