Hey, I just wanted to take a moment and introduce my guest, Jonathan Brink. He is an author of Discovering the God Imagination. He's also a curriculum writer and a UX designer in the Bay Area. In addition, he's a husband and father—one of his daughters is getting married very soon. Most of all, Jonathan is a kind human being who is always seeking how to better grow in his love and grace and how to give those freely to people. And he does. In fact, I'd say that he really, really enjoys people—you talk about people-people, he is a people person—and he has been a good friend of mine for quite a long time. So welcome, Jonathan.

It's great to be here, Jeremy. Love being here with you. It's good too. We've only known each other for, what, 30 years? Oh my gosh, I know. So I graduated ’98? I can't even remember. I think I graduated in ’94. It's been quite a while. We've had probably more talks about grace than anybody that I know. You're one of my favorite conversations around grace that I have.

Yeah, we started quite a long time ago. I think it was early 2000s when we got reconnected. Jonathan and I went to college together. We kind of separated and then we found out—was it at a coffee shop? I walked in, you were sitting there, and I was like, “Dude, that's Jonathan.” So we started getting connected. Then we started having pub time—like that place was a church. And it's funny because it's called Churchill Arms now, so literally “church” is in its name. We were deconstructing some of the things that were handed down to us and really wrestling with honest questions; grace and love were a lot of that. We found the space of a pub where we would just sit and had so many memories.

Yeah, it was really good going through a deconstruction process with multiple people, and you were a very pivotal figure in my life. I remember our conversations driving to cohorts and talking about what it means to—like, you were probably the first person I ever really had the conversation with: “Is there too much grace? Is there a limit to grace?” We both latched onto this idea that, what if there's not a limit to grace? What if grace is so remarkable that it's almost offensive to some people? But we both loved it. That's where we were going. We looked through scripture—we looked at others through a lens, practicing switching lenses—and asked, what if we put on this lens of “way too much grace” and read scripture? It was crazy how much scripture jumped out aligning with that. It was a pretty magical journey.

I remember we also went to New Mexico. Remember that trip? That was a fantastic trip because it was almost like a pilgrimage of meeting a bunch of people discovering grace as well. The communion we had at the end was one of the most epic experiences I've ever had.

Yeah, I think it was Richard Rohr. Brian McLaren was there. I remember getting sushi with you in New Mexico, which I do not recommend—it's quite a ways from both oceans. But I remember that communion time. That was during a period—and I still practice this—where if there was a space of closed communion, where the church is saying, “We're going to take communion only if you believe in Jesus Christ and have given your life to him,” I felt that was something Jesus would never do with any meal of his. He wouldn't keep people in the living room on a couch. From that day on, after that realization, I said, I'm not going to participate in communion when it's that way. I went probably a year or two without taking communion, but still went into spaces, into churches, where communion was done every week and I would just sit there; I wouldn't partake.

What did it feel like?

It reminded me of grace. It reminded me of God's heart every single time, but I felt separateness from the other people in the room because I wasn't permitted to take. I mean, I was—I met all the criteria—but I stepped out. And that New Mexico trip was the first time in two years that I took communion because they said, “All are welcome.” I remember weeping—just weeping.

I remember that. It really hit you, and it hit me. Richard Rohr had broken everybody out into four quadrants—that was Phyllis Tickle’s four-quadrant model—and we were all separated in the beginning around our core identity, but we all sat at that table. Someone started passing the bread and some people at the table were like, “Are we doing communion? I'm not supposed to do this with you guys.” I remember the feeling that this is an absurd statement—not that they were wrong, but it's what they had learned. I remember feeling, I can't imagine a kingdom where that is the requirement. It just didn't compute, but I'd been down enough of the deconstruction journey to see something different. I wanted to explore what it meant that everyone was allowed at the table—like, everyone. That has been my journey for the last 15–20 years.

To give people a bit more about you as we dive in, can you give a high-level overview of your spiritual journey so far?

Yeah, I'll give you the highlights. I grew up in a Christian family. My dad didn't go to church, but my mom was very involved—she was a women's ministry speaker by the time I was two years old. She was very charismatic; she's probably the first person who taught me about Spirit. Then my parents divorced, and that created a dark wound in my life. I wrestled with Christianity. I went to Christian school, Christian junior high, Christian high school, Christian college. I lived in the bubble. I met you at San Jose Christian College, but at that time I was recovering from my own wounds. I now believe most of my wounds were self-inflicted, but I wrestled with the question: who cares if God is God? Does God love me? That was the only question that mattered, and I didn't know the answer.

