I thought I would turn to it when I needed something lighter, like cleansing your palate after a heavy meal. But what a fantastic surprise! This little book has turned out to be proof that big things indeed arrive in small packages. Mitch says more in a few pages than I can say in writing a year’s worth of columns.

Further, ten percent of the profits from the book go to refurbish places of worship that aid the homeless. You really should go buy a copy. You can read Mitch’s words for yourself, and help your neighbor in the process (No, this is not a paid advertisement).

To whet your appetite, the book tells the story of Rabbi Albert Lewis, who asks Mitch to deliver his eulogy when the time comes. It was a strange request, as Mitch had pretty much abandoned faith. But over the last few years of Albert’s life, Albert rekindled Mitch’s faith through deep friendship and the telling of story after beautiful story. One of those stories is called “Salesman.”

Albert told the story like this: “There’s this salesman, see? And he knocks on a door. The man who answers says, ‘I don’t need anything today.’ The next day, the salesman returns. ‘Stay away,’ he is told. The man gets very angry and yells and threatens the salesman.

“On the third day the salesman returns once again. ‘You again!’ the man screams. ‘I warned you!’ He gets so angry, he spits in the salesman’s face. The salesman smiles, wipes the spit off with a handkerchief, then looks to the sky and says, ‘It must be raining.’”

Albert explained to Mitch – to us all – that love is just like that. If they spit in your face, you say, “It must be raining,” and you go back tomorrow. You stay at it. Albert would agree, I think, that such love mimics the endless, relentless love of God. He stays at it.

No, this isn’t warm and fuzzy talk. This isn’t the power of positive thinking. This is the real love and grace of God poured out on us without condition and without end. God’s love for us does not depend upon who we are, the good or bad we have done, or the mistakes we have made. God’s love depends upon his own nature and goodness. Even when we spit in his face, he keeps coming back.

That is why the worst of your personal failures, the worst crimes you have committed, your divorce, your drug abuse, your emotional baggage and weakness, your arrest record, your selfishness, your adultery, your addiction, your dishonesty, stupidity, and your bone-headed decisions – fill in the blank – can never separate you from God’s love.

Yes, we have all been guilty of having the “uns” at points in our lives. We have all been unworthy, undeserving, unprepared, unemployable, undone, unnoticed, unthankful, unjust, unfair, uninsurable, uneasy, and unaccepted.

We have been unknown, underdogged, unapologetic, unhinged, unraveled, undesirable, unbearable, unclean, unethical, underhanded, uninterested, unkind, and untouchable. We have been unwanted, unlucky, unnerved, unpopular, unpredictable, unqualified, and unstable: But none of us have ever been unloved.

God is not keeping his distance. He arrives at our doorsteps with open hands and an open heart, loving us to the point of infinite sacrifice, doing anything – and has done everything – to make us feel welcome, safe, and able to trust him. So even if we shake our fist at him in rage, spit in his face, and do everything we think possible to spurn his love, God will be back; standing on the porch in the rain of our refusal, eager and ready to love us through our rejection.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author of multiple books. You can read more and receive regular e-columns in your inbox at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

My Florida congregation, where I once lived, was having a beach baptismal service, something fairly common along the coastline on Sunday mornings. A dozen people were stepping into the water that morning, and at the last minute, Candice wanted to be one of them; thus her lurking presence behind me.

Turning to her, I asked, “Can I help you?” She answered, “I think so – if you think I’m not crazy.” Admittedly, such an introduction did not instill confidence. I’ve met more than one spiritual loony-bird in my life, and I have a pretty good instinct for when one is close by. Candice didn’t seem “crazy.” She appeared timid – wounded – but not crazy.

She said: “Today is my first visit to your church, and I can’t say why I showed up except that God wanted me here. See, this is the first time I’ve been to any church in a long time. When I was a fifteen I had my long hair cut and donated it to Locks for Love, so a young girl who was having radiation treatments could have a beautiful blonde wig.

