The Westminster Confession of Funk

Talking about theology, but keeping it funky

I am a husband and father and pastor of Trinity Covenant Church and teacher as St. Abraham’s Classical Christian Academy in Santa Cruz, CA.

I married my Indian Princess just before Y2K. I am an old fashioned Protestant Christian Humanist who lives where people vacation. I love music, love to surf, coach soccer for a hoard of minions, play the drums, and read actual flesh and blood books. I enjoy theology and literature and history and philosophy (if Sophie is serving beer) and Anglo-Saxon Poetry.

If I could have lunch with any three living people, I would have buffalo ribs with a butter, mushroom, cream sauce, Roxy Ray would be singing with Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, and I’d be at table with Tom Wolfe, ?uestlove, and Adam Schlesinger (and Brad Bird, because it’s my fantasy, and no one can count in my fantasy).

If I could have dinner with any three dead people (and the TARDIS was there with its universal language translation circuit) I’d have slow smoked dry ribs with the author of Beowulf, Herodotus, Martin Bucer, and Polycarp (see the previous paragraph if you have questions about my ability to count). And Janis Joplin would be singing with Louis Armstrong and his All-Stars backed up by Parliament Funkadelic of course.

My carefully crafted internet persona is also much cooler than my actual person, but I can live with that.

The Dandelion’s Roar

Brute power/ Is not superior/ To a flower – May Sarton


There is very little that can undo a dandelion.

Though you pick it, pluck it, pound it, or poison it

it pops up again when you’re not looking.


It roars its mockery at all you do,

letting you (and all your neighbors) know that they will live still,

and live long, when you are still long gone.


When I am dead, buried to fertilize the dirt,

they will grow up smiling around my tombstone.

(Maybe I’ll be buried at sea?)


Because all I have is the power of brute force.

Because all I give to this flower is death.

It has resurrection.


From No One Doubts a Belly Laugh