Spirit and Surrender: Joel Figueroa on UPPERROOM, Honest Faith, and the Making of Groanings

“Exposure exposes you.”

That’s how Upperroom worship leader Joel Figueroa describes the tension of influence — and it’s one of the many honest moments in our conversation about faith, ego, and the kind of worship that doesn’t fit a formula.

Joel has been part of UPPERROOM since the beginning, when the ministry was just a prayer meeting above a Dallas vet clinic. Over the past decade, he’s watched it grow into one of the most influential worship movements in the world. But behind the moments and music, there’s a quieter story — about obedience, honesty, and learning to meet God in our groanings.

What follows is our full conversation — lightly edited for clarity — about how UPPERROOM began, what fame can do to your heart, and why Joel’s solo project Groanings might be the purest worship he’s ever written.

Joel’s Story — California → McAllen → CFNI → Upperroom

Drew: I wish we had more time… at some point I want to start a podcast and get people’s entire stories, but for now—if you could—give a 30,000-foot overview of how you ended up in music, in Dallas, at Upperroom, and what you do there.

Joel: Yeah. I was born in California but raised in a small town in South Texas called McAllen. I was there until I was 18. During those years I really experienced God for the first time—gave my life to Him at 16 or 17. That’s a whole story of its own.

God met me when I was 16, and I decided, Okay, I’m following God. When I’d go to worship environments, hearing people lead worship always deeply touched me. I realized there was something there for me. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt drawn to the fact that when you sing to God, you experience God.

So I started working at Chili’s around 17. The hostess asked what I was about, and I told her, “I’m a Christian. I want to study music and worship and maybe media —I love film too.” She said, “Have you heard of CFNI?” I hadn’t. She explained it’s a Bible school in Dallas called Christ for the Nations. I checked it out, applied, got in, and moved to Dallas at 18.

I was at CFNI for four years. After that I didn’t know what I’d do. I stayed here a couple months, and my friend Enola told me and a few friends, “Hey, you guys should check out this church called Upperroom. You’d really like it.” That was 2013.

A group of us started going—serving in the prayer room, doing ProPresenter, whatever was needed. We loved that we found a place that God could interrupt the services, for lack of better words. I’d been to many churches, but I wanted a place where if God wanted to do something different, the plan could be laid down. Upperroom felt like that. We had a plan, but at any point God could shift it, and we’d follow. We saw it happen again and again—that’s what made us stay.

We started serving in 2013, helping in the prayer room. Slowly, they started asking us—me, Ola, my wife Elyssa, and Abby (she wasn’t CFNI but came around the same time)—to lead worship together with the Gamboas. We’ve been doing it ever since.

Elyssa and I have been at Upperroom almost 13 years now, which is insane. We never thought it would be what it is—that was never the goal. We were in a small building above a vet clinic; sometimes you’d hear dogs bark during worship. It was funny.

In 2016–2017, the church started releasing worship moments, and it exploded from there. It’s been a roller coaster—crazy, but I’m grateful. We still serve our local church, we love it, and I started songwriting there. That’s basically been our life.

Drew: So cool. Love that, man. I’m a big fan of y’all’s music and the whole thing. I was introduced to the prayer-house movement through you guys, and as Upperroom Music has grown and reached more of Christian music, it’s helped people see that worship can be free-flowing and open to whatever God wants to do. It’s been cool to see y’all grow and what that’s turned into.

Joel: It’s wild, bro. Like I said, it’s been a roller coaster—crazy experiences, growth, pain, real life. But I wouldn’t change it. God’s used it to mold me—my internal world. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it’s been crazy.

Highs and Lows of the Roller Coaster

Drew: I’m sure this is a loaded question, but could you either give an example or a summary of the highs and the lows?

Joel: I’ve lived in Dallas more than fifteen years now. Writing songs is an incredible thing, one of my favorite things—sitting at an instrument or with people, and suddenly there’s a song that didn’t exist a few minutes earlier. It’s supernatural. What’s even more beautiful is when you present that song to a body of people and they connect with it—when it gives them language to sing to God that they didn’t know they had. And when those songs are theologically and biblically sound, when you take a truth from Scripture and put your heart in it and people receive it—there’s nothing like it. Traveling and seeing people sing our songs and meet God through them is the greatest honor.

And then at the same time there's the side of: suddenly people you don’t know know you because of what you do. My wife says, “Exposure exposes you.” When you start to experience influence or notoriety, if you’re not careful, it does something to your heart. It’s not that you wake up one day and think, I’m the center of the world. It’s more that it can feel isolating—being in environments where people feel like they know you because of a song. How do you explain that?

What’s helped is having people who actually know us, people we can open our lives to. You can influence people without truly being known by anyone—that’s the danger of a world obsessed with influence and notoriety. It’s a bubble. If I’m not careful, I become what I hoped I’d never become: self-reliant, self-sufficient, the center of my own world. I’ve had to learn to live in the light—to confess sin, to welcome encouragement and rebuke. Holding a microphone doesn’t make me above conviction or living under the lordship of Jesus. People see the highs; the lows are usually unseen. The lows are asking, Is my life reflecting what I’m singing on Sunday? Sometimes it hasn’t—and that’s scary. But we run back to God, repent, bring it into the light. It’s still a journey—the craziest one of my life.