I went to church the next Sunday so happy about what I had done, sporting my new pixie haircut. But the leadership of the church – because of their beliefs – was not very happy. They told me I had forfeited my ‘woman’s glory’ and that I had disgraced myself because of a haircut.” Candice then described what was essentially an exorcism, as the church leaders gathered around her to cast out the devil that prompted her to put the clippers to her head. She resisted and protested, but was told that she would go to hell if she did not submit.

Her response was, “Well, if I’m going to hell, I might as well get started.” She left the church, many of its members being her immediate and extended family, and never returned until ten stormy, pain-ridden years later, standing on that Florida sidewalk.

Candice then made one of the greatest professions of faith I have ever heard. She said, “I understand today that I can let all that past go. I don’t need that church or all their rules, I just need Jesus. I have my swimsuit in the car, and if you still don’t think I’m crazy, and if you will wait for me to change, I want to get baptized and start over.” I would have waited for her to have driven all the way to New Orleans and back if it had been required.

When she did get to the water I took her by the hand and asked, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ; and do you choose to follow him today into the kingdom of God.” By the time she answered with an emphatic “Yes,” tears were rolling down both our faces.

I could spend the next decade of my life railing against that backward church that committed such a spiritual crime against Candice, a child with divine intentions. But I’ll not do that. They can’t hear such words, being so much smarter than God as they are, and besides that, Candice has moved on. She has found peace; a vibrant, healthy faith; spiritual and emotional healing; and a very happy marriage.

These joyful things did not magically attach themselves to Candice as she stepped from the water, dripping, smiling, and shivering onto a Florida beach, any more than salt water can rinse our souls or wash painful memories away. But there is something powerful – glorious and cleansing – in letting go of all that has harmed us to take hold of the One who simply said, “Come to me and recover your life.” You aren’t crazy, Candice. You have recovered your life. Now go live it.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author. His books include “Leaving Religion, Following Jesus” and “The Jesus Tribe.” Visit his website at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

My head hurts,” so I go to the medicine cabinet looking for a pain reliever. “I have a stomach ache,” so I reach in for a spiritual antacid. “I feel so uncertain,” so I explore my therapeutic options. “I’m feeling a bit anxious,” so I look for something that will serve as divine Prozac.

Certainly I am not the only one who does this – it is a common practice – and I’m not the only one to make this observation. Strangely enough (strange because rarely goes a Christian writer reference this man), it was Karl Marx who popularized this view, and this analogy would be incomplete without referring to his legendary quote.

Marx said, “Religion is the opiate of the people,” and it appears he understood the medicinal, tranquilizing effects of religious faith fairly well. Now, before you write that letter to the editor or attempt to get your pound of flesh from this simple columnist, understand that I am no Marxist – not even close – I detest anything that smacks of coercion.

But that doesn’t mean that some of Marx’s observations about religion were incorrect, even if his means of modification were suspect. Marx felt that religious faith did very little to actually help people. Rather than drilling down to the source of a person’s trouble, he claimed that religion only treated that person’s symptoms. It was a barbiturate that had a numbing influence, instead of resulting in empowerment.

Faith in God, according to Marx, keeps the believer trapped in his or her current state, incapacitated, and prevents him or her from experiencing real, personal, substantial change. In short, Marx criticized the false relief that faith can bring – false because nothing ever really changes – and I find it difficult to argue with his conclusion.

The faith that is peddled by many pulpits today is little more than a sedative. It helps people to forget their pain and suffering, helps them sleep at night, and keeps them hanging on for next week’s dose of tranquility; but it does very little to move people to a place of growing, spiritual health.

Thus, we can easily succeed in converting our faith into a first-aid kit, only turning to it when something hurts, and leaving it in the cabinet otherwise. Yes, when life hurts I want relief. Yet, the real power of faith is not its ability to magically stop our pain or to provide a fix to get us through a rough spot. Faith simply doesn’t remove our troubles and worries, offering bubble-gummed-flavored baby aspirin and cartooned-band-aids.

Rather, faith offers us a new way to live, an opportunity to change our lifestyle. It does more than medicate our boo-boos or make us happy when we have been made sad. On the contrary, faith has the power to transforms us, to shape and fit us for life, making us whole and well.

