@ Sea With Justin Mcroberts

I’ve come to pretty fundamentally believe that some things cannot (and should not) be discussed outside of personal experience. That might sound odd coming from someone with a relatively traditional education in western philosophy. But… here I am. One of the keenest examples of that is gun violence. The way I see it: despite the numbers, despite the mathematics, everything stops with the phrase “I lost a loved one.” Or “I almost died.”All that math and all those statistics only matter in light of the value of human life. And the value of human life is established in places outside of Mathematica and statistics; Places we call “emotional” or even “sentimental.” Taylor Schumann’s accounting of gun violence is personal. And that, in my opinion, makes it powerful. Not because the story is dramatic or even culturally triggering. But because, as a matter of statistics fact, there are only so many people who have heard gun-shots near them and faced the actual reality that they might die at the end of a gun. Taylor S

Sometimes, there aren’t sufficient words for a moment or a season or a feeling. The other side to that coin is that sometimes the wild, the unexpected, or inexplicable … serve the blessed purpose of breaking the words we are used to using and inviting us to make something new from their pieces. This is one way to talk about poetry. I think of the way the Scriptures of my own religious tradition open with poetry in the strange shadow of timelessness, orderlessness, and the Creative Will of a Being beyond comprehension. That same collection of histories and prophecies and reflections and wisdom texts ends with poetry in the blazing light of a hopeful future beyond either chaos or order or death or time itself. Poetry is, among other things, a way to say “There is more here. I can’t hand it to you plainly, so I’ll point in its direction and, in so doing, honor the complex and  beautiful reality of… well.. reality”For Pádraig Ó Tuama, many of the realities that frame his personal and cultural history necessitated

I have mentioned Caroline McIntyre‘s book “caring for words in a culture of lies“ many times over the course of this podcast’s five years. It was, upon first read, a formative and grounding resource; it continues to be. In part because I have historically had a tendency to talk too much, putting too many words on the table and muddying the connection that better words, more thoughtful words, might have otherwise forged. Similarly, McIntyre warns that misuse or careless use of words disconnects us from the heart of the things we were talking about; that, if I truly love a subject or an idea or experience or a truth, it is my responsibility, through language, to communicate that subject or idea or experience or truth in a way others might come to appreciate it as well; that when there is a disconnect between a thought I am moved by and the ability of someone I care about to perceive it, that gap is my problem and is a problem of language. In short, Caroline McIntyre suggests that language is a primary expressio

When Rachel Held Evans died, on May 4 of 2019, she left a significant m emotional and cultural void; one that was felt by her followers and readers but also one that was felt differently by those she was working alongside. See, Rachel was part of a whole tribe of persons working to establish and celebrate a new language for a generation of people of faith. In the long shadow of her passing, other members of the tribe felt a kind of witty responsibility to continue the legacy she was forging. Among those people was (and is) Matthew Paul Turner. when I met Matthew recently, he was quite literally surrounded by hundreds of copies of his most recent children’s book. As a New York Times best-selling children’s author, Matthew had taken on the particular and beautiful responsibility of finishing a children’s book project Rachel had begun before she passed. Entitled, “What Is God Like?” the book is less an effort to answer the question precisely and more an imaginative exploration of the possibilities that question

The way I hear it used, the word “celebrity” almost always comes with a tinge of disdain. In fact, I was recently interviewing a band about their relatively wild public success and used the word “celebrity” to ask a question about how it felt to have the kind of influence they’d garnered. Boy oh boy did they distance themselves from that word. They wanted nothing to do with it. Not one bit. The next few minutes featured phrases like “We’re not celebrities.”and  “I really don’t think that word describes what we do.”Or just flat out “I don’t like that word.”  The lead singer of the band then went on to be very clear that there were just “normal people” with normal lives who make music; That the celebrity aspect of things caused a gap between them and their audience they didn’t want. “We go through all the same things y’all go through.” I do understand that. I also resonate with it. At the same time (and you can feel this part coming), I struggle with making simple what I think is a slightly more nuanced reality