When I was 23, I had an experience with a psychedelic drug. In college, to cope, I got into mostly marijuana and a little drinking, but it became a catalyst to go inside and listen to what was going on in my life. During a psychedelic trip, I had a profound sense that there's something more going on inside. When my parents divorced at nine, I closed off emotionally. That experience helped me open up again—the first time I opened up and said, there's something more I want to discover. I went forward in church at 23 and said, “Okay, I'm recommitting my life to Christ,” and I took it seriously. My focus wasn't on learning how to be a “good Christian”; it was simply to practice love. That was my only rule. I wasn't going to do the typical Christian thing—I’d done that for 20 years. But I knew Jesus was real. When I was 11, I went to a junior high science camp, heard the gospel, and wept, saying, “Jesus is real.”

So you went to a Christian church?

It was my junior high science camp. We were there for science—a weekend camp—but they had a minister give a talk in the morning after breakfast. Around a campfire—kind of like Hume Lake. I remember walking home weeping, thinking, “He died for me.” That impacted me. That was the first time I really got it. Then in junior high at Hume Lake, they gave a gospel message over and over and told us to journal. I remember looking at my friend Glenn’s book—he wrote, “I accept Jesus into my life”—and I copied that. So that was the first time I technically became a Christian.

Yeah, you were saved because you—

Exactly. I cheated my way into heaven. I did.

When I was 23, I had a severe incident where I decided it was time to end it. I wanted to kill myself. A very good friend wrote me a letter at the exact right time. It was one of those moments when I was really going to end it. The day I was going to do it, my mom said, “There's a letter for you on the bed.” I opened it; the first words were, “Know that you are a brother in Christ.” I fell to my knees. I felt saved. This was before email or text—an actual letter he mailed. He was thinking of me days before, and it came at that moment. It saved my life.

After that, I graduated from San Jose Christian College and went to a writer's conference at Mount Hermon. I met Gordon Dalbey, who wrote Healing the Masculine Soul, and he became my mentor for 10 years. That's where I dug into listening—what is the gospel? What is going on? That led to my book. Where I landed: there's nothing but grace. There's so much freedom; we don't have the capacity to understand it. If you move toward grace, you'll never reach the end. I think there is complete freedom—almost a dangerous freedom—but grace is the foundation of the universe. I absolutely believe that now. It's the most transformative energy out there.

Scripture says it's kindness that leads us to repentance—repentance as in stopping the things that harm you and others. It's not vengeance or anger; it's kindness and grace. I follow you on Instagram and see you exploring masculine and feminine energies—not only in our culture but within individuals. How do you see grace playing out with those energies? Unpack that.

A little precursor so your listeners have context. I wrote Discovering the God Imagination to understand the gospel. I won't go into theology—that's the boring part to me. What I discovered is a God so profoundly in love with life that it's waiting to be discovered. I spent three years studying Adam and Eve, asking what's happening in each step—from God creating the earth to planting the tree that becomes humanity's destruction in the garden's center. There's a theological conundrum there. If God is love, God has to act consistently with love—so how is it working out? The stories I'd been told said humanity was separated from God and we had to accept Jesus to reconnect—Luther’s legacy. What I found: the mission of God—if God is love from the beginning—shows there's never been separation from God, only the illusory experience of separation created by negative energy.

Adam means “humanity.” The first problem isn't the bite; it's loneliness. Adam is lonely—loneliness is the core human problem. God separates Adam and Eve. Adam is masculine energy; Eve is feminine energy. The handed-down narrative says “the two shall become one” through marriage. From my perspective, the goal is that each human being has both energies. We've been taught that males have only masculine energy and women only feminine. If you keep the two energies separated, there's no possibility of coherence. Coherence is the capacity to be balanced to produce love. I think the divide is crumbling. The world is waking up that we have both energies and need both. Masculine protects the exterior; feminine nurtures the interior. Most men get stuck in the brain—in logic. Eve coming from the rib signals the heart. The heart and gut are your intuition; the brain is logic. Men live in logic; women live in heart.

