Now That He’s Free, No Need for Reality

I wouldn’t call it a bolt of lightning, exactly, or even a revelation. My moment of enlightenment was more subtle than that.

I was driving the Nissan Sentra along Auto Row in Glendale when I saw a Ford Excursion with two U.S. flags flying from the windows. A warm feeling came over me, and when I looked at myself in the rearview mirror, I saw the glow of my rebirth.

Four more years, I said to myself. President George W. Bush had won reelection, and I was smiling as if I had been set free.

Was that really me in the mirror?

Cynic, contrarian, naysayer. That’s the rotten-souled man I had been. Moments earlier, I had scoffed at radio reports suggesting that Bush scored big points for his solid Christian morality.

What morality? I had wondered. The trumped-up justification for a war that has killed tens of thousands, the environmental atrocity he called the Clear Skies Initiative or the thinly veiled gay-bashing that sent true believers flocking to the polls?

But then it hit me.

Sure, John Kerry ran a disastrous campaign. But if Bush could screw things up as badly as he did the last four years and still win a second term, he truly must have God on his side.

I, on the other hand, had been a man adrift until I suddenly realized that Glendale’s Brand Boulevard was my road to Damascus.

A far greater percentage of Americans believe in creationism than in evolution, and I had to stop thinking of them as rubes. A July poll revealed that more than half of America still believed Iraq had weapons of mass destruction, and I had to stop thinking of them as blockheads.

Faith. That’s what drives this country, and that’s exactly what was missing in my life. I jerked the Sentra to the curb, took a deep breath and repudiated all the lies I’ve been telling myself.

For starters, I never liked the Sentra. I hate it, even if it does get great mileage, and I feel like a big wuss for driving a Japanese car the size of a walnut. What I need -- what I deserve as a God-fearing American -- is a vehicle that burns enough gas to turn Alaska into a beach resort, or at least win me a tax credit.

By an act of divinity, the Sentra had come to a stop at Star Ford. I marched onto the lot and asked to see an SUV, and a salesman led me to the Explorer.

“Not big enough,” I said.

He took me to the Ford Expedition.

“Not big enough,” I said. “If our soldiers are going to keep dying in Iraq, I might as well get the most out of their sacrifice.”

He took me to the Ford Excursion, which is approximately 40 feet tall. I managed to climb up without a stepladder, slid into the cab and felt as if I was behind the wheel of my old parish hall.

“Not big enough,” I said. “Don’t you have a bigger one called the Ford Extinction?”

Turns out there is no Ford Extinction yet.

To my surprise, another sales guy said he was interested in buying my Sentra. He must have voted for Kerry, the sap.

“If I buy an Excursion,” I asked, “does it come with one of those American flag stickers for the back window?”

“If you buy an Excursion,” the salesman said, “we’ll get you a flag.”

I told him I’d have to check back later. I’m not making any decisions before I test-drive a Hummer.

Driving away in my sorry little Sentra (I’ll take the best offer, by the way), I felt liberated, to be honest with you. Faith means never having to worry about anything, and I’m assuming that includes the ozone.

Next thing I’ve got to do is move out of Silver Lake.

Why, you ask?

Everybody is gay in Silver Lake, that’s why. Even the straight people are gay, and everyone is dressed for a costume party in hell.

If I confessed to any of my neighbors that I now believe in creationism, those high-topped heathens would ask if I also believe in the Easter Bunny. I’m certainly not going to tell them I think I saw Jesus’ face on a tortilla Thursday night at Burrito King.

I considered moving to one of those red states that grow a lot of corn, but I no longer trust a place where homosexuals are still in the closet. I don’t want any surprises in the church men’s room.

So I took a drive to North Hollywood to see if I could find a house for sale around St. David’s Church. Why St. David’s? Because it recently split off from the national Episcopal Church for going soft on homosexuality.

Draped from the church, facing Magnolia, was this sign:

“To Live Jesus, To Teach Jesus, To Take Jesus to Others.”

Sure, Jesus is always billed as a sensitive and tolerant guy. But how do we know he wasn’t cracking gay jokes at the Last Supper?

“Come pray with us,” said the St. David’s marquee.

I intend to. I’m going to pray that President Bush gives a big fat federal grant to Exodus. That’s the pro-Bush group -- founded in Anaheim by charismatic Christians -- that claims it can cure homosexuality.

Another sign at St. David’s announced that evangelist Billy Graham is coming to town, and I probably don’t need to tell you that President Bush says he became born again after a walk in the woods with Graham.

We all owe a debt of gratitude to the good reverend as we, too, emerge from the woods onto the righteous path, deciding our fate on the basis of moral certainty.

Faith, as defined in the year 2004 in America, is freedom from doubt, freedom from science, freedom from reality. I wish I had been saved much sooner.

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.

Steve Lopez writes Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at steve.lopez@latimes.com and read previous columns at latimes.com/lopez.