It would do us and Marx well to hear some of the earliest words of Christian faith, written by the Apostle James. He said to some of the first believers, “My friends, what good is it for one of you to say that you have faith if your actions do not prove it? Faith that does not lead to change is a faith that is dead.”

It is possible to find great inspiration in our faith; to be comforted, reassured, and soothed, that feeling that, yes, we believe all the right things. Yet, if such beliefs do not have transformative power in our lives, then we do not have faith at all. Instead, we are addicted to a spiritual tranquilizer that blinds us to the reality of our world and the renewal God seeks to produce in our lives.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author. His books include “Leaving Religion, Following Jesus” and “The Jesus Tribe.” Visit his website at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

When the first official King Day rolled around on the calendar, it produced some brisk conversations within my extended family, community, and yes, my church. Never can I forget standing outside the church building on a cold Sunday night, a nosey and curious teenager listening to the old men talk, just weeks before that first January observance.

One man asked the group, “Well, what y’all think about getting a day off for this King fella’?” With a big, fat, King James Bible under his arm, one of the other men answered, “Oh, I appreciate a day off. If we kill a few more of ‘em, we might get a whole week off next year!” This was met by uproarious laughter and backslapping from the rest of the group. Then they all marched inside to sing praises to Jesus with clear consciences.

I thought of that horrible event for the first time in a long time when I read the recent story about a Kentucky church banning an interracial couple from participating in their worship services. The Gulnare Free Will Baptist Church in Pikeville, Kentucky voted to ban interracial couples after life-long member Stella Harville came to services with her fiancé, Ticha Chikuni, a young man from Zimbabwe.

The church’s resolution, later rescinded, stated: “Parties of such marriages will not be received as members, nor will they be used in worship services…This recommendation is not intended to judge the salvation of anyone, but is intended to promote greater unity among the church body and the community we serve.” Greater unity? That’s dreadfully ironic.

These two events, separated by decades, and both many years removed from the work for which MLK lived and died, show how racism continues to endure in this country. But more horrifying, it reveals how racism continues to endure within the Christian church, a collection of people who profess allegiance to Jesus, the same Jesus who produced true unity by welcoming all people regardless of their nationality, skin color, sexuality, gender, or any of the other factors that divide people.

If we who are Christians are genuinely part of the church Jesus initiated, then love for our neighbor must be our calling card. Grace must be the currency which we exchange, and when people who allege faith in Christ refuse those he readily accepts, we must declare the truth that such actions are unequivocally and explicitly wrong.

For me, this has become much more than theory or simple rhetoric. It is personal. I have a multi-racial son, a beautiful prepubescent boy with eyes as dark as the sea and skin that is rich, mocha-brown. Though I am his adoptive father, we are more accurately, to quote King, “the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners,” from the red hills of Georgia.

Yes, I want my son to grow up in a culture without the prejudice that has plagued these hundreds of years. I want him to be a part of a nation where “he will not be judged by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character.” But even if such achievements are not brought to bear in the greater society in his lifetime, for God’s sake, I never want him subjected to the kind of conversation I heard as a teenager, all within the shadow of the church steeple.

Society may be slow in changing its attitudes. Governments may intentionally delay the changing of policies. Individuals may go to their graves clinging to hate and hard-heartedness for their fellow human beings. But in the church that carries the name of Christ, this should not be. We cannot simultaneously express our love for God, and by means of racism, refute the love that Jesus has for our neighbors.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author. His books include “Leaving Religion, Following Jesus” and “The Jesus Tribe.” Visit his website at www.ronniemcbrayer.net.

Many people begin their walk of faith, and everything goes as they expected. Out of genuine conviction, they attend church, learn from the Scriptures, volunteer, serve, give, and become “productive, committed, faithful, Christians” (whatever that exactly means, who knows?). But somewhere along the way things go wrong. Terribly wrong.

The orderly, stalwart faith that used to “work” for these true believers becomes a muddled mess. Yes, they once taught Sunday school, sang in the choir, chaperoned the youth group, chaired the Stewardship Committee, and had bullet-proof answers to all questions of faith. But then, all at once or over an extension of time, their faith splintered into a million tiny pieces.

