Adam Brooks Webber

Adam Brooks Webber

 Clare, Michigan, USA

I write songs, arrange them, sing them, back them up with keyboard and other instruments, and sometimes produce them for recording. Some of my songs are for church: spiritual, humorous, progressive, mystical, noncreedal. Some are definitely not for church: lyrical and sarcastic.


The Reverend Dr. Adam Brooks Webber is the pastor and teacher of the Clare Congregational United Church of Christ in Clare, Michigan.  He is a graduate of Dartmouth College (B.A.), Cornell University (M.S., Ph.D.), and the Earlham School of Religion (M.Div.).  In his former career Adam was a software engineer, and then a professor of computer science.  His more recent, more ministerial adventures began when he and his wife Kelly helped to found a UCC church in Princeton, Illinois.  Adam became its organist, composer, occasional lay preacher and teacher, webmaster, and chocolatier.  Adam served as a ministry intern and as a hospice chaplain before being ordained in the United Church of Christ in 2012.

In addition to his pastoral ministry, Adam pursues a music ministry, writing and recording songs in a variety of styles.  His second CD, "As a Deer Longs", was released last year.  Examples of his songs, poems, essays, and other writings are available on his blog at  Adam is also a dedicated student of a traditional martial art, Karatedo Doshinkan, where he holds a title degree (Renshi) and a 5th degree black belt.


Me And Joe And What's-His-Name

Written By: Adam Brooks Webber

Soon I'll be with Joe, I know,
Soon I'll be with Joe.
The pain has left my hands and feet,
Pain and strife and life and heat,
And soon I'll be with Joe,
Soon I'll be with Joe.

Joe, he's dead and gone, I know,
Joe, he's dead and gone.
The raven and the raven's mate
Tested Joe and know his fate,
They know he's dead and gone,
Joe, he's dead and gone, gone.

Got what he deserved, did Joe,
Got what he deserved.
Broke the law, had to die,
Broke the law and so did I,
We got what we deserved,
Got what we deserved.

Third man done no wrong, they say,
Third man done no wrong.
But now we're dying all the same,
Me and Joe and what's-his-name,
Though he done no wrong,
Though he done no wrong, wrong.

Third man's dead and gone, I think,
Third man's dead and gone.
The storm has passed without a trace,
The sun is shining on his face,
But I think he's dead and gone,
I think he's dead and gone.

I wonder what he meant when he said to me,
Wonder what he meant when he said,
Through pain of flail, nail and spear,
Bleeding brow, falling tear:
Today, you'll be with me in Paradise,
Soon, you'll be with me in Paradise!

Prophet's Lament

Written By: Adam Brooks Webber

One fateful day I saw this ad, and I just couldn’t resist it,
It was up there like a billboard where nobody could have missed it:
The sign said, Are you happy in your work, or are you bored?
You, you, you can be a prophet of the Lord!

And I thought hey -- I can so see myself turning prophetic,
‘Cause being all spiritual can totally make a guy magnetic.
And plus, I’ve already got the hair,
The lack of friends, the vacant stare,
So I sign on the dotted line and stand up in the public square.

Oinga, boinga, boobaley boo,
Riggaty roggaty raunchity roo,
Prophety offity, lovity you,
Lovity yoodley you.

The best part is, God tells you all this useful secret stuff.
Seven lean years come but still you always have enough.
I thought I’d be a windfall prophet, making lots of money:
'Cause the more the bread you’ve got, the fewer locusts in your honey.

Of course you have to leave your hometown, but I’m sick of ‘em anyway.
Those losers never listen to a single word I have to say.
And plus, they give me no respect,
Just complaining and neglect,
Now I can tell them, mene, mene, tekel, upharsin
-- or other words to that effect. Like:

Oinga, boinga, boobaley boo,
Riggaty roggaty raunchity roo,
Mystery mastery, seekery peekery,
Trancery dancery, spookery speakery,
Prophety offity, lovity you,
Lovity yoodley you.

But I should have read the fine print, ‘cause it’s not an easy job.
I sort of missed the part where prophets foam and rave and sob.
Just at your charismatic best, God splits you down the middle,
And it’s hard to grope the groupies when your beard is flecked with spittle.

