Can anything rattle Scottie Scheffler?

A year ago, Scottie Scheffler slipped a green jacket over a peach polo and took the dais in the stately Augusta National press building. Two Masters titles in three years as casual as they come; The first sealed with a four-putt when a six-putt would’ve done, and this latest by four strokes. Familiar as all the writers were with the inexhaustible young man from Dallas, there was a renewed air of hope that this time they’d figure him out.

Only a few minutes in, Scheffler invoked his faith in response to a question not intended to be about faith.

“My buddies told me this morning, my victory was secure on the cross, and that’s a pretty special feeling to know that I’m secure for forever, and it doesn’t matter if I win this tournament or lose this tournament.”

As much as the grandest interview room in golf can feel like church—high ceilinged, oil paintings of the club’s patron saints lining the sidewalls, a prevailing hushedness—Scheffler’s comment left an awkward pause. It’s possible golf writers are a special breed of heathen, but the decline of religious affiliation in this country means wider discomfort when someone drops the God bomb. In the traditionally lengthy champion’s interview, there was only one follow-up to the above, two questions later, when Scheffler was asked if his faith helped him cope with bad breaks such as sudden shifts of wind.

Only folks with the most immature understanding of Christianity might picture a great hand from the sky shaking a tree to make one golf ball kick to the fairway and another into the pine straw. Scheffler, same as most any athlete who thanks a higher power when the microphone is shoved in his or her face, doesn’t mean to imply he was chosen to win. Yet this is a common misinterpretation from non-believers. When we ask people why they are so great, and their answer involves something greater than themselves, why are we so often disappointed, or dismissive?

The next week at Harbour Town brought a Monday-morning finish after a stormy weekend. When Scheffler lifted his fourth trophy in five tournaments, he was asked how he was going to celebrate. His reply: “I’m going to get a breakfast burrito, some coffee, and I’m going to go home.”

Perhaps this was when the “boring” label was most firmly affixed, but let’s remember everything that followed.

Nine days after the birth of his first child, Scheffler was arrested at the PGA Championship by an overzealous police officer amid the traffic chaos that was both cause and result of a predawn pedestrian fatality. After stretching in jail, Scheffler birdied his first hole and shot 66 while his mugshot exploded across global news. If not for the inevitable hiccup in the next round, who knows what kind of season he’d have had. As it was, he came home in 29 to win Olympic Gold, cried atop the podium, won the FedEx Cup plus seven other events, easily took Player of the Year honors over a guy who won two majors, then gruesomely sliced his hand preparing dinner for the occasion of his savior’s birthday. A life of rental houses and rental cars has ill moments. After surgery and rehab, his first competitive round back was five under.

More than hand-eye coordination, golf tests a person’s ability to retain control in the face of ever wild breaks and circumstances. It’s not boring to watch Scheffler; it’s divine.