Mexican Indigenous mother loses child because she can't speak english?

This is so outrageous. Some social services somewhere in Mississippi took a woman's baby away because she can only speak an indigenous tongue (not much Spanish and no English). Is this what immigration law has come to? Oh! you don't speak english, we'll take your kids now. Thank You! Have a nice day!

This is crap. If this woman loses her baby then I'll lose my faith in democracy. Let me explain. Democracy has produced one of the most confusing, intricate and absolutely impossible immigration systems in the whole world. It doesn't even make sense to the people who enforce it.

Check this and this out. It's more confusing than the Bible. It's impossible to get here unless you're a billionaire or whatever.
Let's remember that there are desperate humans all over the world who look to the United States as a symbol of hope to change their miserable lives, but when they apply, it ends up taking twenty years to become a citizen. Can you imagine if you had to wait twenty years for anything. That's about as slow as dial-up. We need to take some responsibility and change this legislation.

I have a friend who recently told me about his family's immigration story. His dad applied 3 years before my friend was even born, and didn't hear back from the U.S. till my friend was 12. That means he waited fifteen years to get in. I spoke with his dad who said that coming to the U.S. was the most difficult thing that ever happened to him because he had to come first, then his sons, then his wife, then his daughters. He told me that they came in four stages like that. They are completely legal, which is entirely rare because of the insane process and expense.

If we want people to come here legally, let's make it a little easier on them.

that's all.

-g

The Fall of the Flannel Graph

After spending five years researching, writing, and drawing, Robert Crumb, a lauded comic artist, published “The Book of Genesis.” This graphic novel leaves nothing out. Full of sex and war, this novel casts the foundational narratives of Judeo-Christianity in a whole new light.

What Crumb did in this book is bold, especially in a nation with such conservative mental claustrophobia. He illustrated a book of the Bible, and left no story untold, no scene un-shown. We like to leave the strange stories about Lot and his daughters screwing in caves or Abraham doing it with his wife’s slave out of our Christian Education Hour curriculum. Crumb includes these sexual scenes, and even shows us some boobs.

R. Crumb draws on a few different translations of the Hebrew text, as well as some artistic freedom, to illustrate every verse of the biblical book of Genesis. In his introduction, he says, “I, ironically, do not believe the Bible is ‘the word of God.’ I believe it is the words of men. It is, nonetheless, a powerful text.” But, let’s set theology aside, and look at the novel as a piece of art.

Crumb uses visceral images to present the text and culture with all of its taboos and nuances. This tears the Sunday school, flannel-graph, always-smiling Bible characters of my fond childhood asunder. He replaces the posh, happily robed flannel-graph Abraham with a balding man whose remaining hairs appear pubic. His facial expressions of love, mourning, war-rage, jealousy, fear, astonishment, pleasure, confusion, curiosity and sadness convey Abraham’s polyvalent relationship with the divine.

To me, all this raw re-representation of the familiar characters truly humanized the people that my Sunday school teachers stripped of their suffering. I can relate better with Abraham now that I see his face. Perhaps we share similar struggles in our relationship with God than I thought. He pleads with, bargains with, cries out to, and questions his Lord. And God is okay with that.

The gut-churning representations of the text show us how little we talk about the bizarre stories of the Bible. The foundations for out faith are laid out in stories told, written and edited through thousands of years in a dead language from a completely foreign culture. And they are not often represented as such. Not many preachers give a history or language lesson to help us understand these outlandish tales. They usually try to fit the complex puzzle piece of a passage into the current cultural jigsaw. They cover the passages in a thin film of simplicity, all the while ignoring the Ancient Hebrews and their culturally layered relationship to the stories.

Crumb doesn’t beat around the bush. And he doesn’t burn it either. Some will say that he profanes the sacred text and characters by drawing them. I think he makes the stories come alive.

“The Book of Genesis” is definitely rated R for content. Isn’t it interesting that said content is the foundation for our Christian understanding of the world? Crumb doesn’t theologize or change the stories of Genesis, he only shows us how strange and awkward they can be to see.

On idiolect in community

My fiancé recently informed me that my group of friends from back home and I don’t really have conversations, we just joke. If I were and unreasonable person, which most men are, I would have told her off, but since I am reasonable, I sat back and thought about what she said. I examined the topics and style of our conversation and realized that we don’t really talk about anything. We just fling phrases and laugh. We have our own language of humor that we all enjoy when we come together, so we don’t rely on each other for deep, intense conversation. Our “idiolect” or “private tongue” can be inclusive and exclusive. We feel like members of our community because we can contribute to the ocean of jokes. But my fiancé feels excluded because she wants to have a real conversation and she doesn’t feel welcome we just gossip and joke in a foreign idiolect. I don’t blame her. Try to budge yourself into a group of people who are already friends. Their idiolect (inside jokes, funny words, and communicative nuances) is probably deeply developed. If you want to break into a group of people, you have to learn their idiolect. It will take patience and failure. And perhaps, in the process, you will realize that you don’t want to be part of the group, but I dare you to try.
We’ve been told before that on Second East Coly, we “speak a language of our own.” This is true. It is the idiolect that we have developed from common triumph, trial, fun and failure. We know how to talk with each other, whether it is a storm of nonsense, or a deep conversation.

