Notes of the week

Homily of the week

I have this confession about hosting people... it involves ceiling fans, baseboards, and a lot of muttering through gritted teeth. In last week's message on Luke 10:38-42, I unpacked how our hosting anxiety reveals something deeper about grace, performance, and what it means to discover we're actually guests at God's table. Turns out, love really does matter more than matching napkins…

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

Last Sunday, my homily was about how the Good Samaritan story isn’t just moral advice to “be better,” but a shockingly tender reminder that we’re the ones in the ditch—and that’s exactly where Christ meets us.

It’s not about earning anything. It’s about letting ourselves be found.

If you’ve been feeling scraped up by life lately, or just tired of heroic posturing (your own or the world’s), you might find something here worth sitting with.

Turns out, I spent years treating melancholy like a spiritual virtue and cynicism like insight. But Vernon helped me realize that maybe the most rebellious thing we can do (especially right now) is learn to be genuinely happy — windows down, sunshine on our faces, no hustle required.

This one’s for anyone who’s tired of the grind, skeptical of forced positivity, but still wants to find real hope…

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is... let go.

Last Sunday, I explored Jesus's wild instruction to the 72 disciples: "Take nothing. Say 'Peace to this house.' And if they don't welcome you? Shake the dust off your feet."

What if changing the world has less to do with anxious activity and more to do with peaceful presence? What if the most powerful way to show up for justice isn't from burnout and fear... but from the steady, sustainable place of knowing God shines brightly even in the places we deem despicable?

In a time when just existing can feel exhausting, maybe we need permission to travel lighter. To stop carrying the weight of every injustice on our backs and start recognizing that we can act from love instead of panic.

The harvest is plentiful. The work matters. And with God, we can show up without burning out.

Sometimes the most effective way to heal the world is to stop trying to fix it from a place of fear... and start working from the quiet confidence that the kingdom is already breaking through and - although suffering abounds - we're all in very good hands…

If you've been following this series, thank you for taking this wild ride with me. If you're just joining us, welcome to the honeymoon report. And even though the series is ending, the conversation will continue.

BTW… A note for those wondering: ACIM stands for "A Course in Miracles," a spiritual text that's been both beloved and controversial since its publication in the 1970s. If you've never heard of it, don't worry—you'll get plenty out of this post anyway. This post is really about what happens when you stop being afraid of your own spiritual journey, whatever traditions have shaped you.

And for those who might be skeptical because they think it's about divine wish fulfillment, know that in the Course's language, a 'miracle' isn't about getting what you want—it's about a shift in perception from ego consciousness to Christ consciousness. Okay, enjoy!

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

Freedom isn't the absence of commitment. It's the security to love without fear.

In last Sunday’s homily, I explored what Paul really meant when he said "for freedom Christ has set us free." Turns out we humans are pretty terrible at freedom. We get so excited about being free FROM stuff that we miss what we've been freed FOR.

The mystics get this. True freedom isn't about doing whatever you want. It's about being so secure in your belonging that you can love extravagantly without keeping score.

We've been thinking about this especially as we wrap up Pride month. Your worth isn't on the table. Never has been. Christ already settled that question.

What would change if we actually lived like people who know they belong?

Watch the full homily below. Would love to hear your thoughts... And give our church YouTube channel some love by subscribing and you’ll get these homilies right when they’re posted!

Turns out, they weren't competing for my attention... they were waiting to dance together.

I called it "officiating the marriage of my two spiritual lives," and honestly? Writing it felt like throwing a party I'd been planning for years without realizing it.

If you've ever felt torn between different parts of your spiritual story, or wondered if you have to choose between depth and tradition, this one's for you. Sometimes the most beautiful discoveries happen when we stop forcing either/or choices and start asking, "What if both could be true?"

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

You know that feeling when the noise in your head gets so loud you forget who you actually are? When the voices of fear, shame, and "not enough" start running the show?

Jesus meets a man living in exactly that chaos—tormented, exiled, lost in the tombs. But instead of avoiding the mess or trying to manage it, Jesus does something radical: He steps right into it and reminds the man of his true identity.

"Restored to Our Right Mind" is about that moment when the noise stops and you remember: Oh right, this is who I am. This is whose I am.

It's also about how our personal healing always leads us back into community—messy, complicated, beautiful community—because that's where grace does its best work.

Watch if you're ready to remember who you are underneath all the noise. Sometimes the most powerful sermon is simply showing up whole.

This post might change that.

In it, I share how a wool-wearing Finnish theologian (yes, really) helped me see that mystical union with Christ isn’t a side quest. It’s the heart of the gospel.