The woman, who was taught that living a godly life would protect her marriage, goes through a divorce. The church to which a pastor gave his best years, his heart and soul, fires him because of some petty transgression or because he didn’t go visit a prominent church member who was in the hospital with the gout.

A child falls deathly ill and heaven seems silent as a stone, all while the godly parents pray for a miracle. A husband/father dies, leaving behind a young wife and even younger children. An accident leaves the once healthy college student broken and mutilated, physically and spiritually.

The circumstances come in variegated form, but the impact is the same. It is more than a crisis of faith, more than theological bump in the road; these are an unraveling that robs people of their confidence and comfort. The once unshakable believer descends downward into the blackness of doubt, what Saint John of the Cross called “the Dark Night of the Soul.”

Adding insult to injury, sometimes the only thing the church or we ministerial types can say in those moments is, “Why don’t you pray more? Just believe. Let go and let God. Confess your sin. Try harder.” Not only is this insensitive, asinine advice, it simply won’t work. Those who have hit “The Wall” feel so lost and adrift, so dismantled at their very core, that to keep doing what they were doing – only with more enthusiastic dedication – is impossible.

Like a bug striking a windshield, a sledgehammer falling on clods of dirt, or a ball sent through a bay window, “The Wall” breaks faith and people apart. I wish it were different. I wish such pain could be avoided. I wish there was a way to get over, under, or around these types of experiences, but if you live long enough, you will feel your faith being smashed and shattered. The only question left is, “What will come out of the splintered and scattered pieces?”

Here is your choice: You can harden your heart and sweep the shards of your faith into the dustpan, giving up on faith and God completely; or you can pick up the broken pieces, with bloody hands and heart, and reassemble faith on the other side of doubt.

No, it won’t be the same faith you once had; rather, it will be dramatically different. It won’t be an improved or updated version of the beliefs you formerly held; no, it will be a new construction altogether. This reassembled faith will not provide you with all the answers to all your questions; instead, it will help you to see the world, God, and people differently. Faith on the other side of “The Wall” will not take you back to where you were; it will move you forward to where you must be.

So if you find yourself crushed against what feels like the concrete and steel of disbelief, with not a drop of faith left in you, I understand. Don’t throw it all away just yet. In the breaking, you might find that faith has a new beginning.

Ronnie McBrayer is a syndicated columnist, speaker, and author. His books include “Leaving Religion, Following Jesus” and “The Jesus Tribe.” Visit his website at www.ronniemcbrayer.net

Peter wrote this during a time when Christianity was new, unheard of in most places, and very often viewed with suspicion. Thus, a graceful and thoughtful explanation “for the hope that you have” was absolutely required. Thousands of years later, Christianity is still handled with suspicion by many. Not because it is a novel invention, but because a large core of its adherents have misapplied Simon Peter’s good words.

Having a “prepared answer” – that is a ready opportunity to interact, dialogue, and discuss beliefs with others – has been replaced with defensiveness, anger, and out-and-out hostility toward those who see things differently. Many have forgotten to read the second half of old St. Pete’s instructions: “But do this in a gentle and respectful way,” he said.

Yes, I am a follower of Jesus. Yes, I consider myself a Christian (on most days). Yes, there are a number of essential beliefs important to me and to which I hold. Yes, some of these beliefs are in conflict with the beliefs of others, and these conflicts are not easily dismissed. But my beliefs, as important as they may be, do not give me the right to be belligerent toward others who do not share my beliefs.

I will allow that Christians aren’t the only ones who behave this way. Devotees to other faiths, politicians of all parties and persuasions, soccer fans, college alumni, and those with all manner of competing opinions will attack, degrade, and smear those they consider their opponents. The intent, it seems, is clear: Win the argument at all costs.

This cutthroat way of life is consuming every facet of our society, resulting in a complete collapse of common civility – that’s a column unto itself – and there is no relief on the near horizon. Anywhere there is an “us” versus “them” attitude there will be nothing but antagonism and disappointment until “them/they” are somehow rehabilitated or totally vanquished in favor of “us/we.”

