Several years ago, I was hiking in the woods on a mountain just outside of Seattle when I ran into two women hiking with an infant. The child was dressed in such a way that you couldn't tell whether it was a boy or girl and when I commented on the cuteness of the child, the women addressed the child as “they.”

Apparently, they’ll let their kid decide on its own which gender it is, an idea that struck me as harmful to the child. A kid needs to know who they are. That’s where I stand on that issue.

But this is, of course, one of the hottest topics in American journalism, and, thus, American life, today. Is gender simply a matter of choice, not DNA or destiny? Could you decide to be male or female simply by lopping off a few body parts or adding them?

Such thoughts came up when I read ESPN’s profile of transgender activist Layshia Clarendon, written by an ESPN staff writer who has posted “they/them” pronouns. As the writer enthused on Twitter: “I've never had the opportunity to write a story about an athlete with whom I share so many identities.” Um, OK. I’m trying to imagine a similar statement from an ESPN reporter covering a traditional religious believer.

I usually don’t go after the motivations of the reporter, but this story went beyond respect and dignity to pure advocacy and the non-subtle hint that those who question this woman’s journey are transphobic haters.

Here is the key for GetReligion readers. This feature also made a real effort to work Clarendon’s faith into the mix, including captions that referred to the basketball player’s belief in God, which is not something you find in most ESPN cover stories.

What exactly is that faith? The story tries to shed some light on that, while skipping over many details.

Getting through this feature is quite convoluted part because the writer’s determination to mix gender pronouns so thoroughly that the reader often could not determine to whom the reporter was referring. I know the article was trying to be sensitive to how Clarendon talks about herself, but what resulted was a jumble. The confusion was, we can assume, part of the message in this sermon.