If you've ever felt torn between your spiritual curiosity and your Christian faith, you might enjoy this one…

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

Last Sunday’s sermon is on YouTube if you want to check it out.

It’s about the Trinity—not as a theological brain teaser, but as the heartbeat of a God who chooses relationship over control.
A God who doesn't skip the mess, but meets us in it.
A God who delights in the human race (…yes, even now, even us).

This one meant a lot to me. It came at the end of a heavy week—globally, personally, pastorally. But somewhere in there, I found a quiet hope again.

Homily of the week

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

What if the shaking already happened—and it was grace that did the breaking?

This week’s message kicks off Pride Month with a little holy mischief, a bit of dry humor, and a whole lot of gospel.

We’re talking about the jailer in Acts… and the one we sometimes carry around inside us.

We’re talking about chains falling, control crumbling, and the kind of freedom that doesn’t ask if you deserve it—it just flows to the lowest place.

In this deeply reverent confession (jk, not really), I share how an irrational rage toward mouth sounds has complicated my pastoral life. Spoiler: Jesus ate a lot. Meanwhile, I fantasize about installing soundproof booths at potlucks. If you’ve ever felt like your quirks disqualify you from being holy—or at least from hosting a chili cook-off—this one’s for you. Because sometimes grace shows up not in spite of your weirdness, but squarely through it…

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

This week’s homily is a love letter to small churches, whispering spirits, and the holy women who hold it all together. We meet Lydia—entrepreneur, seeker, first-century powerhouse—who quietly started the first Christian church in Europe… from her house.

It all happens not in the center of town, but down by the river.

If you’ve ever felt like the quiet spaces don’t matter, or like your “small” offering isn’t enough—this one’s for you. Because the Spirit doesn’t need a spotlight. Just a willing heart and a little room to move.

(Also: yes, I switched it up last Sunday and preached this bad boy sitting on a stool. No fog machines. No zipline to the baptismal font. Just me, my notes, and the Spirit.)

Watch here 🎥👇

In a lighter (and delightfully scented) moment this week, I shared a piece inspired by the quasi spiritual practices of today’s fifth graders—namely, their deep devotion to Touchland hand sanitizer. If you haven’t witnessed the sacred spritzing rituals of tweens lately, let me assure you: this stuff is basically holy water with a mango mist. Watching my daughter’s friends treat this tiny bottle with the kind of reverence usually reserved for relics and Taylor Swift tickets got me thinking about how even the smallest habits can become sacraments. It’s a fun little reflection on the liturgies of modern childhood and the surprising places we find meaning, belonging, and maybe accidentally stumble into a purity circle we never expected...

Notes of the week

Word of the week

🕊️ New Sermon: "Who Was I to Hinder God?"

This one hit close to home. In Acts 11, Peter finds himself shocked by the Spirit’s generosity—falling on the “wrong” people at the “wrong” time in the “wrong” place. Sound familiar?

This sermon explores what happens when grace shows up ahead of us, breaks our categories, and dares us to love people we thought were off-limits. It’s not about politics—it’s about the scandal of a God who refuses to play by our ego’s rules.

Give it a listen if you’ve ever found yourself wondering, “Wait… God’s moving over THERE?”
Spoiler: Yep. And always has been.

In the first post, I tell the story of a recent visit to the bookstore. I found myself standing in the self-help/spirituality section—browsing titles by folks like Eckhart Tolle, Ernest Holmes, and Martha Beck. Years ago, that shelf felt like home. These days, as a Lutheran pastor, I see things differently. But I also realized: I’m still me. The same soul longing that once pulled me toward those books is still here—it’s just taken on a new shape.

That’s what this series is really about: the way grace meets us in the in-between. How we can change, grow, and evolve—and yet still carry something essential and true through it all. Something God refuses to let go of.

Notes of the week

Homily of the week

🪡 “She Sat Up” — A Mother's Day Sermon 🌸

Resurrection doesn’t always come with fireworks. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Subtle. A name softly spoken in love.

On Mother’s Day, we met Tabitha—a woman who didn’t preach or perform miracles, but stitched love into the fabric of her community. And when she died… they wept. They remembered. And then, something holy happened.

This sermon is for anyone who feels like a dropped stitch. A forgotten name. A loose thread.

Whether you’re soaring or barely stitched together—this one’s for you...