I actually never watched the Batchelor. And that’s not a thing I say with pride or any sense of superiority. I honestly just don’t watch a lot of TV and haven’t since I was about 12, when shows like “The A-Team” and “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” took up space on the probably 20 networks available. So, when I connected with Ben Higgins on Twitter, I didn’t exactly know why a few of my online friends freaked out a bit. See, while I came to find out Ben was a “celebrity” in the most “celebrity” of ways, having done reality TV like The Bachelor, I found a man who wasn’t resting on the random success that such a thing offers; I found in him someone who was looking at where he was, the influence he had on hand and asking the question “What can I make with this?” I loved talking with Ben (on his show and then on mine).  I think you’ll enjoy it, too. Check it out. 

Stephen Pressfield calls it “Resistance.” A number of religious traditions call it “sin.” But regardless of the name folks apply to it, it seems to me that we generally share, cross-culturally and throughout history, a sense and a lament that things don’t work out perfectly; that things fall apart and that plans don’t always go in order. In that light, part of what that means in my personal history is that planning for success means planning for (or at the very least be prepared for) things not going well. Now before you hear me preaching an “it is what it is” message, counter to the heart of my most recent book effort, I promise you that’s not what I’m saying. Instead, I’d suggest that the anticipation of obstacles and missteps sets me up to see those moments differently; that even my missteps and failed attempts can be elements of my creative process. What do I do with the moment things go … wrong? This week, gymnastics legend Simone Biles pulled out of events in the Olympics, setting off a series of reflec

I was setting up to interview an upcoming guest when she told me “I’m sorry I’ll have to be pretty strict with the hour and leave right away. I’m seeing my therapist right after this.” “Absolutely,” I told her.  “We’ll probably talk for 45 min.”“Great. I’m really looking forward to this session with her.” Now, it’s not just of note that this guest was looking forward to her therapy session; but also of note that this guest is a Spiritual Director. Therapy is not for “weak” people. Therapy is for people Who wants to live into their strengths. Therapy is not for “broken” people Therapy is for people who want to want to live healed and whole. Therapy is not for “sick” people Therapy is for people who value their health. Part of what I think you’ll hear in my conversation with KJ Ramsey is that posture towards therapy and what is now often called “self-care.”  The practice and belief that confessing and facing my shortcomings is an expression of health and strength. Check it out. 

Toward the end of the introduction of my most recent book, It Is What You Make Of It, is a kind of admonition; a clarion call, as it were.“There is a virtual army of contentious voices around you screaming that life “ is what it is,“ and particularly in places, you feel stuck.Your work-life quote is what it is.“Your social life “is what it is.“Your physical health “is what it is“I’m saying all that is garbage. Your life is not just a set of steel circumstances that “or what they are“ without any hope of change or improvement or transformation. I don’t know exactly where that voice is coming from in your particular life, but I want to help you locate it and shut it up forever.”It’s actually a somewhat poorly kept secret that I’m not always very interested in the specific accomplishments or achievements of those I get to work with as a coach. In other words, while I certainly do find a lot of the projects my clients introduce me to interesting, it’s pretty much never the book or the album or the business startu

You know that friend who gets to the gym 7 days every week. I think we all have that friend (if we’re not that friend). I don’t think I’ve ever heard a friend like that called “weak” for working out regularly. Quite the opposite. Sometimes that friend gets called “obsessive” or something like that (often by people who aren’t taking their physical health as seriously)But.. even, in that case, they’re overdoing a good thing; nobody is suggesting that the desire to hit the gym is, in and of itself a sign and practice of weakness.So, why isn’t that the case with therapy? Why is it that, even now, after all, we know about brain chemistry, the control mechanisms in human psychology, and the well-funded attempts by markets, political systems, and corporations to manipulate human thought and emotion.. that the dominant pushback folks have about going to therapy.. is about being, or appearing “weak?” I don’t really know the answer to that in full What I know is that some of the language used to critique psychotherapy