In other words, peace will only come when all our adversaries are destroyed. This may be the way the world works, but it is not the way of Christ. For Christians, if Jesus is who this thing is about, then things should be different. Just because we have some assurance of our faith and beliefs, we forfeit the ability to share that assurance when we behave badly.

Our beliefs need not – should not – cannot – must not – be used to hurt or harm others. Consistently, and this should rend our hearts to pieces, Christians are characterized as mean-spirited, judgmental, critical, and inflexible (You don’t need research statistics to confirm this conclusion. Simply do an informal interview on any street corner.).

This is a reputation we have largely earned, because we have been more concerned with proving we are right, than we have been proving God’s profound love and grace. We have been more concerned with providing answers than we have with providing gentleness and respect.

Personally, I don’t think Jesus came to create an “in” group, an assembly of elitists who have truth held down under lock and key. I believe he came to create a “come on in” group, a crowd of fellow-journeyers who come to know God, experience grace, live life, and serve others together. But why would anyone want to come in to such a group if its representatives are constantly rude, arrogant, and unyielding.

Even if such a group had all the answers to all the questions in the world (and humility should caution anyone from making such a claim), it would be impossible to hear what they had to say, because it is simply impossible to hear the truth when it is communicated from a hard heart.

She was inside packing one more bag for the holiday trip to visit Joseph’s neurotic family in Bethlehem. Of course she was moving as fast as she could. A woman better than eight months pregnant, who was planning an excursion over field and fountain, moor and mountain, was moving nowhere very quickly.

But there were places to go, people to see, and history to be made. So Mary and Joseph hurried on their way into the throngs of people who had gathered in the famed City of David for the census demanded by the Roman authorities.

The story is as familiar as our own children’s names. Upon their arrival there was no room for Mary or Joseph at the local Econolodge. So they checked the Fairfield. Strike out. The Motel Six? Nope, not there either. The young couple was forced into being squatters at the local KOA campground. There Jesus was born, ignominiously into a Palestinian backwater. All the while the counting of people, taxes, sheep, and profits went on unhindered. The world was too busy to note his arrival.

Several Christmas seasons ago I was very busy at the hospital where I worked. There was a high census of patients. There were extraordinary cases in the Intensive Care Unit and Emergency Department. The entire staff was attempting to coordinate help for patients who would not have a Christmas for their families.

In our busyness, we were on the verge of overlooking the old “reason for the season.” Then, one of the hospital volunteers, unknown to her, brought us a much needed reprieve and put a smile back on everyone’s face. She came rushing into the Pastoral Care office with the panicked words, “Jesus is missing!”

At first, I thought someone had taken a crucifix out of one of the hospital rooms when they discharged to go home. It happens more times than you might imagine. As a person packs their bags, sometimes Jesus finds himself among a patient’s personal belongings. But no worries; the hospital keeps a whole box of Jesuses in a hidden cabinet to replace the stolen ones. Such theft doesn’t bother me. I figure if a person needs Jesus enough to steal him off the wall of a hospital, then by all means, take him.

But the missing Jesus this volunteer spoke of was the baby Jesus from the Nativity scene. Everyone was there: Mary, Joseph, the magi, shepherds, sheep, donkeys, angels – all the usual suspects. Except for Jesus. The manger was empty. Our volunteer concluded that he had been stolen from his crib while sleeping. The Christmas carol says the shepherds were watching and guarding Jesus – but apparently not in the hospital chapel.

To the volunteer’s relief, it was quickly clarified that Jesus was not missing. He simply hadn’t arrived yet. Baby Jesus was wrapped, not in swaddling clothes, but in shrink wrap and stuck in drawer. He was safe and sound waiting for Christmas Day before making his grand entrance. We, along with all the Nativity scene characters, wait for him until then.

In your own heart Jesus may be locked away, collecting dust in some dark little corner. You may have grown so busy that you have not even thought of him since last year (or at least since Easter). If so, I think he’s do an unwrapping, don’t you?