P.S. If you’re in a season of wanting to take a closer look at your vocation - maybe even make a shift - there’s still room to hang out with Alex (I’ll be there too) in Inverness, CA at her upcoming retreat. Again, this isn’t your typical “go fix yourself” retreat. It’s a space to remember who you are. To listen inward. To reclaim the gifts you may have buried under daily life. There’ll be soulful reflection, nature, quiet magic, and home-cooked meals by a Northern California culinary legend (Alex’s mom, who, I can attest, is the best chef in the world).

👉 Click here to learn more.

In Joy,
Jonas

This week, I shared the most personal and important piece I’ve written in a while. It’s part memoir, part spiritual reckoning, and it sets the tone for everything this space will be going forward.

If you’ve been following me through my winding journey—from Catholic roots to New Thought stages, and now into Lutheran ministry—this post ties the threads together. It’s about integrating the mystic and the pastor, the metaphysical and the sacramental, the seeker and the found.

It’s honest, a little raw, and hopefully a healing read for anyone who's ever felt torn between spiritual worlds…

🌲 Something Sacred This Way Comes: A Retreat in Inverness, CA

This week, I shared something close to my heart. My wife, Alex, is leading a soulful two-day retreat this June in one of the most sacred spots I know—St. Columba’s Retreat House, nestled in the redwoods above Tomales Bay.

This isn’t your typical “go fix yourself” retreat. It’s a space to remember who you are. To listen inward. To reclaim the gifts you may have buried under daily life. There’ll be soulful reflection, nature, quiet magic, and home-cooked meals by a Northern California culinary legend (Alex’s mom).

It’s also where I was ordained. Where my spiritual life cracked open in the best way. I’ll be there too—holding space, pouring coffee, maybe offering a contemplative pause or two.

If your spirit’s been whispering lately… this might be the thing it’s trying to tell you…

Notes from the week

I also owe you a couple homilies… Enjoy!

Hey friends,

I want to tell you about something special that my wife, Alex, is offering this June. It’s a retreat—not in the abstract, “go off and get your act together” sense, but in the deep, soul-nourishing sense of stepping into sacred space… and remembering who you really are.

Alex has spent years helping people uncover their natural gifts—whether they’re students, creatives, executives, or anyone in the midst of figuring out what’s next. She recently co-authored Your Hidden Genius and even appeared on the Tamron Hall Show with celebrity chef Carla Hall to talk about the power of knowing your unique aptitudes. (Alex is the one in the black shirt.)

While her work is usually rooted in the professional world, this retreat is something she’s dreamed about for a long time—a chance to explore the more spiritual side of vocational discernment, in a setting that invites depth, honesty, and transformation.

It’s happening June 6–7, 2025 at St. Columba’s Retreat House, tucked into the redwoods above Tomales Bay in Inverness, CA. If you’ve never been to that part of the world—just north of San Francisco—it’s… otherworldly. A true “thin place,” as the Celts would say. The kind of place where the veil feels a little lighter, where something more eternal has a chance to get through.

This place holds deep meaning for me. St. Columba’s is where I was ordained in 2023. It’s also the home of my dear friend and one of my most beloved mentors, Fr. Vincent Pizzuto—a scholar of Christian mysticism and a quiet force in the contemplative Christian movement. His leadership and community there played a major role in shaping my own ministry. During seminary, my family and I would make pilgrimages out there every couple of months, just to be in the space, to worship, to breathe (and yes, to drink and laugh with Fr. Vincent and his hubby, Fernando). It’s that kind of place.

Alex will be guiding participants through her work based on her book Your Hidden Genius. It’s all about discovering and reclaiming the parts of ourselves that may have gone underground—those innate aptitudes and gifts we carry that are often overlooked in the hustle of life. The weekend will include soulful conversation, reflection, time in nature, and a lot of heart.

Also: amazing food (prepared by her mom, Jeanne, who is a legit Northern California culinary gem - see her in action below), cozy fireside conversations, and that kind of quiet you can only find when you get far enough away from cell reception.

And here’s something else that makes retreats like this so powerful: it’s not just the scheduled workshops or the stillness that heals—it’s the in-between moments. The kismet. The sacred coincidences. Like when you run into someone while making tea in the communal kitchen and end up in a conversation that cracks something open. Or when you're wandering the meditative outdoor Stations of the Cross and someone joins you, silently or with a word that lands right where you need it. These chance encounters are often where the real transformation happens. The Spirit moves beautifully in the gaps.

I’ll be there too, quietly in the background—holding space, pouring coffee, maybe leading a contemplative pause or two. This is Alex’s show, and it’s going to be beautiful.

