This week along the way
This week, I shared the third post in my series Grace Between the Lines—a behind-the-scenes look at the strange, winding path that led me back to Jesus. In this chapter, I revisit the season after my mom died, when the old God stopped making sense and the pews felt like someone else’s house. It’s a story of spiritual drifting, unexpected love, and a mystical blue book that cracked something open. If you’ve ever found yourself in the in-between—longing for Christ but allergic to the baggage—this one’s for you. Grace, as always, finds another way in…
💔 When I Drifted
This is the third post in my series, “Grace Between the Lines”—a journey through the beautifully strange overlap between Lutheran theology, mystical spirituality, and the books and ideas that have shaped me along the way. Whether you've been around since the early days of my writing or you're just tuning in, I’m so glad you’re here.
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…
🙈 Confessions Too Small to Be Impressive (But Too Real to Ignore)
If I were to stand in front of you and say, "Hi, I’m Jonas, and I used to struggle with heroin," most people would blink, nod, maybe even offer a hug. A quiet moment of solemnity. A spiritual awakening queued up in the wings.
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 🎥👇