Drew: I resonate with all of that, but two things especially stand out: loneliness and lack of community. Church should be the place where everyone is known by at least a few people. Church isn’t really church if you don’t have that—it’s just attending. I’ve seen people church-hop or just show up Sunday morning and not be known. That never ends well, especially for anyone in the limelight or with a platform.

Joel: For sure, bro.

Drew: Those things grow fast. “The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.” And I’ve heard, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” If you’re above everyone else and won’t listen to anyone, you’re cooked—it’ll turn you into the monster you once wanted to rise up against.

Joel: Oh yeah. And it’s crazy because it’s easy to connect a room responding in worship with “I must be good with God.” That’s not true. God moves with or without me. He doesn’t need me. If we’re not surrounded by people who truly know us, it’s a slippery slope. If everyone around you says “yes” to everything, who’s going to tell you “no”? Sometimes “no” is the best thing you can hear.

Drew: The other thing is celebrity culture. Christians and non-Christians both do this—put people with power on pedestals as the ideal human. But we’re only seeing a small piece of who they are—their best side. We all do that. Putting someone on a pedestal feeds their ego, and then people start building their faith on a pastor or singer. When that person falls, their faith collapses too. I’m sure it’s been a journey for you to understand the importance of community in your position.

Joel: For sure. I’m still in it—right in the middle of it. You said that very well.

Drew: Thank you, man. I appreciate it. I’m glad you’re learning that and have people who actually know you. That’s encouraging.

Why a Solo Project

Drew: You’ve been leading with Upperroom for a while. What made you decide to step out of the worship thing and do a solo project—and to do it the way you did?

Joel: The past three years I went through a lot of transition—a job change and some relational tension. I spent a lot of time writing in my room, singing at the piano. I tried to write the worship songs I was used to, but what came out was different—songs full of tension and pain, but I found God in them. I’d be honest with God, and as I was, He’d show me Himself. I’d find resolution as I processed with Him in the song. Some of the songs on the album came out of that.

When I wrote “Ego Death” in my room, I had a list of people I felt had hurt me. I felt justified to stay mad and bitter. But if I never forgive, I’ll just get old and bitter—and I don’t want that. My ego dies when I forgive. Forgiveness has everything to do with ego. I feel I’m right and deserve an “I’m sorry.” But what if no one ever tells me “I’m sorry”? Am I going to wait my whole life? No. I have to bring my ego to God and let it die.

I started writing some of these songs and realizing how real they were to me, and wondered if people would connect to these. I went to Kansas City and worked with producers Jared Logan and Eric Lopes—this project wouldn’t exist without them. I showed them some songs and they said, “Bro, this is very good. We need to work on this.” We wrote more together, and the same themes kept showing up: forgiveness, letting go, dying to self.

During that time, I started asking God, “What do you think about these songs? Are these worship songs?” And I started realizing, worship is for God. He’s looking for spirit and truth. If I bring my whole self to Him and hide nothing, that’s worship. I could have written songs that I knew would “work,” but God wasn’t asking for that—He was asking for honesty. I felt He received that honesty as worship.

I’d overthink—What if these songs are misunderstood? Where is God in them?—but when I wrote, I felt His delight. When I know I’m doing what He wants, that’s my greatest act of worship.These songs feel like worship to me—just not what I expected. It was two years of forgiving, letting go, dying—and that became worship.

Writing with my church is one part of me; this other part hadn’t come out yet—maybe it wasn’t time. Now that I’ve done this project and still serve my church, it feels like a holistic view of me before God. I think that they actually fuel each other. The album gave me new language and even sonics for what I want some worship sets to sound like. One informs the other.

Even while writing about forgiveness and cynicism, I wanted God’s truth, not just my truth. It’s good to process and ask questions, but I don’t want the listener to stay stuck on the verge of cynicism. I’ll tell God how I feel and ask questions, but when He answers and I don’t agree, I have a choice: disagree with Him, or die to myself and come under His answer. At the end of the day, I don’t know what’s best for me. If I can stay there, I’ll stay dependent on God.

So the reason I didn’t just do the “normal worship thing” is because I had to be honest with myself and with God. This project was the most honest thing I could give Him in that season.

Drew: That’s great. I love it. I can a thousand percent hear that. There’s a rawness in the lyrics that’s historically been missing from a lot of Christian music. There’s a movement of artists being fully honest—pouring out their souls and choosing to worship in that. Across sonics, Chris Renzema’s been doing that really well.

Joel: Oh bro, he’s been doing that for a minute. It’s so good, and a lot of people connect to it.

Drew: Yes. A guy named Luke Bower that I’ve been covering—he does Christian folk—his last project wrestled and doubted, and I think that’s sick.