If your soul is tugging at your sleeve lately…
If you’ve been feeling a bit disoriented or unsure of your next chapter…
If you just need to breathe more deeply, to be in a space where you can hear yourself again—this might be the invitation.

You can see Alex’s post about it here, but here’s the important info…

Early bird pricing ended May 4th, but I still may be able to get you in! Because you’re with me, you also get an additional (drumroll, please…) 20% off!

Get the discount by emailing me here

Along The Way Pricing:

$695 $506 - Single Occupancy Room
$595 $426 - Shared Rooms - shared with one person
$395 $316 - Full retreat, no room/with meals
$295 $236 - Full retreat, no room/no meals

Space is intentionally limited.

Hope to see you there.

With grace,
Jonas

Get the discount by emailing me here

I can’t believe we’re halfway through Lent! Spring is officially here, and Easter is right around the bend.

I’m reading a new book from one of my favorite teachers, Dr. Andrew Root, called Evangelism in an Age of Despair: Hope beyond the Failed Promise of Happiness. I know, it sounds like a bummer of a title (so Lutheran). But it gets at the core of our modern ailment, where we’re so transfixed on ‘happiness’ as our highest good, but everyone is… Sad. And lonely. And anxiety-ridden. And exhausted. And…. Yeah.

This book will be coloring my thinking for quite some time. (It deeply influenced my recent homily below.) Though I highly recommend it to both spiritual leaders and layfolk, the basis of it all is this: Christ follows us into sorrow and ministers to us there. (And therefore, we are called to follow others into sorrow and minister to them there. Not through sales pitches or spiffy arguments. But through friendship.)

This book has been an excellent Lenten companion, and I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Notes of the Week

Homily of the Week

It’s been a good number of weeks since I’ve written a normal post like this. Honestly, life and ministry have just been, well… A lot! It’s all great stuff - I’m not complaining. But wow, has it been hard to find time to carve out to post anything substantial here.

However…

I HAVE been writing a lot in the ‘notes’ feature here (to learn more about what this is, you can read more here). With the current pace of my life, it’s a great way for me to share. I enjoy how simple notes are. I don’t have to think of a headline or bug you with an email. I just jump on and say something. Kinda fun.

You can read my notes in the Substack app (or on the browser), but they don’t get emailed to you like a normal post does. (You can see my full archive of notes here.)

Because ‘Notes’ are automatically posted in Substack’s greater ecosystem for the world to see and thus are a form of social media (both a blessing and a curse), I’ve decided to limit comments on them to only paid subscribers of this publication. (As always, if you can’t swing the price of a paid subscription, email me and let me know. I’ll set you up, no questions asked.)

I look forward to having more fun with notes. I might try my hand at posting some photos and short videos there. If you see any that speak to you, give them a heart! If I see a lot of interest in one, it’ll motivate me to expand on it in a longer-form post.

I’m going to try my best to get back to these weekly compendiums, where I’ll share my homilies, most recent notes, and notes from others I’m moved by. (BTW, I’m SO far behind in sharing homilies with you… Head over here to our church YouTube channel and subscribe to never miss one!)

Anyhow, I hope this finds you well and warm this Lenten season.

Recent Notes

Recent Notes from others

Recent Homily

I don’t know about you, but in the recent week since the inauguration, I’ve noticed the cultural vitriol has cranked itself up to a fever pitch. This is no surprise. But here we go again with everyone running to their ideological corners of the internet for another four-year battle against “the other side.”

It’s too much for any individual human soul to take the brunt of this digital onslaught of information designed to pluck the strings of our lizard brains to grab (and profit from) our attention.

Though it seems new, the story remains the same. We are collectively fractured. And think about it…

Any collective is made up of individuals who are - in and of ourselves - fractured. Separated. From others, God, self, and the created world.

As subjective beings, we’re all restless as we circle various landing strips looking for a return ‘home.’ And shortly after we touch down and think we’ve ‘arrived,’ we’re faced with that dreaded familiar feeling that this just isn’t it. Any ideology, any community, and collective creed or dogma or schema is just not enough to make us whole.

We are fractured and therefore, our collective is fractured. This is the tale as old as time. Only now, our fractures are encouraged, egged on, and monetized. Our economy is fueled by our fractures. We saw the ones who profit most from our fractures standing behind the President on Inauguration Day. And things are only going to get more accelerated, radicalized, polarized, and… Weird. (Scary?)

***

I know that many have left the church - and many for good reason (I’m one of them who returned fairly recently, actually). But I can’t think of a place more vital to our individual and collective healing than church in our current moment.

But a quick word of pastoral concern is required here…

Seriously, sleep in. Save your money. Why make the trip across town if your church mirrors what your phone screen does?

