Lin-Igma: Meditations on the Anti-Tebow

(Full disclosure: I had every intent on this article numbering among the woefully few which did not employ Jeremy Lin's name in a pun. However, as the thread of this topic unwound in my head, I came to the sobering realization that, as light is to the black hole, I am powerless against the pun's mighty pull.)

It is not until you visit New York Knicks sensation Jeremy Lin's Twitter account that you get a feel for what Lin is about on a human level. Tweets thanking or crediting God for recent victories are as common as Tweets thanking Spike Lee for new nickname ideas. This is certainly not the first you've heard of Lin's piety—he, on occasion, gives it up to God in a post-game interview or pre-game presser, and Knicks play-by-play announcer Mike Breen has mentioned more than once Lin's desire to be a minister when his playing days are done—but this is our first glimpse of his faith as something more than the generic deity-praising which athletes have made cliche. 

That one has to search Lin's Twitter feed to get a sense of this, or that he confines his declarations to questions of how the experience of being an overnight celebrity makes him feel, gives Lin's faith the appearance of being more healthily woven into the fabric of his life than some of his devout contemporaries, and certainly more genuine than the litany of stars from whom public praise of Jesus rings nearly as true as their assurances that this is not, in fact, about the money. 

Lin's religious bent has drawn natural comparisons to Tim Tebow, who was once caught by NFL Films singing hymns to himself on the sideline during a game. It is in this sense, however, I find them least alike.

(Though, to be honest, I do not like the comparison in any sense; Tebow was a national figure for his entire run at Florida, and was only a surprise in the NFL because of how well he performed in the fourth quarter relative to his otherwise atrocious play. For Lin's part, he is a celebrity today because of his stellar all-around play and consistency despite being a virtual unknown in college and the pros. Alan Hahn perhaps put it best when he said, following the Knicks' shocking win over the Lakers in which Lin scored 38: "He isn't Tim Tebow; he's for real!") 

Where Lin speaks of God only in the natural flow of conversation, Tebow never begins an post-game interview or press conference without giving thanks to his Lord and Savior. Where Tebow's attention-grabbing genuflection following each victory swept the nation as "Tebowing," Lin's enduring image thus far is a double-fisted air punch with his face twisted into a prideful scream. How can the two even compare?

These might seem superficial, but consider how these simple traits have affected the respective trajectories of these athletes: Tim Tebow is no more of an "active" Christian than Lin is, and yet when the world talks about Jeremy Lin, his religion does not enter the conversation until much later—if it does at all. Compare that to Tebow, for whom football is, by a wide margin, secondary to his national identity as an Evangelical Christian. One's faith is mature and subtle; the other's is feverish and obsessive.

To blame Tebow for this would be to miss the point. What dyed-in-the-wool Christian wouldn't take the opportunity to influence the masses on behalf of Jesus when given such a grand stage? Spreading the word is a central tenant in all of the Abrahamic faiths.

This is precisely what makes Jeremy Lin so special: When posed a basketball question, he gives a basketball answer. He does not wield his faith as a hammer—which raises the question, "How does he use it, then?" I do not know the answer to this. And that, friends, is the moral of the story.