🤝 When A Course in Miracles Meets Christianity
A Christian pastor's journey beyond either/or
This is the eighth and final post in my series, "Grace Between the Lines"—a journey through the beautifully strange overlap between Christian theology, mystical spirituality, and the books that have shaped me along the way. 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.
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!
In case you missed the previous posts in the series…
Intro - ✨ This Time, It’s Not a Comeback — It’s a Reconciliation
Post #1 - 📚 Did You Hear the One Where the Lutheran Pastor Walks Into the Metaphysics Aisle?
Post #2 - 📺 How a PBS Mystic Became My Spiritual Gateway Drug
Post #3 - 💔 When I Drifted
Post #4 - ✨ If Channeling Freaks You Out, Let’s Talk About Paul
Post #5 - 🔥 Is A Course in Miracles Heretical?
Post #6 - 🧩 The Finnish Theologian Who Made Space for My Mystical Side
Post #7 - 💒 Officiating the Marriage of My Two Spiritual Lives
If you're reading this and you've been secretly wondering whether you can love both Jesus and A Course in Miracles, whether you can be a faithful Christian and still find wisdom in Helen Schucman's channeled text, whether you have to choose between the church and the Course—this post is for you.
For years, I carried this question like a stone in my chest. Could I be both? Was I betraying my Christian faith by still valuing what ACIM had taught me? Was I being dishonest with my mystical side by anchoring it in traditional Christianity? Was integration possible, or was I just fooling myself?
The answer, I've discovered, is beautifully both/and.
Something funny happens when you stop choosing between traditions and start letting them illuminate each other. You start seeing both through integrated eyes.
📖 How Christian Tradition Reads Differently Now
I picked up Thomas Merton the other day—something I've done many times over the years. But this time, when I read his line about contemplation being "the direct intuition of the reality of God," I didn't just nod appreciatively. I actually felt what he was talking about.
That's the ACIM influence. For years, Christian mystical language was beautiful but abstract to me. "Union with Christ" sounded lovely in theory, but what did it actually feel like? How do you access "the peace that passes understanding" on a Tuesday morning when your daughter can't find her backpack and you're already running late to school?
ACIM gave me vocabulary for the experiential side of what Christian mystics have always been pointing toward. Like when Finnish Lutheran mystical theologian Tuomo Mannermaa talks about "Christ present in faith," I now have psychological language for what that presence feels like: the quiet knowing that you're held… The inner stillness that doesn't depend on circumstances… The love that's already there before you do anything to earn it.
Martin Luther's mystical language suddenly makes sense. When he talks about Christ and the soul becoming "one flesh," I'm not just tracking the theology with my brain anymore. I can feel the reality he's describing—that sense of your deepest identity being found not in your own thoughts and feelings but in something infinitely larger and more loving.
The "new creation" becomes present tense. The Apostle Paul's promise that "if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation" stops being future eschatology and becomes current reality. ACIM's emphasis on present-moment awakening helps me recognize that the transformation isn't something I'm waiting for—it's something I'm learning to notice.
Prayer becomes conversation, not performance. Christian tradition taught me that prayer was important, but ACIM taught me that prayer could be natural. Not just talking to God but recognizing the ongoing dialogue that's already happening. The difference between prayer as spiritual discipline and prayer as spiritual breathing.
💫 How ACIM Reads Differently Now
But the transformation goes both directions. I can't read A Course in Miracles the same way I used to either—and that's a good thing.
The "Christ" voice gains incarnational weight. When ACIM says, "I am with you always," I don't just hear cosmic consciousness anymore. I hear the voice of someone who walked dusty roads in first-century Palestine, who knew what it felt like to be misunderstood, who experienced both the glory of transfiguration and the agony of abandonment. The Course's Christ isn't just a principle—it's the same Jesus who wept over Jerusalem and whose wounds still bear the marks of love's costly victory over death.
Psychological insights get grounded in Christian anthropology. ACIM talks brilliantly about how the ego works—the way fear creates the illusion of separation, how guilt perpetuates itself, how love dissolves false identity. But now I read those insights through the lens of what Christians have always known about being made in God's image, about the fall, about redemption. It's not just pop psychology with spiritual language; it's sophisticated Christian psychology that happens to use contemporary vocabulary.
"Brothers and sisters" becomes ecclesiology. ACIM constantly talks about recognizing Christ in your "brothers and sisters." But now I understand this isn't just metaphysical niceness. It's what Christians call the body of Christ. The Course's emphasis on relationships as the classroom for spiritual growth connects directly to what the church has always taught about iron sharpening iron, about bearing one another's burdens, about being the hands and feet of Christ for each other.
Forgiveness gets sacramental depth. The Course teaches that forgiveness is "seeing past the ego to the divine light in others." Beautiful. But through Christian eyes, I now see this as participation in God's reconciling work in the world. It's not just changing your perception, it's joining God's mission to restore all things. It has personal implications, not just cosmic ones.