I remember sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, sorting through line after line of a ledger to figure out if the tour manager had missed paying me, two weeks prior, the $55 per night I was promised. At that point, Frank Tate, who owned the label I was on and whose band was headlining the tour AND who I’d struck the $55/night deal, pulled some cash out of his wallet at said  “Okay. Here’s $55. Let’s get back to work now.”As we left the hotel room, I sidled up to Frank, thinking he’d taken my side against the faulty memory of our tour manager. “Thanks for your help in there.” But he hadn’t taken my side. At least not the way I wanted him to. “I gave you the money because I didn’t care. You shouldn’t, either. You should be thankful you get to do this.”It felt like a jab at the time. It wasn’t. It was the push I needed.I was the weakest part of that tour. Easily. But not even that was Frank’s point. Frank was wanting me to love the work more than I loved the results of the work. He knew I’d be around longer if I d

In his Legendary book “The War of Art” Steven Pressfield writes:“The professional arms himself with patience, not only to give the stars time to align in his career but to keep himself from flaming out in each individual work. He knows that any job, whether it’s a novel or a kitchen remodel, takes twice as long as he thinks and costs twice as much. . . [he] steels himself at the start of a project, reminding himself it is the Iditarod, not the sixty-yard dash. He conserves his energy. He prepares his mind for the long haul.” I’ve personally met very few artists who embody and practice that attitude quite as well or as consistently as Christopher Williams.  Like the Professional in Pressfield’s book, Chris does the work of being an artist.  Little to no flash (though there’s definitely some pizazz on display when he’s playing that hand drum) No complaining (though he can clearly articulate the difficulty of life as a full-time artist) Little to nothing extra: Just the songs, which, 14 projects later, are bette

A number of years ago, I sat in on a reading by the poet Gregory Orr. Gregory Or was then (and is now) a favorite poet of mine. In fact, he’s a favorite writer of mine. He was maybe five or six pieces into this reading when a conversation struck up between two of the other gentleman in the room. Sitting behind me, I heard one of them saying, loudly enough for me to hear,  “I don’t understand any of this” I’d definitely heard that about poetry or about poems before. I’ve probably even said that even as an English major and someone who writes poetry. “I don’t get it” So, that’s not the remarkable part of the story; to say or hear “I don’t understand this poem or poetry.”  What was notable was that the person he was talking to gave that moment of pause and said…“Actually, not everything is meant to be understood.” This need or desire and me to understand is, in essence, an expression of control. When I talk about “getting” something, when I talk about “understanding” something, part of what I mean by that is tha

In a bio of mine, I describe myself as someone who desires to “provide language for the process of life and faith” I am a “words” person. Not everyone has to be or is. But I certainly care quite a bit about the words I use and the words that I take into my life. A lot of that came from a book I read a number of years ago by Marilyn Chandler McIntyre. The book is called “Caring For Words In A Culture Of Lies.” Right smack dab in the middle of the book is this notion she writes out with beautiful words. It says “The business of telling the truth and caring for the words we need for that purpose is more challenging than ever before simply the scale on which lies can be and are propagated can be overwhelming“ Because of that urgency, I’ve moved from just admiring and enjoying poetry to understanding poetry as a gift to great good and powerful culture. For a number of years, Tanner Olson has been making poetry and putting it in the world. He’s also one of those artists who recognize that the work he does requires

During studio sessions with younger or inexperienced musicians, my dear friend and music producer Masaki Liu would often be asked questions like “What do you think about our chances?” Or “Do you think we can make it?”And, more often than not, he’d consistently respond with an intentionally cryptic piece of encouragement that went pretty much like this, word-for-word: “If you keep at it and stick with it, stay together as a band and keep making music, you’re going to be around for a long time.” Often enough, the band would take that as a compliment, though it wasn’t entirely intended to be. See, in that moment, what the band or artist wanted to know and hear was that they were good enough right there, right then. And that, because they were good enough, right there and right then, they had a more secure and hopeful future. The thing is… like just about everyone, including me when I started recording with him, … that young or inexperienced artist or band wasn’t good enough to “make it” right there, right then. 