I’m of the opinion that a Christian church should resemble a recovery meeting more than it does a pep rally. The potential gift at hand from church is to give us a different narrative than the one that has a grip over the world at large. To give us something different than an us-vs.-them posture toward the world.

Jesus’ message will always be countercultural. It will always challenge us before it comforts us. Jesus finds the lines we’ve drawn against “the other” and invites us to step across it in ego-emptying love.

How terrifying.

The algorithm fills our minds with people “like us.” It gives us an echo chamber. A digital community of like-minded people (which has its place, don’t get me wrong).

But in church, we have the holy opportunity to sit next to people who are not always like us. Church assemblies often cross lines of class, race, age, and gender. We come and confess in front of the same loving and eternally forgiving God. We pray for each other. We drink horrible church coffee together and hear each other’s stories. In short, we do a couple hours worth of life together each week. And we do it in the well-worn rhythms of the liturgical season that keep us grounded in a narrative bigger than our own.

Our fractures are what we all have in common. We are all cracked in various ways. But Jesus, the crucified God, is the one who reveals that these cracks are where God does the most miraculous work. In Jesus, our cracks and fractures aren’t monetized or manipulated. They aren’t seen as problems to overcome in seven easy steps or with a simple monthly subscription. They’re not seen as our deficiencies. And they’re also not ignored or downplayed. In Jesus, they’re generative. We receive new life out of our deaths. Over and over again.

In that light, I can look at the fractures in our collective body not as a hopeless situation. But as a vast opportunity for God to pour into and create something new. Even though I don’t always believe it. Even though I need Jesus’ faith now more than ever, this is the epiphany I’m trying to lean into these days.

So, in closing…

A blessed Epiphanytide to you and yours wherever you are. Now here are a few of my random musings for you to chew on (and I owe you a couple homilies which are below as well). Until next time, as always…

Grace and Godspeed,
Jonas

Recent Homilies

Notes of the week

I want to interrupt this Epiphanytide season to make a very important announcement…

It’s an exciting time in the Ellison household. My wife Alex (follow her Substack newsletter here) has been working for the last five years on a book with her colleague, Betsy Wills, that got picked up by Harper Collins Publishing and is being released (Jan. 21)!! We just got the hardcovers in the mail yesterday. It’s just so cool to see this thing finally come into the world.

The book is called Your Hidden Genius. It’s been fascinating to watch the trajectory of her career. 11 years ago, after working for a college counseling company in the San Francisco Bay Area, she set off on her own, working with clients in Reno when we lived there. Rory was a newborn. Alex’s boss was a tyrant who didn’t pay her maternity leave and treated her like garbage. So Alex cut the cord, so to speak, and started her own business. The only marketing she had was word of mouth, and her business has steadily grown over the years.

Her early clients went from high school to college and are now well into their careers. Alex has followed them along the way and now her business offers counseling on everything from college admissions to early career guidance and beyond.

The core of Alex’s work is aptitudes. These are our natural talents we develop very young and become second nature to us. Betsy, her co-author, is the co-founder of YouScience, the company that took aptitude assessment from an expensive multi-day in-person endeavor where you had to travel to an office for a proctored aptitude assessment (Johnson O’Connor was the pioneer in this and still does this work today) to an online assessment that you can take from home in your PJ’s. Alex has been using this YouScience assessment with her clients from the get-go.

Aptitudes are different than interests. Though interests are important, they're flighty. They change according to context, gender, etc. Aptitudes don’t really change. Case in point - one of the people Alex interviewed for the book (who has long been the White House usher) took the in-person Johnson O’Connor aptitude assessment decades ago. When Alex and Betsy had him take the YouScience assessment recently, his results were identical to his prior ones. Though his interests had changed, his aptitudes remained the same. In this way, our aptitudes tend to set like concrete very early in our lives.

A lot of counselors work from the other end. They find the most desired job or college and try to shape their clients to fit into those molds. Alex works the other way. She finds the ‘shape’ of her clients (by assessing their aptitudes) and aligns them with the career or the college that fits THEM. She sees a person’s God-given (my language) aptitudes/talents as their ‘through line’ (the name of her business is Throughline Guidance) that they can hold onto throughout their lives. Holding onto this talent thread in our lives leads us to enriching work and enjoyable hobbies and avocations. When we work from our gifts rather than our deficits, life becomes a heck of a lot more enjoyable and effortless. If not, you’re like a lefty trying like crazy to write with your right hand.

