Hi, I’m Russ,

I spent years leading what we call church—building it, growing it, hitting the numbers. It worked. And the better it worked, the harder grace was to find.

To be clear: faith didn’t fail. It just got managed. So I left. Not Jesus. Just the formalized system that needed control more than trust.

Tony and I started Lark because grace is a Lark: a joke on the rules we invented, told by the One who never played along. Miss that punchline and faith turns into pressure. Catch it, and life gets lighter.

These days, we (and the team) work real jobs. And in the middle of ordinary life—meals, long drives, late nights—we create undiluted resources and unhurried conversations that help live the life of grace.

  • As humans, we don’t have control.
    We don’t have it together.
    And pretending is the thing wearing us out.

    Grace brings relief from that pressure.
    But relief doesn’t last alone.

    That’s where tables of grace offer what nothing else can.

    At a table, you’re known.
    No one hides behind performance.
    Presence replaces polish.
    Self-justification looses its grip.
    And faith becomes something shared, not performed.

    So we create resources
    and make room for conversations of grace—
    to put the Church back where Jesus placed it:
    around ordinary tables.

    To learn why, check out: Rethinking What The Church Called Success

  • Because the tattered stories of our lives—and the shipwreck of human history—are the very places Jesus said He could be found.

    To speak of Jesus, as Scripture shows us, is never to speak of Him in isolation. It’s to speak of the Father and Spirit who are one with Him—and of all humanity. For in Him is “life” itself, our very existence.

    This is why any version of “following Jesus” or “having real faith” that centers on perfecting your story or fixing society misses the point.

    This misunderstanding doesn’t just fail us; it fails Jesus. It fails Him because it undermines the reconciliation He already accomplished for everyone . And it fails the world because it offers a false hope dependent on what we’re doing and who were becoming, instead of who Jesus already is for us.

  • Lark isn’t another version of “church” Jesus didn’t create or call for.

    No services to keep running.
    No crowds to count.
    No charts to prove we’re doing it right.

    This work lives where Jesus put it—
    inside ordinary lives,
    around cluttered tables,
    held together by time, honesty, and grace.

    Why?

    Because faith doesn’t grow on a schedule.
    It grows when people stay.
    When they tell the truth.
    When no one’s keeping score.

    If you’re curious why we don’t do church the way it’s done today,
    there’s a short series here:

    👉 Rethinking What The Church Called Success

  • We hold to the doctrines expressed in the Nicene Creed in general, and specifically to the following:

    About Christ: Aware of humanity's perpetual love affair with performance, Jesus tells the most shocking stories of grace to level all our empires of progress. For both religious Pharisees with resumes and despondent tax-collecting outcasts, Jesus did the impossible. He reconciled all to God through His death and resurrection. This “Good News” is the invitation out of the exhausting madness of trying to hide the junk of our lives. We are free to be nothing in Christ.

    About Church: The mystery of the kingdom of God is like a dragnet being hauled to shore, catching everything in its path. It rejects nothing, Jesus said. One day this net will arrive on the beach, and the angels, not us, will determine what is and what is not. In the meantime, we are free to be what we are: a random sampling of the frail world that God has united himself to in Christ. To be the Church and pretend we are anything more would be false advertisement.

    About Change: We are conditional creatures. But only because we love the allure of control that lies with if/then transactions. We want a life of sight—not faith; a life that’s about here—not hope in a place to come; a life that offers lists to assure we’re okay—not a way of love that doesn’t compute. One is tidy, the other is messy. But only one is the life God has actually given us. Like branches on a Vine, we exist solely in the hands of a Vinedresser. Transformation is His work. Not ours.

  • Lark runs on generosity—no ads, no paywalls, no brand to sell.
    Just people and businesses who want to see faith set free.

    That generosity creates the time and space for resources, travel, and conversations that help people live the life of grace—right where they are.

    And when grace is shared this way, it doesn’t stay on a page. It finds its way to ordinary tables—putting the Church back where Jesus started it.

    We’re a registered nonprofit (with a Board who keeps us honest), which means every gift is tax-deductible.

    If you’d like to help carry the work, you can do that here.

  • A man with a beard and tattoos wearing a denim jacket and white t-shirt, sitting and gesturing with his hands as if talking or explaining something.

    Russ Johnson

    Russ lives in Southwest Florida with his high school sweetheart, their 9 year-old, and a revolving door of grown kids and two new grandsons. He’s an author and podcaster who traded pastoring for training boiler operators, conversations on the road, and missing Legos.

  • Man with tattoos and sunglasses sitting at a wooden picnic table outdoors, holding a glass of beer toward the camera. Other people are sitting at a table in the background, surrounded by trees.

    Tony Sorci

    Tony hails from Northwest Indiana, where he and his wife, Pam, are raising four kids. He’s the founder and creative director of Katiko Creative and proud to be a Lark. In a former life, people called him “pastor,” but now he’s known for his enthusiasm for tacos al pastor.

  • A woman with wavy, shoulder-length hair smiling outdoors with a tree in the background. She has a nose piercing and tattoos on her arm, wears gold necklaces and a white top.

    Sarah Mezzera

    Sarah brings a unique perspective to the Larkcast, fueled by her passion for capturing and sharing people’s stories. She’s married to Chad, a mom of two, and the proud owner of Butterbee, a unique tattoo shop just outside of St. Louis.

  • A man in a green t-shirt sitting at a table, smiling and laughing in a restaurant or cafe setting.

    Josh Chevalier

    Josh is a husband to Cari, a father of four, and sports writer who offers people a safe place to land, and there…find freedom in who Jesus is. He emdowers movement from the music city of Austin, TX.

  • A young woman with long blonde hair and a white shirt, smiling at the camera in a cozy, warmly lit room with patterned seating.

    Christa Johnson

    Christa is a rare sixth-generation Floridian, married to her high school sweetheart (Russ 😉). She’s a devoted mom of three, a new grandma, a sassy homemaker, and the owner of Down Home Vintage, an online shop for unique treasures.

  • Black and white photo of smiling man with short tousled hair and beard, outdoors near water.

    Mike Jarrell

    Mike is a husband to Jackie, a father of three, a lover of Philly Cheesesteaks, the Eagles, and slowing down with people. In his past life he was a “missional church” pastor. Today he helps people reimagine the Church where they are.

  • A man in a dark shirt, glasses, and a baseball cap sitting and smiling indoors near a window, holding a phone.

    Jameson Allen

    Jameson brings language and insights to the resources of Lark. Hailing from Iowa, he is married to his hishschool sweetheart, a father of 4, and a theology junkie who loves the long versions of people’s stories.

  • A black and white photo of a couple taking a selfie behind a motorcycle on a street, with buildings and cars in the background.

    The Mayfield's

    Ryan is an entrepreneur and Cadrian is an executive assistant. Outside of work, their hope is to cultivate conversations in Tulsa —and beyond—that help ordinary people find the freedom to reimagine life in who Jesus already is for them.