Ronnie McBrayer

By Ronnie McBrayer

Four-hundred and ninety times. That was Jesus’ answer to the question, “How many times should I forgive someone who has offended me.” I don’t think Jesus was being literal; how I wish he were! Then there would at least be a boundary. Jesus was saying, however, “Stop keeping score. There is no limit to how many times you grant forgiveness to others.” This sounds like lunacy. Why would Jesus say such a thing?

Here is an answer: When we forgive others without limit, we are treating others as God treats the world. God loves and forgives without restraint or limitation. So when Jesus teaches us to forgive without limit, he is calling us to bear the loving image of God in the world. We forgive because that’s what God does.

I don’t think profound, God-like forgiveness is something we humans can accomplish within our own power. No, if forgiveness flows out of us to others, it is because God is doing it and not us ourselves. Consequently, forgiveness is not so much something we do, as it is something we discover. It is the discovery of God’s inexhaustible, inconceivable, insuppressible grace—for ourselves and for those who have hurt us.

There is a television show on the A&E Network called “Storage Wars.” Storage units that have been abandoned or defaulted upon by the renters are opened, and bidders show up to bid for the contents of the unit. A man bought the contents of one storage unit for $1,100. Inside the unit were nearly 2,000 gold and silver Spanish coins worth more than $500,000.

Forgiveness works like that; we begin sorting through the baggage and the storage units of our life. We start unpacking all our pain, and as we rummage sort, shuffle, and restack the cardboard and Rubbermaid boxes of our past hurts, lo and behold, we stumble across a treasure.

There it is, and it has been there all along, right in the midst of all our rubbish—the unexpected discovery of God’s unlimited grace. He really loves us. He loves us so much, that his love is enough to forgive those who have hurt us. His forgiveness is so invaluable that no matter what life has cost us, it will pay the price, and then some. It is this discovery of forgiveness that can change us, and can do the same for those who have hurt us.

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.

Ronnie McBrayer

By Ronnie McBrayer 

Dr. Samuel Tuke, a Quaker physician and minister building on the work of his grandfather, created one of the first asylums for the mentally ill. It was a quiet country house where patients were treated, not as wild animals, but as human beings. Dr. Tuke also broke ground with something he called “moral treatment.”

While being morally treated, patients were taught to dress respectably, and to behave in social settings. They were expected to watch their table manners, make polite conversation over tea, and keep their living space clean. The treatment was reinforced by constant monitoring and a system of rewards and punishments. Outwardly, these patients looked healthy as their behavior followed the established rules in which they had been trained. It was a marked improvement, but inside the ill remained very much the same. Put the patients in situations for which they had no rules and everything collapsed. The patients could do all the right things when forced from the outside, but they had no concept of right motivation from the inside.

“Moral treatment” was a failure that highlighted a limitation as old as humanity: People are not changed by chains—whether these chains be made of iron and steel, or made from rules and coercion. If people are going to change, it is because something happens internally, not because their external behavior has been modified.

Knowing and keeping the rules, even religious rules, is simply not a better way to live. We need a way of life that transcends our chains and changes us from inside; and that is exactly what Christ offers. Jesus strikes literally at the heart of the issue – our hearts – transforming us from the inside out, so that more rules and steeper requirements are not required.

The always colorful Clarence Jordan explained it like this: “Keeping the religious rules is like chaining a vicious dog to a tree. With the dog chained in such a way the owner could then report, ‘You know, my dog has never bitten anyone. He must be a good dog.’ Wrong! The goodness of the dog is based solely upon the strength of the chain.”

Jesus’ intention is to heal and change the very nature of the human species, not to manufacture a more robust chain. By transforming the human heart, Christ shows that chains not only fail to change us, but that those chains are no longer necessary.

Ronnie McBrayer

by Ronnie McBrayer

On Easter morning, a Sunday School teacher began to quiz her class of young children about the real meaning of the day. “What is Easter?” she asked, and the students were ready to respond. A little boy said, “Easter is that holiday when we get together with our families, eat turkey, and everyone is thankful.” The teacher answered, “No, not quite. Does anyone else know?” Another child answered, “Easter is the holiday when we grill burgers and hotdogs, shoot off fireworks, and celebrate our country’s birthday.”

Again, the teacher replied, “No, not quite.” She began to wonder if anyone in the room knew what Easter was really about. But then a little girl stood and began speaking, “Easter is a Christian holiday that follows the remembrance of Jesus’ death on Good Friday. Jesus was buried in tomb, and a large rock was rolled over the entrance.”

The teacher nearly squealed in delight. But then the girl continued, “And on Easter morning the stone is rolled away so Jesus can get out. Then, if he sees his shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter.” No, not quite.