Discovering your aptitudes is a huge benefit no matter what line of work you’re in. The only thing is, you might discover you’re in a line of work that contradicts your aptitudes. But that’s okay! Because as long as you’re aware, you can move towards the things in any career that best fit your gifts.

Taking myself as an example, as a pastor, I’m in an abstract field that’s great for generalists. My work involves abstract spiritual concepts and it offers a lot of different things ‘to do’ (from preaching to crafting worship liturgy to providing spiritual care to administration to having the church toilet fixed when it leaks to community outreach, etc.). However, I’m a specialist, which means I love to get hyper-focused on one thing. I have a hard time managing everything. I’m also a spatial thinker rather than an abstract one. I’d be better off building things out of wood than writing textbooks. You’d think this would mean a career nightmare for me, but alas - it doesn’t! I just know that my focus needs to stay more on spatial and tactile endeavors like liturgy and curating the worship experience rather than conceptual abstract things. Because I’m a specialist, I need to delegate a lot of tasks to others. This awareness has helped me immensely in my short career so far.

Alex and I did a workshop at my church earlier last summer. She went over the on-the-ground practical aspects of aptitudes (we gave attendees the assessment beforehand), and I covered the theological and spiritual aspects of vocation (it turns out Martin Luther was BIG on vocation).

A big point here is that aptitude awareness can seem like something most beneficial to younger career-focused people. But here’s the thing… We’re living longer. The hope is that when we retire, we have plenty of life left. Older folks (which my church demographic largely consists of) often realize upon retirement that they didn’t particularly enjoy their careers. So what do they do with their time now that money isn’t an obstacle? What a great time for a fresh start! (Columnist David Brooks wrote at length about this here.) This is where aptitude awareness comes into play. Upon retirement, you still have time to spend. You might as well spend it on endeavors that fit the shape of… you. Whether you dig into a hobby, volunteer your time at a local organization, go to work part-time, or geek out on things you’ve always wanted to learn more about - knowing your aptitudes is a super worthwhile endeavor.

So… Of course… Here’s my shameless plug to buy the book!

Amazon page for the book

It’s sooooo good!! And, a big selling point is, the book comes with a code you use to take your own aptitude assessment via YouScience FOR FREE!! Pre-orders really help and the book releases on Jan. 21.

And if this aptitude stuff sounds like something you want to know more about, well, I kinda know the author:) She might be willing to come onto a live Substack Q&A or something to answer your questions about this stuff. Let me know what you think in the comments below or by replying to the email this post comes in.

Whenever I see footage of fires (especially fires that affect human life, like the ones burning in Los Angeles right now), it makes me starkly aware of how close we all are to… displacement. To alienation from home and our material belongings.

Fires don’t judge. They’re brutally inclusive. They displace and alienate without discretion.

So, as I was doom-scrolling through endless footage of entire neighborhoods being ravaged in LA and feeling hopeless as usual, I started thinking about this book I just finished reading by philosopher Todd McGowan called Embracing Alienation, which has changed the way I look at, well… Life. He follows the train of thought of a lot of thinkers I’ve wanted to understand better but have had a hard time grasping (Kierkegaard, Lacan, Rollins, etc.).

McGowan talks about the universal nature of alienation. Not only do we live with constant fear of being alienated from our homes, communities, etc. (external alienation). We also live with a sense of being alienated from… Ourselves (inner alienation). This is what it means to be a subjective being. If this weren’t the case, we’d melt right into the worldview of our upbringing, and we’d remain there. But this isn’t the case. We doubt. We question. We have a hard time deciding what is right and wrong or what we even want!

If the self is a building, well, the building is always on fire.

So, we flee. We run toward community because we want to feel at home. We don’t want to feel alienated anymore. We want to feel whole and complete. As seductive as the community is, and though it promises wholeness and belonging, we bring our subjective selves with us. After a while, we start to see that we don’t fully belong. We get itchy:) Maybe we stray from the edicts of the community to varying degrees. Maybe we notice hypocrisy. Maybe certain members of the community just flat-out don’t like us. Maybe we change.

In his book, McGowan points out how every community is, by definition, exclusive. There’s an inside and outside. The right-wing needs the immigrant to stand against. No immigrant, no right-wing. On the other hand, the left-wing needs the nationalists to stand against. No nationalist bigots and the left-wing ceases to have a reason to exist.

No community is fully inclusive.