an enexpected party

I’ve recently decided to revisit J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit.” I read it almost eight years ago when I was a seventh-grader. I couldn’t remember many details. But I remember enjoying the battles like most pre-teen boys. I remember skipping the brilliant and rhythmic poems and songs. I remember thinking of Bilbo as a small, prickly creature who lived in a dirt tunnel. I remember imagining each of the dwarves and their strangely colored beards tucked into their belts and their hunger for adventure and wealth. That was before Hollywood corrected me.

Bilbo, our burglar and protagonist, is satisfied with a quiet, boring life and a vast inheritance in a comfortable home. He meets a mysterious wizard one morning, who graciously proposes an adventure. Bilbo rudely declines for the sake of his after-second-breakfast-smoke. Half an hour later, thirteen dwarves knock on his door and barge in without invitation. They propose the adventure. Bilbo leaves behind his lifestyle of five meals a day and they all set out to get their treasure from the evil dragon Smaug. As soon as they leave the placid Shire and venture into the outside world, madness ensues: they meet trolls, goblins, evil wolves; they fly on eagles, get kidnapped by elves and fight a colossal battle. I’ve taken a journey of sorts in the eight or so years since I last read this lauded classic. I was probably a foot shorter in those days, with no hope of ever getting a girlfriend or being good at anything but digging those big boogers out of my nose. Well…I still pick my nose, but I do have a fiancé now, so there is hope after all.

At the end of high school, the adventure known as ‘college’ was knocking on my door, but four years seemed like an inconvenience, like too long of a break between first and second breakfast. I didn’t want to go on that adventure with strangers. I didn’t want to leave the comfort and solace of everything and everyone I had ever known.

But I did. And like Bilbo, I’ve looked back fondly on the simpler times. But in my adventures at Northwestern I have mooned people from the windows of the children’s library, totaled my roommate’s car, dropped TVs from the bleachers just to hear them explode, and it’s been a pretty good time. I’ve travelled to the beach, the desert, the mountains and to lakes. I’ve ministered, learned, written, cried, puked, laughed and slept my way through college. I’m no Bilbo, but adventures are fun every once in a while.

Decision time

So I've decided that i will try to do three blog posts a week for a whole year. My inconsistency has frustrated me, and i need some accountability. Maybe this will help.

so here is an entry for now.

I like to listen to folk music. It’s pretty soft music, usually. But it’s not country, which I can’t stand the sound of. All that twangy nasally lyrical masturbation. Ugh. I don’t like country, even though it is a cousin (some would say a brother) to my beloved folk. I like folk music because of its natural sounds, plethora of instruments, creative harmonies, simple melodies, nostalgic lyrics, soulful vocals, spacious experimentation, spiritual honesty, prophetic imagination, historical impact, bearded musicians, redemptive concerts, and the calm that it creates deep within me every time I listen. I like folk because it tells the honest story of America, a story of trial and error, success and regret, hardship and comfort, Black and White, Red and Yellow. Folk leaves no one out. It addresses the rich and the poor. Folk music doesn’t take itself too seriously. The harmonica humming out beautiful interludes provides the landscape for the transcendent sound of folk music. I like to take myself too seriously when I write stuff like this. I like that folk music vocals range from falsetto to gritty.
You see, I took StrengthsQuest once, and my results told me a lot about why I like folk music. One of my strengths is history, which means that I look to the past to explain the present, and perhaps predict the future. I like to hear peoples’ stories. I like to learn about the history of different countries, peoples, and places. I see a lot of tragedy in the past. And a lot of joy too. There are a lot of folk ballads. Ballads usually tell the story of someone from the past to say something about the present. That’s why I like folk music.
I listen to Sufjan Stevens because he creatively intertwines local history with dialogue with God. Illinoise, Michigan, and Seven Swans are my favorite of his. Seven Swans is Stevens’ musing about different stories from the Bible. Michigan is a tribute to his home state, and to all its folk-tales and modern problems. Illinoise narrates the great land of Abraham Lincoln. It tells of a serial killer, Superman, a childhood memory, love lost, the great city of Chicago, a college road-trip, and the Exodus. His banjo, piano, and other splay of instruments create a distinct and unique sound.
I like Fleet Foxes because their songs probably don’t mean anything.
I like Paper Bird because the sing about Jesus and Arizona, and the best way to make beer.
I like Bon Iver because he articulates our sorrow and redemption.