While the children in this story gave incomplete answers, the question asked is still a good one: “What is Easter?” Despite a gazillion Easter sermons and Sunday School classes, our answers may still be a little lacking.

Many believers spend Easter morning proclaiming or listening to massive, exhaustive explanations of the resurrection miracle. The gospel accounts are analyzed and reconciled; scientific objections are considered and then dismantled; skeptics are scolded and unbelievers are disregarded. It is apologetic calisthenics, a vigorous workout in defending Jesus’ reputation, and not quite the answer.

Easter is reduced to defending the Christian dogma, but it is so much more than that. It is a revolution of transforming hope for the world. Easter is not just a doctrine; it is a powerful, redemptive way to live today. When God raised Jesus from the dead – and Christians believe Christ is indeed risen – he signaled the beginning of the redemption of all things, and provided the potency to bring this redemption to its fulfillment.

So we must do more than explain Easter. We must live it and “get in” on it today. We must use it to instigate heaven on earth. We must do more than say “He is Risen,” we must become the living proof of Christ’s resurrection power.

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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Last year I returned to speak at the church that was my first pastorate. When I first went there I was a naïve, ignorant child, full of pep and vinegar, ready to extinguish hell with a water gun. Equipped with a fresh ordination papers and a new red Bible, I worked hard to demonstrate that I knew everything there was to know about leading a congregation. Heck, I knew everything about everything.

When it was whispered in the gossip parlors of the church and the greater community that I did not know everything about everything, and that I was far too young for the responsibility now thrust upon me, I worked all the harder to prove my critics wrong.

This hard work paid off, because in the process of proving myself, the membership rolls grew, the coffers of the church swelled, buildings were built, baptisteries were filled, the church became a sensation, and the critics quieted their murmurings. By the end of my tenure I had gained a great deal of success. But I also lost a few things along the way: my youthful idealism; my religion; my marriage; my way, and almost my mind. Most of all, I lost touch with the very reason I had entered the vocation in the first place: the love of Christ.

See, I became more concerned with growing a bigger church than with the well-being of individual people. I worked tirelessly to keep the “right” people happy and tithing, and neglected those on the “wrong” side of the tracks. I wanted a prosperous religious career by impressing the suits at the denomination’s headquarters and by meticulously managing my public image. Only years later did I realize that Jesus was not very much involved in any of this.

So that’s what I told my first congregation. I told them that I had indeed been too young to be a pastor, that I had done them a disservice by spending too much energy on my own attempted accomplishments, and not enough energy pointing them to the grace and love found in Christ. I told them that “Christ has shown me that what I thought I knew is worthless…Nothing else matters but this: To know Christ and to know that I belong to him.” I now know a whole lot less than I once thought I did; but what I know now, I know for sure.

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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Our three boys were playing football in the backyard this winter when one of them called to me with words I could have never anticipated. Casually, as if he were making a weather observation, he said, “Dad…the dog is on the roof.” I exploded onto the upper deck to discover that my son was alarmingly correct.

Toby, our new little Shih Tzu, had inexplicably crawled beneath the deck railing and was 15 feet across a pitched metal roof, two stories off the ground. I was horrified. My dear wife was worse, deranged with panic. I understood that if this disaster were not averted, I did not have enough pastoral skill, fatherly wisdom, Valium, or hard liquor to assuage the suffering.

So, with the boys in place below, ready to exercise their burgeoning football catching skills, my hand firmly holding my wife by the belt loops at the railing, and aiming every prayer at heaven I could muster, I gently called, “Toby…come here, boy.” He loped over to me as if it was a day at the dog park, and tragedy was dodged.

As crazy as this story is, here is the craziest thing of all: while our entire family mobilized to protect and save this precious little dog, Toby was completely, totally, and blissfully unaware of our efforts. Hands were shaking. Tears were forming. Railings were being scaled. Catch nets were being weaved. Meanwhile, he was sniffing leaves, enjoying the view, and inspecting the strange metal floor beneath his feet.

Toby doesn’t understand this, but he doesn’t have to; he simply lives a dog’s life in the loving arms of those who always look out for him. Sometimes I perceive God working the same way. I sense him hanging in the atmosphere around us; ethereal, intangible, but very real. Occasionally, I glimpse him lurking within and brooding over the circumstances of life, sometimes gently calling, but most of the time just ready to catch us when we fall; or to save us from ourselves when we’ve crawled too far out on the ledge. Even while our well-being is in jeopardy, we are enfolded by a protecting love.

Yes, I believe there is a mysterious, unseen, hovering God in the universe that we cannot always understand, see, or otherwise tangibly perceive. But we know he is there. His enveloping love for us is very real, and yes, it is very good.

