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November 5, 2005
spiritual shell game
After much soul-searching, I've decided I can no longer abide living a deception. I have decided to come out. I'm out and proud. I do this not to be in-your-face about my sexual orientation, nor do I consider myself a hero. I'm just tired of living a lie. Yes, I am a heterosexual man.
Not news? No kidding. It irks me, however, that the opposite is still considered sensational. Why do we give a rat's ass about who Sheryl Swoopes bumps into when she rolls over at night? Seems to me that an "enlightened" approach would be to think of her orientation not at all. It is whatever it is. It's as interesting to me as her height. Alas. Her height isn't emblazoned on the ESPN The Mag cover.
Swoopes has come out. Great for her. She's good people, and I really hope things works out. But until it doesn't, it ain't news.
Also in that issue is Matthew Cole's article about an obsessive-compulsive indoor soccer player by the name of Adam Bruckner. (He supposedly helped to solve a murder, although the relevance of his contribution isn't really evident). His O-C disorder took a typically eccentric form. He counted objects obsessively, and he associated random things with future outcomes. The number of times he flicked a light switch when leaving a room, for instance, controlled his health and his Mom's safety. And so he lived his life, mystically controlling events by clearing sidewalks of pebbles, touching every tree and telephone pole with both hands and knees, counting cracks in the sidewalk, and so forth. One day,
...he found himself transfixed by a streetlight; if he didn't touch it, something bad would happen. "I'll get injured during practice," he worried. "Or I'll be hurt in a car accident and end my career." But something different happened that day. During his travels, Bruckner had found himself growing more spiritual as he sought to connect with the strangers around him. Though only vaguely Catholic—he hadn't read the Bible since Sunday school—he couldn't help thinking there was a common thread in his encounters: the woman on the train who talked to him about the power of God; the Christian who picked him up when he was hitchhiking; the pastor who stuck around for hours after Bruckner stopped by an Evangelical retreat looking to catch a ride. Now, as he stood there on that Baltimore street, staring at that light pole, he could hear a voice—his voice—rising above the noise in his head. Trust God and you'll be all right. So he walked right by that pole, didn't touch it. And much to his surprise, he felt better, not worse. He felt free. For the first time since he was a boy, Bruckner's obsessions abated.
I found this paragraph absolutely jarring. I'm sure there are those who read this and see the power of Christ healing a tortured soul, but me, I just see a man substituting one arbitrary, imaginary comfort for another. Touching a light pole brought needed balance and sense to his life. Then in one spectacular moment, he traded belief systems; now poof—believing in God brings his life needed balance and sense. Whoa. A better example of the emotional role of religion you will never find.
Still, you have to be impressed by his evidence: his chilling pattern of running into evangelical Christians who were actually willing to discuss their faith. What are the odds? I mean, what are the freaking odds?!? In the Small Blessings Department, let's be thankful he didn't run into three Amway salesmen willing to talk about pyramid schemes.
posted by john at 12:39 PM • permalink