I have just come from a church sanctuary. Now I sit in a therapy room. A woman sits across from me, grieving the sudden death of her father. She’s not just anxious. Rather, she is unraveling in a way that no theology class ever prepared me to fix. She’s not sleeping. She is forgetting to eat. From her perspective, all her heartfelt prayers to the Holy have gone quiet.
As a therapist, I see the symptoms. As a pastor, I see the soul. She whispers, “I used to feel God. Now, I don’t know where God, or even what God is, or even if there is a divine entity.”
A traditional therapist might gently challenge her thoughts, help her regulate her nervous system, and teach her tools for grief. And I do all of that. But as an ordained minister in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), I also remember the promises I made at my ordination: To preach and teach the Word of God. To be diligent in prayer and the study of Scripture. To bear the burdens of others and serve with the mind of Christ. To equip the people of God for works of service.
So I lean into those promises—quietly, gently—not with doctrine, but with presence.
I ask her: “Where do you feel God in this—if anywhere?” “What does your faith tradition or philosophy say about grief and lament?” “Is there a ritual, memory, or practice that once helped you feel held?” Then something shifts. Her breath deepens. Her shoulders release.
We’re not fixing her pain, we’re honoring it. Together.
For years, I wondered if I was supposed to choose between being a pastor and being a counselor. Now I see these aren’t two separate callings—they are one sacred vocation, expressed in different ways. In the sanctuary, I discuss hope. In the counseling room, I hold it quietly. In one space, I proclaim good news. In the other, I help people rediscover it for themselves.
Both honor the healing professions: To seek healing. To serve all people, following the example of Jesus. To strive for peace and justice in all the earth through advocacy, acceptance, and presence. Only now, I do this not only through sermons and sacraments—but also through silence, breathwork, trauma-informed practice, and deep attunement.
People don’t leave their bodies at the church door. They don’t leave their spirituality, doubts, or stories at the therapist’s office. Real healing meets people in the whole of who they are—spirit, mind, and body.
That’s what integrated pastoral counseling offers. It honors the mystery of faith and the mechanics of healing. It holds sacred space for grief, trauma, joy, and identity.
It offers more than comfort—it offers accompaniment.
And it’s not limited to those who claim a faith. Many of my clients come from historically marginalized communities—LGBTQIA+ individuals, people of color, and others who have been hurt or excluded by religion. For them, this integration can feel like reclamation: a chance to experience safety and belonging where once there was judgment or pain. Here, faith is never assumed and never imposed. The conversation starts wherever you are—spiritual, skeptical, searching, or simply human.
Today, people long for spaces where they can be honest and still be held. Where faith can coexist with fear. Where healing can draw from both therapy and theology, without pressure or pretense. Where tension is not avoided but embraced.
We need pastors who can talk about trauma. We need therapists who can hold space for mystery.
We need communities that care for both the soul and the nervous system. And somewhere in that space—the space between the pulpit and the couch—our promises live on. Not only in church and not only in therapy, but in presence, compassion, and accompaniment.
This, I believe, is what transformation and wellness look like now. And maybe, it’s what it was always meant to be. If you’re carrying something heavy—grief, confusion, disconnection, or the quiet ache of wondering where God went—there’s space for you here. You don’t have to choose between faith and therapy, between belief and doubt, or between hope and heartbreak. We can hold it all together, gently, at your pace. Healing begins in conversation, and that first conversation could begin today.
Let’s begin that work together. Book a session or reach out to schedule a time to talk.