He contrasts this with the public (the commons). In the public, we are more aware of our subjective nature. The commons are not held together by community edicts or identity. When you sit next to someone on a public bus, you don’t know what their religion, worldview, politics, language, heritage (etc.) is. The public is the only place where we are foundationally equal. It’s when the community encroaches on the public that oppression happens. This is what the Civil Rights movement stood against. Rosa Parks made the statement that the White community was allowing their community edicts to encroach on the commons. (There’s so much more in the book; I highly recommend it.)

The assigned weekly Scripture reading for Epiphany is awash in the theme of alienation. The Gospel reading from Matthew is the story about the magi arriving at the star in Bethlehem. God is revealed, not to the violent and oppressive community organizer - King Herod. God enters flesh in a displaced child (baby Jesus) and is revealed to those outside the covenant - the magi - Zoroastrian wisdom seekers from the East. God shows up to alienated people.

In fact, all of Scripture - Old Testament to New - is awash in alienation. God always seems to show up to those who have smacked face-first into alienation and displacement. Whose identity has become burned to the ground. This goes for Moses. Abraham. Ruth. Sarah. Mary and Joseph. All the disciples. The Syrophoenician woman. The woman caught in adultery. The Roman centurion. Leppers. The demon-possessed. Zacchaeus, the tax collector, up in the tree, hiding from the community he’s been alienated from.

And then, the founder of the Christian faith himself, Jesus, hanging on a cross… Alienated. Not just from the Roman Empire. Not just from the Jewish religious elite. But from God. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Certain theologians have made the argument (and I’m starting to get more on board with this) that in Jesus, we see that God is alienated from Godself.

So, if this is the case… Instead of fleeing alienation toward an exclusive community… We can embrace our alienation and know that it isn’t actually oppressive, but GENERATIVE!! Our alienation from self and community provides the fractures that new life can be born through! We can never flee our alienated state. And though we’ll never stop seeking identity, it will never give us shelter for long.

As we see in the public sphere, our alienation is the ONE thing we all (!) have in common. We are all subjective beings and there’s no getting over it. If we could come to terms with this, maybe we could live better together as humans.

I think it’s at least worth exploring.

On a normal Sunday, I’d be hopping out of the shower and heading to church. After being away for a week on Christmas vacation with my family, I was actually looking forward to it. Alas, on the second to last day of vacation, I felt that dreadful pain in my throat when I swallowed. I tried to deny it, but the symptoms got worse. I was sick. I thought I had successfully dodged the holiday pathogens, but they finally got me. I had to call in the backup team to lead worship today and I slept in a few hours to heal.

So, the sermon I wrote last week will sit in the archives for a few more years when we circle back to the prologue of John’s Gospel on the Second Sunday of Christmas in Year C of ye olde lectionary. I won’t be preaching today, but if I were, here’s essentially what I’d say…

In this amazing prologue (John 1:1-18), we have this cosmic eternal Word and Light of Life in Jesus, the Christ that comes into the world. This Light, when recognized in the particular form of Jesus, gives us a certain kind of power. But the power It gives us isn’t what I grew up learning about in the He-Man and Transformers cartoons I loved to watch. It doesn’t give us the power to rule over others, kick-ass, and take names (in God’s book, this is the opposite of true power and is actually a form of bondage we’ve called Sin). The eternal Light of Christ gives us the power to be children of God.

Wait…
Power?…
To be… Children?
Isn’t that the opposite of what you and I might call… Power?

If we fast-forward the story, we see that Jesus dies to our petty little violent power plays and transcends them to show us, “Yeah, that’s not power. Violence and aggression are your last resort, and they have no real effect on the Reality you see in me. I am your power, and I am the eternal wellspring of love, mercy, and forgiveness.”

This moves us from a posture of force and aggression into one of receptivity and acceptance.

This is the time of year when everyone is posting their resolutions online. It’s the season of new year, new you. The culture is shouting, Let’s go!! But it’s still dark outside for much of the day.

Jesus used two books of Scripture - the Small Book that we call The “Old Testament” and the Big Book of Nature, which he referenced at least as much as the Small Book. We don’t reference the Big Book much in our modern North American context, but what it’s telling us now (at least in the Northern Hemisphere) is…

Rest! Wait! Reflect. Be receptive!

This blew my mind when I learned it, but a loooooong time ago, the new year started in March (in reverence to the Roman god Mars, but also as in, let’s MARCH into this new year!). October was the 8th month (octo - eight), November was the ninth month (novo - nine), and December was the tenth month (deca - ten). We followed the rhythm of nature and started the new year when the flora started blooming and the days lengthened.

But then (speaking of one whose motto was ‘kick ass and take names’), Julius Caesar changed it to honor the Roman god Janus. He went against the Big Book to fit the rhythm of life into his own small worldview. And here we have it. A new year starting when nature is screaming at us to be like children and rest (yes, kids need a lot of rest).