🌊 The Hermeneutical Shift
Here's what's really changed: I'm no longer reading defensively.
For the last few years, whenever I encountered ACIM, part of me was always on guard. Is this compatible with Christianity? Does this contradict orthodox belief? Should I be worried about this? And when I read Christian mystical texts, I was doing the same thing from the other direction: Is this too woo-woo? Will this make me less grounded? Am I being faithful to the tradition?
That internal theological referee has finally taken a seat.
Now I read all of it symphonically—hearing harmonies and counterpoints that enrich both melodies. I'm not trying to make one acceptable to the other anymore. I'm listening for how they illuminate and deepen each other.
Christian tradition becomes less rigid. When you realize that the Spirit has been speaking mystical truth through many voices across many centuries, you stop needing to defend every doctrinal formulation as if your salvation depends on it. Grace is sturdier than our theological sorting systems.
ACIM becomes more grounded. When you read the Course through incarnational eyes, it stops floating in abstract spirituality and gets anchored in the God who entered human history. It's not about escaping the world but about seeing the world through God's eyes.
Both traditions become more themselves, not less. This is the part that surprised me most. Integration didn't water down either tradition. It made them both more robust and alive. I'm not a Christian who dabbles in ACIM, or an ACIM student who happens to be a pastor. I've become something new: a mystical Christian whose mysticism is thoroughly incarnational and whose Christianity is experientially grounded.
🎯 What This Looks Like Practically
Prayer Life: I pray both ways now. Sometimes it's traditional Christian prayer—confession, petition, thanksgiving, guided by the liturgical calendar and rooted in Scripture. Other times it's ACIM-style inner listening—dropping into stillness and letting divine love dissolve whatever fear or judgment I'm carrying. But increasingly, it all feels like one seamless conversation with the same loving presence.
Scripture Reading: I read the Bible both historically and mystically now. I care about context and original meaning (historical-critical method), but I also listen for how the Spirit might be speaking through ancient words into present circumstances (lectio divina meets Course-style inner guidance). Both approaches feel necessary, not competing.
Spiritual Direction: When I'm sitting with someone who's struggling spiritually, I draw from both wells. Sometimes they need to hear about God's unconditional love in traditional Christian language. Sometimes they need ACIM's psychological sophistication about how guilt and fear operate. Often they need both—and I no longer see any tension in offering both.
Community Engagement: I can be fully present in traditional Christian worship while also carrying ACIM's insights about seeing Christ in everyone. I can participate in outward-facing ministry while also holding the Course's teaching that healing the world starts with healing our own perception. Both/and instead of either/or.
🌅 What Integration Actually Feels Like
Integration is profoundly peaceful. For years, I carried this low-level anxiety about my spiritual past. Was I betraying my Christian faith by still valuing what ACIM had taught me? Was I being dishonest with my mystical side by anchoring it in traditional Christianity?
I’m happy to say now that the internal civil war is over.
I wake up in the morning and I don't have to choose which spiritual identity to put on. I don't have to code-switch between traditions or hide parts of myself depending on my audience. I can quote Merton and Helen Schucman in the same breath. I can pray the Lord's Prayer and practice ACIM forgiveness principles with the same heart.
The hunger for transcendence and the need for incarnational grounding aren't competing anymore—they're dancing together.
🎬 The End Credits
As this series comes to a close, I want to say thank you. Thank you for following along on this strange journey of spiritual integration. Thank you for being curious instead of dismissive. Thank you for making space for someone to think out loud about how grace might be bigger than our categories.
If you're in that place now—torn between traditions, carrying spiritual secrets, wondering if you have to choose between depth and orthodoxy—I hope this series has given you permission to stop choosing. The Spirit is vast enough to speak through ancient liturgies and contemporary channeled texts. Christ is big enough to meet you in the cathedral and your living room, in Eucharist and meditation, in confession and affirmation.
You don't have to throw away your past to embrace your present. You don't have to hide your mystical hunger to be faithful to your tradition. You don't have to choose between head and heart, between roots and wings, between mystery and certainty.
The grace of God is already holding all of it—including the parts you're not sure about yet.
Your journey toward wholeness isn't a betrayal of faith. It is faith. Faith that God is bigger than our boxes, that love is more creative than our categories, that the Spirit truly does blow where it wills.
And sometimes, if you're really paying attention, you might just feel that wind at your back, pushing you not away from Christ but deeper into the mystery of what it means to be held, and healed, and made whole.
The series is ending, but the integration continues.
Along the Way,
Jonas
P.S. If this series has resonated with you, I'd love to hear about your own journey of spiritual integration. What traditions are you learning to hold together? What parts of your story are asking to be reconciled rather than rejected? The conversation continues in the comments, and honestly, that's where the best stuff usually happens.