Break the packaging. Knock off the dust. Get him out of the drawer. Let him take his place at the center of this Advent season, and at the center of your life. We may be busy, but not so busy that we forget to “glorify and praise God for all we have heard and seen” in this child born in Bethlehem.

And second, we must then share what we have experienced with others. We simply cannot contain ourselves. “Listen to what I am hearing! Come see what I see! You have to experience this with me!” Stop and share, Lewis said, are the products of complete joy.

For those of us who are parents, we know this sensation well. We cannot forget holding our newly born children for the first time. The world around us disappeared. We were stunned motionless by a holy silence, a silence broken only by the sharing of joyful phone calls to waiting friends and family.

If you have ever been in love – passionate, blissful, absurd, fanatical love – then you know what it is like for life to stop otherwise. New love is more than butterflies in the belly, it is absorption in another person, so much so that nothing else matters – except for telling others about the one you love.

I can remember standing at Beluga Point outside Anchorage, Alaska. The whales were breaking the white-capped waves, the lush green mountains stood in the background, and the creaking of melting glaciers filled the air. I was stunned silent. The majesty of that moment stopped time, but when time resumed I wanted to tell everyone what I had experienced!

I have stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon, flown over the Grand Tetons, climbed the volcanoes of Central America, watched life emerge into the world, gazed into the eyes of the woman who loves me, witnessed my grandmother pull fresh biscuits from a wood stove: In each case I can’t tell you much about what was going in the world around me. I can only share with you the pure joy that ruptured my heart at those moments, and tell you I will, if you will let me.

This is exactly Lewis’ point. We find joy in what we see, hear, or experience and then we must share it with others. I wonder if this is what the shepherds experienced on that first Christmas. It was a night that began just like so many other nights before. The shepherds huddled together, shivering beneath the twinkling stars, as the frost fell heavy on the ground and on the topsides of the stupid sheep they were guarding.

It was just another night of low-class, no-class work, scraping out a living while dreaming of warm food and a warm bed. The only things that kept them awake were the worries on their minds: Lurking predators in the night, lurking bill collectors on their doorsteps, a sick child back at home, an empty pot over the family fire. There was so much with which to be troubled.

Then, it happened. An angelic chorus erupted from the sky or from heaven, from somewhere, and sang of the Christ-Child born in Bethlehem. The shepherds quaked and shook with fear, stunned with a silence as still as death. But it was a silence that might as well have been shouting when compared to the holiness of kneeling in the barn where the beautiful newborn baby lay.

As they tiptoed away from the manger, they could no longer contain their joy. “They spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed.” And they returned to the low-class, no-class work of guarding stupid sheep under the cold stars.

They still had their troubles. They were still poor, hungry, and tired. They still had four and two-legged predators with which to deal, but joy had found a place in their hearts, joy unspeakable and full of God’s glory. They couldn’t be quiet about it, and neither can we.

The Anabaptists were “anti-baptizers,” scorning infant baptism and a heap of other cherished church doctrines. Because of this, and their refusal to join their faith to the ruling civil powers, they were violently persecuted by governments, Catholics, and Protestants alike.

One such persecution broke out in 1569 in Holland. Yes, there were some fanatics in the Anabaptist tribe, but the simple, compassionate, and innocent Jesus-followers were gobbled up as well, as is always the case. One such innocent was a man named Dirk Willems.

On a winter day a bailiff was sent to arrest Dirk on the charge that he had been holding secret religious meetings in his home and had allowed others to be re-baptized there. Dirk ran for his life with the bailiff right on his heels, throwing himself across a small ice-covered lake.

It held his weight as he ran, and he crossed safely to the other side. But the ice did not hold for his pursuer. The bailiff chasing after Dirk crashed through the ice into the freezing water. Dirk Willems immediately turned back and rescued the struggling man from the ice. For his kindness Dirk was immediately arrested, and after refusing to renounce his faith, was later burned at the stake.

Now, here is the question asked by today’s Anabaptists: “Why did Dirk Willems turn back?” Put yourself in his vulnerable shoes. You are running for your life, the air is so cold it can freeze rivers and lakes, but the sweat is running down the small of your back. Your pursuer is so close to snatching you, you can feel his breath on your neck.

