I love Jesus. Jesus is kind, loving, merciful, generous, and inspiring. But I hate religion.

This morning found me sitting in a drug rehab center waiting room. I was with a friend who had been clean for 2 1/2 days. He felt terrible. I was tired from staying at a hotel with him the night before. Around the room were a young alcoholic and his mom, a couple in their 60's, and a young lady about 30-years old named Christine who was trying to kick a 30 Percocet/day habit.

I've never been in a place like that before. Nobody spoke; each person was too caught up in private pain. Hopelessness was in their eyes.

Jesus-in-me was loving all of them. Next thing you know, I started talking to the young teenage fella (who looked like Adam Lambert a little bit). I introduced myself to his mom, Cathy. I'm not sure what I said, but "Adam" asked if I was a preacher or something, and the conversation turned to God.

Christine heard us talking. She told me that she'd been to church a couple of times, but she didn't like religion. I responded, "I hate religion." She looked at me. "But I love Jesus," I continued.

We discussed her experiences of going to church. She was a drug addict. She wasn't understood, or welcomed. She couldn't fit into the cliques. So she left. Nobody loved her. Nobody showed Jesus to her. Then she said, "I could never submit to God. I don't do submission."

I told her that it's not like that. I asked her if she had ever walked out into the warm sunshine, and just stopped and let the sun shine on her face. Of course, she had. "That's what submission to God is like," I told her. "He just wants to shine on you, to warm you, to help you."

Christine had never met a Christ-follower before. She had been to churches, and she'd heard the rules and requirements. She'd even tried reading the Bible -- "I just can't live like that" --but she'd never experienced love.

As I sat and talked to her about Jesus and his love for her, every soul in the waiting room listened. I spoke to each of them, drawing them in to the conversation. And they listened.

When I had to finish abruptly because my friend was called back to be assessed, an old man named Mike stopped me -- "Thank you, that was very relaxing." And Christine told me, "If you were a pastor, I'd come to your church. I like the way you talk. You're kind."

That's why I hate religion. I hate the judgmental, Pharisaical words and attitudes that look down on people just because their lives are a mess.

These dear people - frightened people, sad people - heard the word of God gladly when no one was yelling at them. They were open. They'd been to church before, met plenty of Christians, but they'd never seen Jesus.

That's why I hate religion.