His big bass voice sounds like a born-again Barry White. "You think about that," Steve Brown bellows after each KeyLife radio broadcast, a trademark sign-off to his listening audience. The Christian broadcaster, author and former pastor claims, "If you can't illustrate it, don't teach it!" and he's mastered the art of illustrating spiritual concepts.

The KeyLife Network office building, painted an unimposing pale yellow, is much like the founder and president himself: short on lavish trimmings. At the end of a hallway behind an unmarked door sits the balding, white-bearded Brown, pipe in hand.

In his latest book, Approaching God, Steve Brown speaks about the essence of a quiet time. After spending a short time with him, I see no difference between the vulnerable man on paper and the man I interviewed. What you see is what you get.

"A quiet time, to me, is just an established time to go to my Source, to the Father, and spend time with Him," Steve says. "It doesn't matter what you've done, or who you are, or how you've screwed it up, but you have a Father who likes to spend time with you. To go before God, to know what I've done and thought and to expect that He's going to strike me with a lightning bolt--but to be hugged instead--creates great astonishment. We mature Christians, we get so we're not astonished any more."

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, revealing two rolled up sleeves. "I'm not trying to pretend to be spiritual, because I'm not, but the thing that made today bearable was the time I spent with Him this morning. It was my soft place, it was the place where I can say whatever I want to say and I don't have to hide or pretend.

"See, if I take off my mask in front of you, you probably aren't gonna like what you see," he says. This candor from a Christian leader is disarming, refreshing. "I don't have to wear a mask with Him. Even with my wife--we've been married 35 years, and I love her a lot--but I've got to be careful, I've got to be sensitive to my wife. I don't have to be sensitive to God, because God knows me. It's a wonderful thing to be totally loved, so that you can say anything. In that totally unconditional atmosphere, I don't have to protect myself. I can pray with the psalmist, 'search me oh God', and whatever He reveals is okay."

In Approaching God, Steve writes about his heavenly mission: "God has called me to tell people that if they go to Him, he won't be angry." A copy of the book rests on a small shelf behind his desk. In fact, book shelves cover nearly every wall of his quiet office. As a professor at Reformed Theological Seminary, Steve Brown prioritizes staying well-read.

"I use a liturgy from the church of Scotland every morning, with some modification, generally when I'm exercising. It's got Thees and Thous in it, but that's often what leads me to the Throne," Steve explains, tilting back in a squeaky chair. "[Pulitzer Prize-winning author] Annie Dillard said that the liturgy of the high church is the way that people have learned to talk to God without being blasted to pieces," he says. The man smiles mischievously, as if he knows he is setting up a paradox.

"He's not safe. I don't like some of the stuff He said in scriptures. He's broken me in places I hate--man, I just hate it--and so in that sense He's not safe, He's God. When I bring my agenda to Him and He has another agenda, mine doesn't count; That's why you don't bargain with Him. But He's still your Father, who loves you unconditionally, and that's the soft place."

Steve swivels around to face the back wall of his office and relights his pipe. After a few puffs, he says, "You know, I think in my mind I hold those two things together. There's the recognition that He's not safe, that He's holy and righteous; that His agenda is there. And there's the joyous understanding that it is okay, even if I pray the wrong prayer, that He still loves me."

The author explains this paradox further in Approaching God. On the one hand, he says we are right to have what he calls "cosmic claustrophobia," which is "the understanding that God is holy, righteous, and awesome [and] that produces the fear that we will be justly consumed. But the message of the gospel is that God's justice has been satisfied by the sacrifice of Christ. It is the realization that because of the imputed righteousness of Christ--that is, His goodness credited to our account--we can come boldly before the Throne with the knowledge that we will be welcomed and accepted."

As I digest this concept, the storyteller suggests a simpler example. "There's a story about a little boy whose father was a Roman officer in the army. The Romans were going off to war and the father reached down to hug his son goodbye, but his son shrunk back because of all of the armor, plumes and weaponry. Then the father took his helmet off and the boy recognized him, so he reached out to be held."

Steve folds his hands behind his head as he ties his point to his story. "I think that's another way we are with God. His thoughts are not our thoughts, and His ways are not our ways: He's holy, He's righteous, but He is our Father."

"I'm constantly in remembrance that He's holy. In Hebrews, when it says we can come boldly before the Throne, it's only because of the blood of Christ. If I went before God in the way I'm talking about without being covered and without the imputation of Christ's righteousness, I couldn't do it. But all of a sudden God--who is God--is my Father: a strong Father, a Father who can do bad things to me if He wants to, but who genuinely loves me."

His summary reminds me of another quote from his book. "The Scripture teaches that we call God 'Abba,' a term of endearment that could be translated as 'daddy' or 'pops.' Perhaps we need to back away from our more adult images and inhibitions and get familiar. God is a Father who really likes to spend time with his children."

By the end of our interview, Steve has pulled both of his legs up onto his chair, as relaxed and real as it comes. "I saw a bumper sticker that said, 'God loves you but don't let it go to your head,'" he said to me, "and I wanted to stop them and say, 'Yeah, let it go to your head. He really does love you.'"