@ Sea With Justin Mcroberts

I feel like I’ve always been aware of the sociopolitical battle lines between differing thoughts on “abortion” or preemptive war, but the comprehensive, nearly wholesale division and split between people with competing ideologies nowadays is … heartbreaking and scary. In other words, it’s no longer just that I think you’re wrong about this or that; it's that, if you entertain these specific thoughts, then you are aligned with that particular culture, which means you’re in this camp and part of this tribe and, as part of that camp/tribe/people, WHO YOU ARE offends and threatens me. I think the grief for me here is that, in conversations about competing ideologies these days, I am treated as if I am my ideas. Thing is: I’m not. I have ideas and some of them are weighty in my mind. But, as important as any of them might be, I’m not defined by my ideas. Heck a number of them are in conflict with other ideas in me, not to mention in conflict with some of my feelings and even the ways I choose to live despite some

I don’t know when the words “liberal” or “conservative” became insults. What I do know is that I can’t remember a time when they weren’t. So, maybe it’s always been this way to some degree. I’m not sure. My guest on this episode of the podcast is a voice who shows up on what many might call the “conservative side” of conversations, online and off. I’ve watched her navigate the nuances of those engagements without slipping into the snark and dismissiveness that has become a hallmark of political argument.  I’ve also marveled at her capacity to both belong to and deeply critique her own culture.A Ph.D., she is a Research Professor of English and Christianity and Culture at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. She is an author and contributor to a library of books including a very interesting book entitled “Cultural Engagement: A Crash Course In Contemporary Issues.” This is my conversation with Karen Swallow Prior. Check it out.  Links for Karen Swallow Priorhttps://karenswallowprior.comhttps://twitter.co

When Donald Miller’s book “Blue Like Jazz” was initially making its rounds through religious circles, one of the hot topics of conversation had to do with cultural taboos. Namely, that there was a pastor in the book who cussed and that drinking alcohol was somewhat normalized. As someone who grew up around people who both cussed and drank, I wasn’t scandalized at all. But a lot of folks seemed to be and a lot of that scandalization seemed a tad fearful.But not all of it. There was also a measure of care; a desire to protect people from things that might, for one reason or another, hurt them or cost them. There’s no question that, in the case of alcohol, there are reasons for caution. Communicating that caution without being condemning or overly-judgmental can be a bit tricky. Which is why I really prefer hearing care-takers approach issues like booze or cussing or tattoos or sex say something more like “I’m not comfortable with this and, having thought a lot about it, here are my reasons.” That rather than si

The very first beer I ever had was, I believe, a Bud Dry. That’s probably not true for a lot of folks, but it’s part of my story and I like it as someone who tests as a 4 on the enneagram. At the time, beer pretty much only showed up at parties or in TV commercials and was never any talk about “hops” or or “malt” between beer drinkers. Which is to say, the culture around beer was thin. That’s not the case anymore. The most recent beer I had was last night at a neighbor-friend’s birthday party where we tasted 8 different beers from local breweries and talked about the differences in composition and flavor and complexity; the way people talk about wine or paintings or songs. Beer culture is a vital social space that, as a culture, provides a doorway into relationship and conversation even broader than wine or fine art does; probably more like music. Which is the thing I like most about the team at Harding House brewery in Nashville, TN. And why it means so much that, among the many excellent beers they’ve brewe

I just got off the phone with a long-time friend who is now a coaching client. It's the call I needed in order to finish this script. This beloved friend began the conversation with the nearly universal phrase: "I feel like I'm always in the middle."And I get that. Even though I disagree a bit. I don't think he's in the "middle," per se; I think he's trapped in a relationship with people who hold somewhat opposing perspectives (political, social, theological) and hold those perspectives more tightly and more dearly than they do the people around them. In other words, he is in a relationship with fundamentalists who hold differing opinions; People who are so sure that what they think is correct and who are so sure that the things they think are important that they are willing to sacrifice relationship in order to hold onto their perspectives and ideas.That's the actual trauma and tragedy of Fundamentalism; it strips people of their humanity and rends us from those we would otherwise love. I'm not allowed to be

The ethos and heart of my next book is that just about nothing "is what it is." Instead, as the title of the book would have it, It Is What You Make Of It.I realize that shifting from "it is what it is" to "it is what you make of it" is a long process and can be a bit daunting.  More so when the "is" we have to work with,  our circumstances and opportunities is really sideways.When things go wrong or the unexpected takes over, it can feel like the most natural thing to do is  to navigate to, grab hold of, and cling to something  "solid" or "sure."What if, on the other hand, and on occasion, I read a lack of "solid ground" or the absence of a "sure thing" as an invitation into adventure?That's what I find inspiring and formative in Laura Joyce Davis. That, while I don't blame a soul for looking to "sure things" and more "solid ground" during the COVID era,  she and her family took it as an opportunity to dive headlong into the unknown and see what they could make of the pieces they found there.She is a writer

I think it was 6 or so years ago, I was in a session with a therapist who practiced cranial - sacral therapy.Which, in short, attends to the alignment of the body between the cranium (my noggin) and the sacrum (which is pretty much my tailbone). It’s a series of long tensions and pulls rather than muscle squeezing and all that.About 15 min into the session, she asked me, “It feels like you have some injuries on your left side.”“Yeah, probably.”She paused and then pulled me over onto my back and said, “tell me.”I’d never been asked before to recount my history of injuries. Regardless, I could recall all of them.broken anklemultiple sprained ankles (6-7)hairline fracture of my tibiaACL tearsome other mind of knee blowoutdislocated hip3 broken ribs (2 occasions)Broken collarbone (2x)Broken shoulderBroken wrist (2x)Hairline skull fracture (2x)All of it on the left side of my body.“That’s a lot of trauma.”My brain immediately reacted with something like, “What?! I don’t have ‘trauma.’ I just got hurt a few times.”

