God makes what seem to me some very funny choices—meaning, they're not necessarily the choices I would make. You see, I always thought God had a big house in which the people who did what He said could live, worship, and enjoy fellowship. On the outside were the people who didn't do what God said to do. I, of course, was on the inside, because I did what He said—or at least tried to. I figured my sincerity would give me a pass.

But I was wrong.

God said to Moses in Exodus 33:19, "I will make all My goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you My name 'The Lord.' And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy" (ESV). In other words, God will choose His own friends, thank you very much.

That has always bothered me.

I am probably as religious as any person you know. Maybe even more. I teach religion to religious students at a religious graduate school. I stand before a whole lot of people and say religious things. I write religious books, I teach religious seminars, and I do religious radio broadcasts.

I'm really religious.

What bugs me is when God chooses to love people who aren't religious or, at any rate, not as religious as I am. I'm beginning to learn that God makes, by my judgment, some weird choices. He loves people who drive me nuts, and He has mercy on people to whom I would not show mercy. He moves beyond religious institutions and befriends people with whom I would not be friends.

	God loves people who drive me nuts, and He has mercy on people to whom I would not show mercy.

Whoopi Goldberg, who calls herself an atheist, is not one of my favorite people. But did you see her movie Sister Act? It's about a worldly nightclub singer who hides from some thugs who want to kill her. What makes it unique is that she hides in a Roman Catholic convent. She dresses like a nun and becomes the choir director, teaching the nuns to sing music that's more upbeat and fun than their usual convent fare.

What makes the story for me is this: Early in the film, the convent church is old and filled with old people who are very religious. Once the nightclub singer/nun starts leading the choir, however, the people on the outside (prostitutes, drug addicts, and other colorful characters) start coming into the church. In fact, they fill the church.

When I first saw that scene, I started crying. (I hardly cry at anything. I'm a guy, okay?) My wife, who was with me, gave me a look that said clearly, "Will you stop it? Are you a fruitcake? This is a comedy. Can't you see that everybody else in this theater is laughing, and you're crying? I think I'm going to sit somewhere else and pretend that I don't know you."

Nevertheless, I couldn't stop weeping. When the movie was over, I asked God about my peculiar reaction, and I felt Him answer that it wasn't me—it was Him. He was speaking through that scene.

I whined in response, But Lord, Whoopi Goldberg? Why couldn't it have been through Billy Graham or the Pope?

I didn't get an answer.

I have a recurring dream in which I'm finally home in heaven and am sitting at the Lord's Table for the marriage supper of the Lamb. All kinds of people are there. Clergy persons are present, some leaders of the church, and even one or two television preachers. But as I look around, I also see former adulterers, liars, and thieves. There are one-time prostitutes and pimps, tax collectors and drunks. There are also those who were once homosexuals, pornographers, and gluttons. And, frankly, I'm shocked.

Then, in my dream, I hear a voice from the throne, and the words are addressed to me. The voice is God's, and He asks, "And what do you think you're doing here?"

I think maybe He was kidding, but I'm not sure. I usually wake up before I find out.

I used to think God's love could be logically explained and measured. I now know that God's love runs far deeper than we can fathom.

There was a time when I was sure I could explain and defend God. I've found out, though, that He is beyond explanation—and not in need of defense. He was doing fine before I came along, and He will do fine long after I'm gone. Yet for some reason, this big, scary, and confusing God who chooses unlikely friends has chosen to love me. And I see His love in everything, without exception. The question is not, "Where is God's love?" The question is, "Where isn't God's love?"

Adapted from What Was I Thinking? Things I've Learned Since I Knew It All (Howard Books). © 2006 Steve Brown. Used by permission of Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster. Steve Brown is a professor of preaching at Reformed Theological Seminary in Orlando and can heard around the country on the radio broadcast Key Life (www.keylife.org).

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