When we moved to Folsom, I joined a group called Banna Brothers and dove into nurturing the heart—that twelve-inch journey. I realized I was nurturing my feminine energy, the capacity to feel. Your ability to feel belonging and love is a feminine energy. Masculine energy has tried for 6,000 years to create connection to God through logic—the gospel as theology, a logical understanding of connection to God. Meanwhile, women felt the Spirit, the sense of belonging. That's why women were at the foot of the cross; the cross didn’t make sense to logic. Love dying for you? Love is win-win—game theory. If I love myself and my neighbor, I'm in a win-win world. Adam and Eve lost coherence. Marriage can partner the other energy to balance, but the goal is to learn both so you're not codependent. Most relationships become codependent—I want my partner to solve these things for me. As I saw this in my life, I realized this is what everybody’s dealing with. Historically, theology and Christianity have been almost exclusively masculine; we avoided the feminine. That’s breaking down now. Over the last 10–15 years, Christianity’s influence has waned; there’s complete freedom to be what you want, but also toxic masculinity and performative “woke” femininity. The only thing that produces love is balance.

That's spot on. As a nation, we see this. I've always been more in touch with the softer energy. I never connected with my dad in sports; I've always connected more with women as friends. On guys’ retreats I feel like an outsider. It's not my default energy. What excites me now is feeling more accepted as a guy because that energy is becoming more accepted—even in the church. The emergent movement and deconstruction got in touch with the heart rather than just the mind. How has the church gotten grace right?

A friend asked, “What has the church ever done right?” If you're not looking for it, you won't see it; if you are, you will. One of my most profound experiences: when my kids were about 3, 5, and 8, we took a trip to Spokane because I was going to do my master's there. We visited Seattle and ran into a homeless woman. I was focusing on loving “the least of these.” She had no shoes and asked for $20 for a key deposit to get into a shelter. I only had four $100 bills, so I went to the nearest Starbucks to make change. My kids started talking with her, unafraid. I came back with coffee, handed her $20, and offered a cup of coffee. She almost cried—without shoes, she couldn't go inside to buy coffee. The way it affected my kids—that’s the gospel. For two or three years in Folsom, I took my kids to the homeless shelter to serve. They still talk about it. The church has been good at focusing on the least of these and serving them—washing feet, feeding those who can give nothing back. That's Jesus. Unfortunately, in the last 20 years we've focused hardcore on theology (extremely masculine) and missed the grace that loves the least of these. But many still continue to serve well.

What have they gotten wrong with grace?

It's out of balance. Churches differ, but broadly we've focused too hard on theology. For 6,000 years it’s been masculine; leaders are male; women have been excluded. That's a glaring loss of grace—we're missing the other half of Adam. It's the masculine wound trying to validate itself by having the right theology, when it needs coherence by embracing the heart—the 12-inch journey—because the heart is where you feel. Theology is a thought process. Dr. Joe Dispenza helped me understand: thought patterns create electrical signals through your nervous system and chemical explosions in your body. Love is a chemical experience of belonging. If you only deal with theology—“God loves me” as a thought—but you don't feel it, it won't create a recurring habit. Your body needs that chemical validation. I've spent the last 5–6 years understanding the biology of belief and how it works.

Would you say, given God's image in us, that calling God “he” is as incomplete as calling God “she”?

Yes. If God created us in God's image, God is a perfect mixture of feminine and masculine. Each pronoun can convey aspects of God, but the dominance of male leaders—every pope male, translators male—has skewed things. One of my biggest transformations was seeing a female elder in a Vineyard church—it blew my mind, given my indoctrination. Do we need to swing to a feminine extreme to make up for it, or how do we find balance?

There’s a historical narrative: if you do the linear math, we’re about 6,000 years from Genesis 3—a masculine age. The heart is largely Eastern (Buddhist, Hindu)—focused on heart. What's emerging is the masculine age of logic is proving it can't win. AI, I think, is man's attempt to create a system to self-govern because we can't. The fruit of the Spirit ends with self-control; you can't get self-control without love. Men can’t get to love because they've closed their hearts. The fear is that if women lead, they'll do the same domination. I don't think so. We’re shifting into what some call the Age of Aquarius—a feminine-dominant era—but I think women will realize that exclusive dominance doesn’t work. We'll find balance. Walter Russell wrote about the universe’s rhythms: creation cycles between masculine and feminine energies. Masculine leads with truth (logic), but you feel truth in your body as love and belonging. You need both to validate each other. You start with signals through the nervous system to the brain (amygdala filters for survival); many are stuck in survival. As mental health awareness grows, we can move into the heart. Men are proving they can't control the world alone. It takes the touch of the feminine, in balance. Forgiveness is logic and love together.