Often enough, the topic of pain gets tied up into the same kind of conversations had about “evil.”  Spoken of as a “problem” or a thing to be avoided. A thing that diminishes the human experience and limits relationships. Oddly, pain, including physical pain, is perhaps the most common human experience. in the eternally wise words of REM’s Michael Stipe: “everybody hurts”And there might not be anything quite as soul-binding as suffering together. Which is what makes the work Jennifer Ko does so beautiful, so good and so humanly true. Chronic pain and physical limitation take center stage in Jennifer’s story and her work. And rather than speaking in terms of “problems” and “ways to avoid,” Jennifer shares the reality of her pain as an experience and expression of her full humanity. I am regularly informed and inspired by who she is and how she shares herself. This is my conversation with Jennifer Ko. 

I didn’t know a lot about the actual life of Jesus before I was in my mid-twenties. Honestly, even after I started calling myself a Christian (which is far more interesting conversation now than it was then),  What actually led me to do the work of discovery and research wasn’t a sermon series; it was seeing a series of books or short documentaries on what people were calling the “Lost Years” of Jesus’ life. As the 4 biblical accounts of Jesus’ life have it, we can read about his birth, which is mostly about his mother’s faith and the political environment he’s born into, and then we actually get nothing until he’s right about 12 when he wanders off from his parents and ends up in a conversation with religious elders. THEN, there’s nothing until he’s about 30. In fact, all there is to read of the actual life of Jesus is roughly 3 years.So, I started noticing these books in which a whole slew of folks basically gave in to imaginative conjecture about what Jesus was doing as a young adult into his mid-twenties.

If you've been around me for any significant time, you'll likely know that my mother is a hero of mine. not in a cute "I love my mom, you guys" kind of way but more like "I hope I can be the kind of resilient and faithful and strong as that person" kind of way. From her very difficult childhood, marked by various in-house abuses and financial destitution to her adventures west to CA from Albuquerque, NM to the ways she held our family together while my father was falling apart and, more recently the relentless ways she cares for me and my kids, I marvel at her parenthood. Which leads me to this: The significance of parenthood seems to often allude faithful and respectful conversation. Either idolized in a kind of glass box and set aside untouched by critique or minimized in a smaller cardboard box and cast aside so that it doesn’t touch other vital things.Parenthood often gets treated as the alter on which all other aspects of life must be sacrificed or the pit of despair that must be avoided so that other as

Most of the guests I host on the podcast share some kind of faith in common. For many of them, that faith carries the label of "Christianity." for others, that label doesn't fit quite as well or as comfortably.My last guest, Jon Steingard, is one such guest for whom religious labels are somewhat unhelpful, at least at this moment in his life and career.But, then again, maybe it's not about this moment or season for Jon, or for people like Jon, and maybe there are a whole lot more people "like Jon;" folks who feel placeless and are somewhat comfortable with that. . Maybe the fact that religious labels are so unhelpful and inaccurate with Jon "right now" actually says something about the ineffectiveness and extreme limitation of those labels.In 2008, I released an album called "Deconstruction" after doing a fair about of my own deconstructive work, theologically and philosophically, and socially.One of the questions I started getting from folks was some form of "okay, where are you now?"Where are you on this to

Jon Steingard spent 16 years as a musician, songwriter and front man in a band whose success had its context in what some call the "Christian market." I've spent a bit of time there myself and there's a whole conversation herein about whether or not a marketplace can be "christian,"  (I think it can't). But that's what's significant and odd about that conversation is that what seems to bind that marketplace and its buyers together as a tribe is agreement on a very particular set of theological and social conclusions.So, when Jon began to question, doubt and distance himself from many of those theological and social conclusions, it meant having to intentionally begin a the work of reinvention. If you're a consumer of religious culture, particularly the religious culture Jon took part it, you might know that such a reinvention often comes with what can be a volatile mixture of frustration and disillusionment and respect and clarity and ... well... it can be a lot.So it's not that Jon has been undergoing a decon

When I started the @ Sea Podcast, I was doing a bit of soul searching. The way I communicated it originally was that the cultural spaces I was used to hosting the work of soul-shaping and meaning-making had ceased to work for enough people or enough kinds of people. In response to that, I wanted to be a guide (a good captain, as it were), helping to navigate the turbulent waters of an unsure/unclear future.  So, I set out to talk with people who were building that future, people who were making what comes next.Over time, I learned something vital: it wasn't' the artifact or the program or even the culture that comes next; it was the person doing the work of making and changing and rethinking and maintaining; that person is what's next.In short, you're what comes next.Then it hit me that I'm part of what comes next, in my own way.And this podcast is part of how I live into that.Over this next season, we will certainly touch on the issues and topics that have been a hallmark of this podcast. But I'll do less fo

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