Your heart pounds in your chest and your pulse is deafening in your ears, but from behind you still hear a crack and a splash. There in the icy water is the man who came to take you to your death. What do you do? Do you raise your praise to heaven as God has triumphed over injustice? Do you continue running into the wilderness where eventually your hands will stop shaking and you pray you will see your family again?

Dirk Willems did none of these things. He instinctively, reflexively turned and rescued his enemy, though he knew death would be the price he would pay. In the words of Joseph Liechty, “It was not a rational choice. It was not an ethical decision. It was an intuitive response. No combination of mental calculations could have carried him back across the ice…The only force strong enough to take Dirk back across the ice was an extraordinary outpouring of love, and the only love I know [like that] is the love taught and lived by Jesus.”

Liechty’s phrase “intuitive response” rings in my ears and pulls at my heart. Can we reach a place in our walk with Christ, that when we encounter hate, suffering, injustice, frustration, or tribulation that our immediate and reflexive response will be Christ responding through us; a place where we don’t have to think about it, we don’t have to plan a response, but supernaturally and instinctively, Jesus comes alive in our hearts.

It’s like going to the doctor and sitting on the examination table. He pulls out that little triangular, rubber mallet and strikes the patient on the knee. Automatically, the patient kicks. There is no thinking, planning, or fretting. It is reflexive. It is your natural response.

Dirk Willems acted as he did because he had been so spiritually shaped and formed by the person of Jesus, that his response was the only response he was capable of making. Dirk’s life and identity had been swallowed up in the person of Jesus, and it was Christ who now lived through him. That is why Dirk Willems turned back.

The statue is a representation of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms that he articulated in his 1941 State of the Union address. Roosevelt said, “We look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms: Freedom of speech, freedom of every person to worship God in his own way, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.”

As idealistic and as hard as all these freedoms are to achieve in this world, that last one maybe the hardest: The freedom from fear. There is plenty to be afraid of today, everything from terrorist attacks and spiders to economic collapse and newly harvested cantaloupes. Getting free of fear seems to be a pipedream.

I have no political, social, or economic plan to achieve freedom from fear, no one does; not even an esteemed statesman such as Roosevelt. Fear is the currency of the world in which we live, but as citizens and people of a kingdom “not of this world,” we have at our disposal a peace that displaces fear, a peace that “surpasses all human understanding.” From where does this peace come? Better fiscal policy? More powerful weapons? A hulking stockpile of canned food, bottled water, and ammunition? I doubt it. No, the only source of peace is love. When you know you are perfectly and completely loved, there is nothing left to fear, for perfect love dispels all fear.

The Apostle Paul once asked a rhetorical but significant question: “Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love?” In other words, will God’s love for us really last? Can we count on it in face of multifarious threats and dangers? When the world seems to be flying off its axis and the fabric of everything we ever trusted is in shreds, will God’s love be there for us in the end?

The answer is an emphatic “yes!” With some of the more magnificent words in the Christian Scriptures, Paul responds to his own question with a comprehensive list of possible dangers: Trouble, calamity, persecution, hunger, destitution, threat of murder, violence, life and death, angels and demons, fears for today and worry for tomorrow, the power of hell, powers above and below – it is as broad and as exhaustive a list as one could construct.

And then he concludes, “Nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Nothing in this life or the life to come; no spiritual powers, good or evil; nothing in the present moment and nothing tomorrow; nothing now, and nothing later; the powers that be – governmental, spiritual, judicial, religious, economic, earthly or otherwise – none of these have the power or ability to take God’s love away.

It is sure. It is strong. It is eternal. It is ageless. It will not wax and wane. It is the one unvarying element in the cosmos, able to overcome everything, including our fears. If the created universe can contain it, God’s love can outlast and defeat it. This includes the worst of your sufferings, the worst of your personal failures, the worst crimes you have committed, the worst of your decisions, your divorce, drug abuse, emotional baggage, arrest record, selfishness, adultery, rebellion, addiction, dishonesty, stupidity, your bone-headed decisions – fill in the blank – nothing can separate you from God’s love. That will set you free from fear.