@ Sea With Justin Mcroberts

I ran into a friend recently whom I haven’t seen in a while. And at first, I didn’t recognize him. Some of that had to do with the time between meetings. But more of it had to do with context. The last time I saw him was in California in the Sierra Nevada foothills.This recent meeting was in a town called Goshen, Virginia. He and I were walking into buildings adjacent to one another and caught each other's eye. Then we did “that thing;” just staring at one another quizzically and awkwardly until he (his name is Mike) said “McRoberts!?” There were hugs and high fives and that “guy” hug with the clasped palms thing in the middle. I’m guessing you’ve had a similar moment: seeing someone or something you know well enough but in a context that threw off your expectations. Them? Here? No.. that can’t be. They belong somewhere else,… right? Part of what has been exposed in my religious training is that this happens to me, in relationship to God, somewhat regularly. An “encounter” or a moment of clarity is cast into

In the book Prayer: 40 Days of Practice, I take a swing at unpacking the word “spiritual;” not an effort to redefine the word for all users, but an effort to expand its application to meet my own experience and expectation. I do so by way of a kind of allegory; one in which a young man visits a religious guide of some kind, I think I call him a priest in the actual chapter, and shares that something feels wrong in his connection with The Divine. He describes it as a kind of pain in his chest; one he experiences most keenly at night when he lays down to reflect on his day. After describing the discomfort in some detail, the young man expects a particular kind of “spiritual” response from his priest friend. But that priest friend reaches into his bag to retrieve an antacid, saying “Son, you have heartburn.”My hope is that the story expands a readers’ take on what it means to think of themselves spiritually. That, instead of “spiritual” matters being those that are disembodied and separate from financial, social

A few weeks ago, I was in a contraption with a few folks my age and older who were voicing concerns about all the “information” kids get online. During that conversation, statistics were thrown around about how much data we’re subject to. Apparently, every person creates something like 1.7 MB of data every second, which amounted to 2.5 quintillion data bytes per day. ThatIsA Lot At some point, someone said something about kids knowing too much. I don’t remember the exact phrase but it was something along the lines of “it’s just too much information. They’re overwhelmed.” That.. gave me pause. Something about it rang true, but not entirely. You see, I wonder if the hang-up here isn’t that there’s too much to know; I wonder if it’s that I feel responsible for caring about all of it... or even too much of it. And saying I don’t care about everything can be a slightly troublesome thing to say. Because “everything” is a very long list and it includes things you might think are REALLY vital; maybe even essential. S

When I am asked what I do, I often say that I try to prove language for the process of faith and art. I think that does a decent job of describing my work, even if it’s a bit nebulous. Thing is, language shapes and defines cultures; the difference between one culture and another is often a matter of difference between the words we’re using for the same things.. or even the same experiences. This is why David Dark is one of the very few second-time guests on this podcast. His very peculiar and precise use of language stretches my imagination to reconsider the words I’m using and more seriously consider many words I avoid. In this second conversation, we cover a lot of ground (as we often do when we talk), but spend the lions share of our time on, not just a word, but a name: Reality Winner That name, and the life of the woman that name references, has been a lightning rod for David on many levels. His continual responsibility to that names has brought to life conversations about what it means to be a patriot,

It’s likely you’ve heard something like “You’re being emotional.” Or “let’s not bring emotions into this.” And it’s likely that, when you heard it, it was said in the context of the conversation is about something very, very serious; something serious enough that, were we to “get emotional” or “bring emotions into it” we would complicate it and muddy it. That has been my training (cultural and institutionally) as well.That the more real and consequential the thing we’re talking about is, the more important it is that we distance ourselves from whatever feelings we might have and rely on the numbers. Don’t get caught up in sentiments. Look for the bottom line or at least the dominant trends. Now, I don’t have the time or space here (nor, if I’m honest, the expertise) to dissect what is meant by “feelings” in a lot of these moments; what I am comfortable saying is that it’s a pretty bold move at any point to look at a list of vital human traits like:Intuition Memoryor even triggered responses or trauma and enti

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.