Joel: Do you know who Taylor Armstrong is? He’s amazing—super inspiring. Even other musicians or worship leaders—Martin Smith from Delirious—his songs are full of God’s truth, but he also brings his humanity.

I think there are songs that are purely vertical—just singing to God—and songs like the Psalms, where you talk to God about what’s really going on. Not because you want your own answer, but because you want God to talk to you. Some of these honest songs coming out are exciting for me, bro. When we wrote “On the Verge of Cynicism (Note to Self)” we were talking about ministries going through turmoil. We started to realize: without God and honest conversation about these things, you start getting cynical.

What’s the answer to cynicism? I think a cynic is someone who loves truth but didn’t deal with pain correctly—and I relate to that. I love truth; that’s why I love God and the Bible. But what happens when life doesn’t line up with what you thought—or who you thought God was?

So many people have left the faith because of real, painful things. What do we do? In the end, when I don’t get the answer I wanted, I have to remember: I don’t know better than God. All through Scripture, God knows best. That doesn’t erase the hard, though. Everyone’s had hard situations. As a Christian, that tension is real. I have compassion for those questioning—not because cynicism is good, but because when you hit rock bottom and still choose to trust God, you experience something deeper than the answers you thought you wanted.

If I could sum it up: I don’t know what’s best for me, but God does. I hope people get that from the song and the whole project. I love that honest songs are leading people back to God. If people just say, “Great songwriting, great sonics,” I’ve missed it. But were you able to have an honest conversation with God after hearing the song? That’s the goal. I love honest songs.

“Verge of Cynicism” and John 6

Drew: We’re running out of time—five minutes left—so I’ll bring it to a close. That song, “If I’m Ever on the Verge of Cynicism,” has a line that really stuck out:

“I know there is truth out there. I know it’s gotta be somewhere; it’s in You, so it’s why I never left.”

It reminds me of the passage where Jesus tells a crowd, “Eat my flesh and drink my blood,” and they all leave. Then He turns to His disciples and asks, “Are you going to leave too?” and Peter says, “You have the words of life. Where else would we go?” That’s the sentiment here. I don’t know if you had that in mind, but that’s a passage I keep coming back to in my wrestling.

Joel: Wow, bro. That is so good. Thank you. I didn’t even put that together, honestly. For us, it probably came from “the way, the truth, and the life.” The answer to cynicism is Truth. My truth won’t heal my heart; your truth won’t; what the media says, politics, none of that fixes the cynicism in me. Hearing truth at church helps, but at the end of the day, who is Truth? Jesus.Peter’s line is what I hope people take away: after all the processing, you stay because He’s the truth.

Why Groanings

Drew: I love that song. I feel like I got that from the whole album. Final question: the title Groanings—based on what we’ve talked about I think I get it, but could you summarize where it comes from, how it connects to the album, and the overall message you want people to take away?

Joel: The album title came from Romans 8. It says we don’t know how to pray, but the Holy Spirit in us prays with groanings too deep for words. We’ve talked about pain, processing, cynicism—all these inner tensions. Sometimes I didn’t even know how to tell God what I was feeling. There was frustration, almost an angst: how things should be but aren’t—first in me, then in the church and the world. Lord, why are things like this?

As I read Romans, I realized there are groanings inside me I can’t articulate, but I still bring them to God. When we wrote “Groanings,” I knew it had to be the title track. The lyrics basically answer that question: everything in me and around me that doesn’t lead back to God—I want it to die. Those are my groanings: the parts of me that choose myself instead of Him, and the things in the world that lead back to man instead of God. I want them to die.

All these songs are my groanings—still real to me. I hope people listen and ask, What are the things inside me I don’t know how to tell God—but I bring them anyway? Because He meets you there. God communes with us in our groanings—in the tension. There’s nothing you can’t bring to Him that He won’t meet you in and tell you the truth about. When we wrote that song, I wanted it to be the title track, but after we chose Groanings, I realized—these really are my groanings to God, at least twelve of them. There are many more I keep bringing to Him.

Something I’ve learned as a songwriter—you might have already experienced this, Drew, but if not, you will—you write songs that, years later, end up being for you. A year or two after we finished “Ego Death,” new situations came up where I was so angry, and I heard the song and thought, I wrote this for me, for right now. I have to forgive now. It’s like—am I going to live what I write, or just write songs to fill a catalog?

There are still groanings and points of tension for me. I hope people take theirs to God and meet Him there—that’s what He’s done and keeps doing for me.

Drew: Ultimately the best thing God wants for us is nearness. When people feel like they can’t come close to Him with their groanings, they miss the point. When we do what David does in the Psalms—draw close with everything we’re carrying—He accepts it as worship. Once we’ve drawn close, He’s able to embrace us and hold us in that.

Joel: That’s crazy, isn’t it, bro? That’s so good. Drew, I really enjoyed this. Thank you.

Drew: I figured we’d have a good conversation—just listening to your music I thought, this guy gets it. It’s been encouraging to hear that confirmed. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’m excited for whatever’s next.