A few years ago, I was working in downtown Indianapolis. In the heart of the city, on Monument Circle, is a Starbucks. This is not a typical suburban coffee venue. There is no parking. There are no plush chairs, there is no wall filled with cups and teas. There are only two small tables and a few small wooden chairs. This is a Starbucks of utility. The office dwellers emerge from their cubicles, walk here, and leave. After a few months of seeing the same customer, the baristas know your name and order.

So it was on one fall morning, when a mother and small child entered this Starbucks. The mother was dressed impeccably well, and it was easy to guess that these two might have stayed the evening at Hilton hotel just across the street. Beyond this, I will refrain from further classist remarks.

The mother placed her order. Then she did something unthinkable, given the queue of undercaffeinated patrons behind her. She asked her child what he wanted. There was no context here, no framing of the question. The child was given the unlimited choices of beverage and pastries as offered. Milk was chosen as a drink easily enough. The food choice? That would require far more contemplation of the child.

Patience is a virtue, and it is one that, for all intensive purposes, I lack. It seems that I am not alone in this regard. There was great unease in the line while the child pondered his decision. “What is holding us up?” “I have to be back to work in four minutes.” The corporate overlords must be served, but what did this child know of this?

The complete list of sweet baked goods was too much for the youth. Muffins, quickbreads, cakes, cookies, danishes, brownies, and scones! Oh my! There is too much at stake here.

Changing the context of the question would have certainly been more expedient, and would have added to the overall happiness of that temporal Starbucks community. Instead of, “What would you like?” the mother should have asked, “Would you like a cookie or a muffin?” Even the child would be happy, given a small freedom of choice in that moment.

We are faced with an abundance of options in our daily lives. From the moment we hear the first buzz of the alarm clock, we decide whether to get up or to hit snooze just one more time. These choices have very immediate consequences: a few more minutes of quiet and rest, possibly the last you will get until you lay down again that evening, or having to rush through your morning routine faster than expected to beat the morning rush hour.

What if I were simply to instruct you this? Wake up. Do not hit snooze. There is no peace in that button. You certainly will not fall back asleep in those nine minutes, or any sleep that occurs will be restless.

Constraints, correctly expressed, bring a much needed simplicity to our lives. They offer peace. They quiet discord.

Exercise regularly, at least three times per week. Take care of your body. Do not eat too much, and eat healthy foods when you can. Caring for your body serves you throughout life. Exercise is a constraint. It takes time from your weekly routine that could be spent on other things, yet, without a doubt, not caring for oneself is harmful.

Be clean and neat. Have a place for things, and put things where they belong. It will be easier to find them next time they are needed. Things not put back will be believed to be lost. Lost things must be repurchased. Rushing through tasks means unnecessary time and money will be spent the next time these resources are required. Again, putting things away is a constraint. It takes time; it will take longer to clean up now than to just immediately go on to the next thing.

Religion provides us with constraints — constraints that teach us, guide us, and lead us to healthier, more spiritually-connected lives. To be liberating, constraints must be simple and direct. The Jesus of the Gospel of Matthew gave us one constraint, one model for our lives: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:37–39) There is great liberty in Jesus’ commandment.

Religion can also be confining. Jesus did not recite a great list of Judaic laws, pointless by today’s standards. He said nothing about eating animal fat or shellfish, drinking alcohol on holy ground, going to church within 66 days after giving birth to a female child, not paying wages the same day, wearing two different fabrics, trimming your beard, cutting your hair, getting tattoos, or working on Saturday. These rules are too many, too readily broken by a society’s members.

What if a person is gay? Can I discriminate against them? Love one another.

What if a person is a different religion? I should hate them, right? Love one another.

What about people who come from other countries? Love one another.

What of the sick and dying? Love one another.

The religion of Jesus is a religion of simplicity. In his words, he gives us one rule to live by — a rule above all other rules. He never said anything about “tough love,” nor did he ever mention anything like, “Love the sinner, but hate the sin.” These words do not appear anywhere in the Bible.

Love one another.