And the feminine needs to be fully feminine, not forced into masculinity just to lead. Remember: every human being is both. We don't want codependency where each part scolds the other. Christ consciousness personifies both. Look at Jesus—he knew how to party and loved to hang out with women because he was in touch with his feminine heart. He had coherence. Many men in our circles didn’t. Science and quantum physics are now pointing to divine presence at the level of energy—we’re the same stuff, different expressions. Why would I hurt you? You're me. We are both the God image. That awareness is emerging, and quantum physics will help us see it.

That’s amazing. I was speaking with David Artman—thanks for connecting us—about separation being an illusion and ultimate reconciliation as unveiling that illusion. I programmed my car—this will sound hilarious. I had a Jeep; when I'd get in, Siri would say, “Enjoy the sunshine, Jeremy.” Then I gave the Jeep to my daughter, and I got an electric Subaru—the ultimate lesbian vehicle. Now, every time I get in my car, it says, “Remember, Jeremy, your energy affects everything.” It's absolutely true. Separation from God and each other is an illusion born of not loving ourselves. To break it down, we need to step into love.

I think we're reaching a point—my last 5–7 years probably started when we deconstructed around 2008–2010—where the age of religion is over. Religion is all masculine; women don't create religions—they create communities. Feminine is the “we”; masculine is the “I.” Pure masculinity is lonely—narcissism at its finest—because there's no “we.” But the “we” without responsibility also fails—like extremes in San Francisco where compassion with no order leads to chaos. Responsibility is masculinity; compassion is femininity. You need both to create a livable place, and polarization breeds chaos.

Big picture pivot: what would the world look like if we embraced “slutty grace”—truly loved, not at war with God or each other—love wins in the end?

I ponder this constantly. For your audience: I work in AI at IBM, so I understand AI’s capacity if used wisely. First, it reduces redundant activity. Second, it coordinates and organizes your life. As a technology, it's extremely powerful. Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is here now.” We don't have to die to get to heaven—we can experience it now. If you take AI and the emergence of quantum physics (which is softening religion's power and creating balance), most quantum insights point to connectedness—the “we.” With AI reducing friction, we create a trust economy. We'll reduce friction so much that, as Elon Musk says, we’ll have more money than we know what to do with. The question won't be what we do, but what we want to do. AI will lead that. If we don’t kill each other first (I don’t think we will), the kingdom of God emerges because we’re balanced. I think we’re in the apocalypse—unveiling—not tribulation. We’re at the end of the pure masculine age so the feminine can emerge and we can live in balance. Add AI and we’ll see the kingdom: “be fruitful and multiply.” Enough money, energy, and power to do what you want—spending time with family and friends. Most work has been to make people money; our dads produced output. We’re now ~40x their output and still work more hours. AI will 1000x that. We’ll have enough. Something will catalyze the wake-up. I don’t know the series of events.

As much as division hurts, it'll be interesting in 10–20 years to see what this births. Speaking of birth: as a dad, what have you learned about grace through fatherhood?

A story about my son. At 10, he was one of Northern California’s leading soccer scorers—gifted. We moved to San Jose; he didn’t want to play. I let him take a year off, then said, try one more time. First game back, he scores seven goals. We thought, here we go. He made a premier travel team as the first pick, but the team wasn't good and started losing. He doesn't like to lose. His interest waned—“Dad, do I have to go to practice?” Mid-season game, he started walking. I'm not a sideline parent, but walking felt disrespectful to the team. I told him to run. The other team scored four goals in 10 minutes; the team deflated—that’s why he was walking. At halftime, I asked, “Do you want to play anymore?” He gave me the answer he thought I wanted—“Yes”—but it wasn't convincing. I realized part of parenthood is nurturing a child to make his own decisions. I gave my son the grace to live his own life. I lifted his head, asked again; he said, “No, I don't.” I said, “Okay. Finish the season—you made a commitment—then you're done.” He finished and then quit. In hindsight, he has an amazing balance of masculine and feminine. What he loved was playing with his buddies in Folsom; when we moved, he lost that connection. Soccer wasn’t the thing; friendship was. That was what I needed to nurture. It was the first time I realized I had to be careful telling my kids what to do and instead give them the grace to make their own mistakes—so they’re theirs to live with, not mine.