Now, I know that life goes on. If you have a job that feeds your family, you can’t call your boss and say, “Sorry, MY new year doesn’t start until March, so I’ll be at home resting until Spring!” This as more of a posture thing. When you see the resolutions flying around, don’t feel bad for not feeling motivated. Know that it’s not you who is the abnormal one. When you feel blue that another year has come and gone, and my oh my, how they go so fast, it’s okay. What makes it worse is falling into the false narrative that you need to force each year to be progressively better than the last. Know that you are a child of God and your Eternal Parent is working on your behalf to shape your life into something beautiful in ways that run counter to our Greco-Roman inspired way of life that works against the Reality seen in the Life and Light of Christ - the one true God.

On this Second Sunday after Christmas Day, know that this isn’t really the season of ‘new year, new you.’ Rather, it’s the season to remind yourself that the God of the Universe moved into vulnerable flesh to be with-you. Take the season off, as much as you can. Let God do the work here. This is where you can find the restful power in these darker months to be the beloved children of God that you truly are. Now is the season to let this truth gestate inside of you. And in the spring, when the Big Book prompts you to, you can spring forth into a more outward expression. But until then, rest well when you can and take care.

In Comfort and Joy,
Jonas+

I would say Merry ‘belated’ Christmas, but Christmas is just getting started:) We have eight more days of it, and I pray this finds you warm and well in the thick of it.

I’m currently on vacation mode, visiting family in the Sierra Valley for the next week or so. I’m writing this post on a Saturday, and it’s a strange sensation not to be frantically tinkering with my sermon for its usual Sunday delivery.

A friend gave me a book for Christmas by philosopher and cultural theorist Byung Chul-Han1 called The Spirit of Hope. I’ve been circling around Han for a long time and have read a lot of people who reference him but haven’t yet dug into his work directly. Well, this morning, I finished my first Han book and am aptly addicted. What a wise soul. And so interesting. He’s a Korean Catholic who studied Heidegger and was a professor at Berlin University of the Arts (he actually writes in German even though he didn’t move there until he was in his 20s).

I love the size of his books. They’re essays of about 80 pages. He goes deep - a lot of it goes over my head - but then he always lands the plane impeccably. And for a genius, he’s full of quotable nuggets. I’m a fan.

This book carries the theme of Christmas and Advent and is about… Hope.

I’ve always been a little skeptical about the word ‘hope.’ It’s always struck me as passive. My dad used to say, “Hope in one hand and sh*t in the other and tell me which one is more real.”

Yyyyeah.

Anyhow, Han has given me the language to understand this thing called hope.

He says that, unlike optimism, hope coexists with despair. The greater the intensity of despair, the greater the intensity of hope.

Hope is not the same thing as optimism in Han’s book. Optimism lacks negativity. It doesn’t go anywhere. As Han would say, there is really no future in optimism.

But hope is a searching movement. With hope, we joyfully enter the unknown and lean into the what-is-not-yet. Hope doesn’t settle, it awakens.

Optimism and pessimism, Han argues, are alike. For both, time is closed. They “lack imagination for the new and passion for the unprecedented.” Hope breaks us out of the prison of closed time.

Han calls rampant positivity a cult. A cult that isolates us, makes us egotistical, and deprives us of empathy. In the cult of positivity, we become uninterested in the suffering of others and look only to our own happiness and well-being. (Our current neoliberal culture, which kicked off in a big way with Milton Friedman Reaganomics, is a culture based on the cult of positivity.)

But hope doesn’t turn away from the negative. It can be with the negative without collapsing into it. Hope unites and reconciles.

I’ve long had an allergy to negativity. I’ve resisted it. But since returning to the Christian faith, I’ve noticed that negativity is absolutely part of the deal. As Han says, both deep happiness and passionate love have a negative pole. “Without negativity, intensity is impossible.”

With hope, we harness the intensity that thrusts us forward into the yet-to-come.

Even though it’s now Christmas, we’re always in a state of Advent. We live in the liminal. In the now-but-not-yet.

This was such a fantastic read, and I look forward to reading more of his work (I just bought his most well-known book, The Burnout Society).

Below, you’ll find a couple of my latest homilies and notes. Both homilies are in conversation with Han. I hope you can find a good word or two in them. But for now, I’m off again to enjoy the fresh mountain air and family festivities as I hold ‘hope’ as the theme of the new year.

In Comfort and Joy,
Jonas+