Close to 20 years ago, I sat in a park near my place in The Bay Area, talking with Dave and JJ about their hopes and dreams. Having spent the first few years of their musical career between Arizona and California, they were right on the edge of a move to Nashville.They wanted to take a full, big league, swing at their work and believed that move would do it.Which is to say, they were doing what I regularly tell my clients to do, especially when young and less attached:They were betting on themselves and it has been a sincere joy to see them keep doing that.Because among the many rewards and awards available to professional artists, the joy of having stayed, over years and then decades is among the richest and most valuable.This is my conversation with JJ and Dave HellerCheck it out. Links for JJ and Dave Hellerhttps://www.jjheller.com/ Links for Justin :JustinMcRoberts.comSupport this podcastPre-Order the new book - It Is What You Make ItHearts and MindsAmazonBarnes and Noble Episode Sponsored by BetterHelpCh

In the 8th chapter of the biblical book of acts is a fascinating story about a man named Philip.Philip, a member of the early Church, hears what the writer of the story names as the voice of God saying “Go south.” So, he does And as he does, he comes across an Ethiopian eunuch riding in a chariot You know... like ya do. Upon this encounter, Philip hears what the writer of the story identifies as the voice of God says “Go to that chariot and stay near it.” Which Phillip then does. And standing there long enough, he hears the eunuch in the chariot reading from what we now call the Old Testament prophets; readings Phillip and his new religious community would be familiar with. From that moment, Phillip then engages in a deeply resonant conversion with his new friend in which he is asked to help guide and clarify the spiritual awakening Already taking place in the heart, mind, and spirit, and body in the chariot. Which is to say, the entirety of this story is predicated on Phillip’s ability, capacity, and choice

The @ Sea podcast started out to be (and I hope continues to be) a helpful and hopeful guide through sometimes murky or turbulent cultural waters. Some of what that looks like is talking to people I don't align with politically, ideologically, culturally,...Not because it's enough to simply "celebrate diversity" but because the discipline and practice of listening is the key to moving beyond division to understanding and then towards care. One of the reasons I gravitate towards podcasts is for this very reason.My guest on this episode is Nick Laparra, whose "Let's Give A Damn" podcast is among my favorites. Not only because of the variety of his guests but I like the way he approaches his work.Nick is always prepared. He's also legitimately thoughtful (without being "heady") and curious (without being invasive).I think that makes for great listening.This is my conversation with Nick Laparra Links for Nick Laparrahttps://www.nicklaparra.com Links for Justin :JustinMcRoberts.comSupport this podcastPre-Order the

I remember being in a conversation, I think it was my Junior year of college, in which I was fully introduced to the term “hermeneutics.” I’d been familiar with “interpretation” before but the idea that there was a field of study based on the interpretive potters of readers was fascinating to me. It actually gave me a bit of altitude in understanding and appreciating the differences I was running into among people, specifically around religious ideas. The conversation was set up around a presentation we’d just heard by a Grad Student, who had written a paper on what she called “A Feminist Hermeneutic.” During our talk, one of my fellow classmates communicated his discomfort with the presenter’s angle, at one point saying “if you read the Bible, or anything, through a ‘feminist lens’ all you’ll end up with is feminism and not the Bible or whatever else you’re reading.”For a while, that thought stuck around and controlled the conversation as we talked about how important it was to read “great works” clearly and

I ask just about all my guests about life online. I'm of the opinion that "real" life happens there and I'm increasingly interested in the way it does; particularly when that happening takes on labels like "religion" or "faith" or "spirituality." I think a fair amount of personal formation takes place online and I'm intrigued (art least) by the people who take that formation seriously as well as take some degree of responsibility for it.My guest in this episode is Kevin Garcia, who has called himself a "digital pastor." And while I know there are a number of folks who might balk at that term out of wonder or even concern, I'm pretty sure there's a lot to it.There's certainly a lot to Kevin, who works with (and pastors) people at the intersection of faith, sexuality, and touch of psychotherapy. In that work, Kevin converses with, teaches, and digitally pastors people who often lack access to invested leadership and spiritual care.This is my conversation with Kevin Garcia.Check it out. Links for Kevin Garciahtt