I felt that sense of freedom landing on his shoulders—dad giving grace to live his life. That's what we want from God: freedom to know God loves us. When I told him we were done, I hugged him. He's my son—he’ll never stop being my son. It was important to him not to play; I had to give him that freedom. When we were growing up, we were told to “follow God.” I get that. I think it’s following the energy of our intuition because we are connected to God; we are the image of God. We also had the freedom to be fruitful and multiply. In the Garden, there was no law for the first 2,500 years of scripture. Only one command after Cain and Abel: don’t kill. Then another 2,500 years with no law until Hammurabi’s code, and then Moses’ Ten Commandments. There’s no law in the kingdom of God other than the law of love. Love works because it creates the positive, not just avoids the negative. Jesus’ command to love your neighbor as yourself is a proactive, positive statement that produces the greatest return—and it aligns with quantum physics.

What an interesting way to reread the gospels through that lens. The connectedness down to the quantum level—energy. You can't ignore it. Jesus says, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” There’s connectedness in everything; it's awesome that at a physical level we're seeing it.

Is there a personal moment of grace that significantly impacted you?

My parents’ divorce at nine became my core wound. I went numb for 13 years and lived mostly angry—struggling with friendships and relationships. I lived with my cousin at USC in the FIJI house for a year—one of the greatest experiences of my life—and realized, what am I doing? For 20 years I tried to be the good kid and wasn't. I gave myself freedom to do whatever I wanted—not to harm but to live without obsessing over what God was thinking in the moment. That’s the power of shame and guilt—“God’s watching.” I cut that off. I gave myself grace to believe that whatever God was doing, I was going to live my life and learn. I explored: sex, drugs, raves—without guilt and shame. That was the starting point of grace: imagine life outside constant guilt and shame. Dr. David Hawkins’ scale runs 0–1000; guilt and shame are at the bottom—near death. From 0–200 is negative; 200–1000 positive. I decided to live in positive territory. It opened my world to how much the church leans on guilt and shame as control mechanisms. In the 1800s, peasants didn't have the tools to question pastors; I did. I had a biblical studies degree and ~2,500 hours of Christian education, plus a decade of personal study. I threw off the weight. One of the healthiest things I did was step away from guilt and shame. Evangelicalism says, “Say the sinner's prayer, then don't sin.” But I think sin is simply forgetting who you are—what Adam and Eve did. Everything else is the fruit of that.

I started experimenting with psychedelics. They disrupt the default mode network—the brain’s identity center—so you can live outside your rigid self. For the first time, I realized how destructive my life had been. I went home, told my parents everything I’d ever done, and they were gracious—they listened and didn't judge. I went forward at church and said, “I want to follow Jesus.” That was the first time I felt the Holy Spirit in me as I walked forward. I knew it was a new chapter. I gave myself the grace to find God. I would say the Holy Spirit was always there; I was finally attuned. In essence, humans cut off one energy and become dominant in the other. Without both, you can't have the whole picture. Masculine energy is logic; feminine is feeling. The head says the message; the heart receives it, creates a validating chemical response, then sends it back to the head—coherence. Men are good at cutting off the heart to survive. That coping may be necessary in moments, but as a lifestyle it kills you. Coping mechanisms work short-term; as lifestyles, they become destructive because they're out of balance. Anything can become a coping mechanism when it becomes a false identity—sex, drugs, work, friends, partners, even children.

Well, thank you so much for taking the time. We should hang out more often. How can people get in touch with you?

I'm primarily on Instagram: @muchlovebrink. I do a daily recording focused on how to love yourself. And to your listeners: listen to this podcast consistently. The idea of infinite grace will resurrect you. If you give yourself the grace you've been waiting for, it will transform your life in a really good way. Jeremy’s thought process is absolutely awesome.

Thank you, Jonathan. More importantly, it will transform how you look at and treat others. It will reset your life. I don't feel the burden of humanity on my soul anymore. Growing up, it felt like it was up to us to save the lost, to be a good witness—everything about saving souls from hell. To be free of that and see others as co-humans is the most transforming thing. Our journey all ends in the same place. Eternity starts now—during this conversation—not in some future moment. Let's get used to each other—loving and being gracious. I don't go to church anymore; it's too close to religion. But do you remember our cohorts for the emerging church? I wish for a cohort that starts with infinite grace. Come and share how grace is transforming your life. That's it. We're not trying to save or change anybody—just share how grace is transforming your life. That would be a rock-star group. Not even trying to change the church.

All right, JB, thanks for sharing your heart. I appreciate you, man. Thank you, brother. It's been awesome. Thanks for listening, and until next time, live in grace. And if you can, share that grace.

Thank you for listening to the Slutty Grace podcast. If you believe this show and message are important in our time, please share it and subscribe on your podcast platform. If you can, please leave a rating and review so others can find these messages of God's love and grace.