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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

Lately, one of Jesus’ more cryptic phrases has been making laps inside my head. These words were spoken on the last night Jesus was with his disciples: “Abide in me, and I will abide in you.” Jesus was welcoming his disciples to remain connected with him and to rely upon him. “Stay put. Don’t abandon your relationship with me,” Jesus was saying. Eugene Peterson translates Jesus words like this, “Make your home in me.”

That’s not so cryptic, as we understand home quite well. Home is where each day begins and where it ends. Home is where we eat, rest, relax, take shelter, play, and love. Home is where we go when there is no other place, and where we always return. Home is that glorious place where we walk around in our socks and underwear, scratch our backsides without worrying about who is looking, and lounge around on the weekend without showering or shaving if we so choose. Home is where we can drop all our burdens, barriers and coping mechanisms.

Home is sweet, it is where the heart is, and it is our castle. It is where we bring the bacon and where we wait for the cows to arrive. Home is like no other place in the world, and no matter where or how far we travel, home is where we always call, well, home. It is where we feel safe, secure, and ultimately, where we can be ourselves. Jesus said, “Make your home”—relax and be yourself—“with me.”

I believe that a large portion of our personal suffering stems from the fact that we often go looking for “home” in all the wrong places. The wrong career, the wrong person or relationship, the wrong ambitions: We are searching for that comfortable place where we can prop our shoeless feet on the coffee table and be accepted as the real, natural people that we are.

When that no-strings-attached acceptance is not forthcoming, we begin to work, worry, toil and sweat, manipulate and be manipulated, all in an attempt to get others to take us as we are. We end up being strangers to ourselves, living within the artificial structures we have created, but it sure isn’t home sweet home. It’s miserable. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can give ourselves over to Christ, in total dependence, and find rest for our homesick souls.

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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

I am sometimes suspicious of how we employ our faith. Don’t get me wrong, faith is important to me, and I have given my life to it. But sometimes I treat my faith like it is a medicine cabinet or a pharmaceutical, going to it only when something is wrong, or if I am looking for a quick remedy.

“My head hurts,” so I go to the 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.

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 well to hear some of the earliest words of Christian faith, written by the Apostle James. He said, “My friends, 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 and reassured that or faith rests in the right place. 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.

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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

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.” But somewhere along the way things go 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. A divorce. A child falls deathly ill and heaven seems silent as a stone. An accident leaves the once healthy college student broken and mutilated. 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; it is an unraveling that robs people of their confidence and comfort. The once unshakable believer descends downward into the blackness of doubt. Adding insult to injury, sometimes the only thing the church or we ministerial types can say in those moments is, “Pray more. Just believe. Let go and let God. Try harder.” Not only is this insensitive, asinine advice, it simply won’t work. Those who have hit this kind of barricade feel so dismantled, that to keep doing what they were doing—only with more enthusiasm—is impossible.
Here is your choice: You can harden your heart and sweep the shards of your faith into the dustpan, giving up on 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; it will be dramatically different. It won’t be an improved or updated version of the beliefs you formerly held; 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.
So if you find yourself crushed against what feels like the concrete and steel of disbelief, with not a drop of faith left, 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.

By Ronnie McBrayer

“Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” These are the words of Simon Peter, one of Jesus’ first disciples. And like most words put down on paper, these instructions have not always honored the intent of the author.
Peter wrote this during a time when Christianity was new 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—a ready opportunity to dialogue and discuss beliefs with others—has been replaced with defensiveness, anger, and out-and-out hostility. Many have forgotten to read the second half of old Peter’s instructions: “But do this in a gentle and respectful way.”
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.
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. Our beliefs need not,  should not, cannot, must not be used to hurt or harm others.
Personally, I don’t think Jesus came to create an “in” group. 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.
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.  

By Ronnie McBrayer

Five hundred years ago there was a group of Christians living in Europe known as the Anabaptists. 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, and on a winter day a bailiff was sent to arrest an Anabaptist leader named Dirk Willems. He was charged with peculiar crimes: He had been holding secret religious meetings in his home and had allowed others to be re-baptized there. It was a crime punishable by death, so Dirk ran for his life with the bailiff right on his heels. Willems came to a small ice-covered lake and threw himself across it.
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 Dirk crashed through the ice into the freezing water. Dirk Willems immediately turned back and rescued the man from the ice. For his kindness Dirk was immediately arrested, and after refusing to renounce his faith, was later burned at the stake.
Willems instinctively, reflexively turned and rescued his enemy, though he knew death would be the price he would pay. Here is the question asked by today’s Anabaptists: “Why did Dirk Willems turn back?” 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.”
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?
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.
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.