Oh, he’ll tinker with your thinker and he'll garble with your marble,
He'll foodle with your noodle and he'll meddle with your heddle,
You'll be singing like a stooley,
And you want to play it cooly,
But a fine prophetic frenzy and you go all fooley drooley, singing:

Oinga, boinga, boobaley boo,
Riggaty roggaty raunchity roo,
Mystery mastery, seekery peekery,
Trancery dancery, spookery speakery,
Booing and spewing and chewing the scenery,
Denting, dissenting and venting your spleenery,
Prophety offity, lovity you,
Lovity you, lovity you,
Prophety offity, lovity you,
Lovity yoodley you.

I Don't Believe In You Any More

Written By: Adam Brooks Webber

When I was six, the sisters said
To think of you as Father God above,
They didn't know the fear we felt
Of Father's hand and Father's belt,
We blessed the day when he walked out the door:
I don't believe in you any more.

When I was twelve, the teacher said
To think of you as God the Great and Good.
But where were you when Mama bled?
She hit the button by her bed,
To call me like a hundred times before:
I don't believe in you any more.

At twenty-four, the chaplain said
To think of war as your refining fire,
He told me trials would make me strong.
But no one told the Viet Cong,
And all the lights are dimmer since the war:
I don't believe in you any more.

And now I'm old -- God knows how old,
And by this overpass the birds still sing,
And every night the stars confess,
But they don't see me here, I guess.
And I don't see you there, my absent friend:
I don't believe in you,
I don't believe in you,
I don't believe in you,

Longs For You

Written By: Adam Brooks Webber

Here's a guess
I confess,
Crying in the wilderness,

Though I can't
Explain the death
Of that man from Nazareth.

Still I know,
Far below
Any reason I can show,
Someone's watching over you:
He longs for you, he longs for you, he longs for you.

Like a mother with a longing for a baby's smile,
Like a sailor who is sighing for the sight of land,
Like a runner digging deeply for a final mile,
Like a wave awaiting welcome from the warm sand,
Like a songwriter searching for the sweetest rhyme,
Like a heavy heart hungers for a little less care,
Like a working woman wishing for a little more time,
Like a tired man searching for a soft chair,
Like a shepherd seeking out a little sheep that's lost,
Like the rain crying softly for reunion with the sea,
Like the springtime dreaming of the breaking frost,
Like my longing for my lover like she needs me.
Longs for you, longs for you, longs for you.

I don't know
Where we go
When we leave the life we know.

But I know,
On that day,
Longing love will lead the way.

And I cling
To one thing
Making every corner ring
Loud and clear and strong and true:
She longs for you, she longs for you, she longs for you.


Every bird
Bears the Word
And a longing to be heard.

Every day,
I hear them say,
"Won't you please come out to play?"

Every breeze
In the trees
Sighs for you and whispers, "Please,
Whisper back a prayer or two.
I long for you, I long for you, I long for you!"


Come To Me

Written By: Adam Brooks Webber

I am ready now.
I have trained myself for this.
I summon you:
Come to me!

Bird of the air, I summon thee:
Flap your wings and come to me!
Beast of the earth, I summon thee:
Stomp your feet and come to me!
Fish of the sea, I summon thee:
Shake your fins and come to me!

I shine my light and draw you like a moth to a flame,
I sing the song and send the sound of saying your name.
I pull you to the edge and then I pull a little more,
I light the fuse and spread the news and open up your hidden door.
Now come to me!

I open up a path that you won’t find on the map,
I light the dark and make a spark that bridges your gap.
I dance before the altar and you feel the earth shake,
I touch you and your sun comes up and tells you that you’re wide awake.
Now come to me!

Fly me, whale me, stork me, quail me, hare me, snail me, come to me!
Bear me, bee me, mare me, flea me, manatee me, come to me!
Louse me, mouse me, goat me, stoat me, tick me, chick me, come to me!
Bat me, gnat me, frog me, rat me, dog me, cat me, come to me!
Come to me!


My song "Fear Not, Said The Angel" was recorded by Curran Reichert on her 2006 album, "Draw the Circle Wide", released by G-Spot Records.

My 2008 CD "Smackdown" is available through CDBaby.