Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
The Script for Self-Hatred
Repetitio est mater studiorum, goes the old Latin proverb.
Since repetition is the mother of study, I begin this book with a story
previously cited in my 1994 work, Abba's Child.
If repression was the predominant defense mechanism of the past century,
projection takes pride of place today. And so we turn to Flannery O'Connor's
short story "The Turkey." The anti-hero and principal protagonist is a little
boy named Ruller. He has a poor self-image because nothing he turns his hand to
ever seems to work.
One night in bed Ruller overhears his parents analyzing him. "Ruller's an
unusual one," his father says. "Why does he always play by himself?" His mother
answers, "How am I to know?"
One day in the woods Ruller spots a wild and wounded turkey and sets off in
hot pursuit. "Oh, if only I can catch it," he cries. He will catch it, even if
he has to run it out of state. He sees himself triumphantly marching through the
front door of his house with the turkey slung over his shoulder and the whole
family screaming, "Look at Ruller with that wild turkey! Ruller, where did you
get that turkey?"
"Oh, I caught it in the woods. Maybe you would like me to catch you one
sometime."
But then a troubling thought flashes across his mind: "God will probably make
me chase that damn turkey all afternoon for nothing." Hmmn, shouldn't think that
way about God though; yet that was the way he felt. If that was the way he felt,
could he help it? He wondered if he was unusual.
Ruller finally captures the turkey when it rolls over dead from a previous
gunshot wound. He hoists it on his shoulders and begins his messianic march back
through the center of town. He remembers the things he had thought before he got
the bird. They were pretty bad, he guesses. He figures God had stopped him
before it was too late. He should be very thankful.
"Thank you, God," he says. "Much obliged to you. This turkey must weigh ten
pounds. You were mighty generous."
Maybe getting the turkey was a sign, he thinks. Maybe God wanted him to be a
preacher. He thinks of Bing Crosby and Spencer Tracy.
Ruller enters town with the turkey slung over his shoulder. He wants to do
something for God, but he doesn't know what to do. If anybody was playing the
accordion on the street today, he would give that musician his dime. It was the
only dime he had, but he would give it to them anyway.
Two men approach and whistle at the turkey. They yell at some other men on
the corner to look. "How much do you think it weighs?" they ask.
"At least ten pounds," Ruller answers.
"How long did you chase it?"
"About an hour," says Ruller.
"That's really amazing. You must be very tired."
"No, but I have to go," Ruller replies. "I'm in a hurry."
He can't wait to get home.
He begins to wish that he would see somebody begging. Suddenly he prays,
"Lord, send me a beggar. Send me one before I get home." God had put the turkey
there. Surely God will send him a beggar. He knows for a fact that God will send
him one. God is interested in him because he is an unusual child.
"Please, one right now" -- and the minute he says it, an old beggar woman
heads straight at him. His heart is stomping up and down in his chest. As they
near each other, Ruller springs at the woman, shouting, "Here, here," thrusts
the dime into her hand, and dashes on without looking back.
Slowly his heart calms and he begins to feel full of a new feeling -- like
being happy and embarrassed at the same time. Maybe, he thinks, he will give all
his money to her. He feels as if the ground doesn't need to be under him any
longer.
Ruller notices a group of country boys shuffling behind him. He turns round
and asks generously, "Y'all wanna see this turkey?"
They stare at him. "Where did ya git that turkey?" "I found it in the woods.
I chased it dead. See, it's been shot under the wing."
"Lemme see it," one boy says. Ruller hands him the turkey. The turkey's head
flies into Ruller's face as the country boy slings it up in the air and over his
own shoulder and turns. The others turn with him and saunter away.
They are a quarter-mile away before Ruller moves. Finally he realizes that he
can't even see the boys anymore, they were so far away. Then he turns toward
home, almost creeping.
He walks for a bit and then, noticing it is dark, suddenly begins to run.
O'Connor's exquisite tale ends with the words: "He ran faster and faster, and as
he turned up the road to his house, his heart was running as fast as his legs
and he was certain that Something Awful was tearing behind him with its arms
rigid and its fingers ready to clutch."
The story hardly needs any commentary, for in little Ruller many of us
Christians stand revealed, naked, exposed. Our God is the One who benevolently
gives turkeys and then capriciously takes them away. When he gives them, they
are a sign of his interest, favor, and good pleasure with us. We feel
comfortably close to God and are spurred to the heights of generosity. When he
takes them away, it is a sign of his displeasure, rejection, and vengeance. We
feel cast off by God. He is fickle, unpredictable, and whimsical. He builds us
up only to let us down. He relentlessly remembers our past sins and vindictively
retaliates by snatching the turkeys of good health, wealth, inner peace, empire,
success, and joy.
