Gustavo Perez Firmat quote

In researching for my thesis, I've come to love Gustavo Perez Firmat, a professor, literary critic, and author who was exiled from Cuba to the U.S. as a child. Aside from caring about the experience of living between two cultures (which is simply fascinating), the man loves books. Here's a quote that validates and feeds my desire to build a personal library.

"el que tenga 2500 libros en casa no quiere decir que los haya leído. Me gusta comprar libros que nunca tendré la oportunidad, ni siquiera las ganas, de leer. Siempre he creído que la compañía de un libro puede ser tan beneficiosa como su lectura. "

"Having a library of 2,500 books in my house doesn't mean that I have read them all. I like to buy books that I'll never have the opportunity, nor the desire, to read. I have always believed that the company of a book can be as beneficial as reading it."

quote on justification by faith alone

This is an excerpt from Martin Luther's On Chrisitan Liberty, a fantastic little book explorating the doctrine of justification by faith alone that you should go buy if you don't already have it.

"The third incomparable benefit of faith is that it unites the soul with Christ as a bride is united with her bridegroom. By this mystery, as the Apostle teaches, Christ and the soul become one flesh [Eph. 5:31-32]. And if they are one flesh and there is between them a true marriage--indeed the most perfect of all marriages, since human marriages are but poor examples of this one true marriage--it follows that everything they have they hold in common, the good as well as the evil. Accordingly the believing soul can boast of and glorify in whatever Christ has as though it were its own, and whatever the soul has Christ claims as his own. Let us compare these and we shall see inestimable benefits. Christ is full of grace, life, and salvation. The soul is full of sins, death, and damnation. Now let faith come between them and sins, death, and damnation will be Christ's, while grace, life, and salvation will be the soul's; for if Christ is a bridegroom, he must take upon himself the things which are his bride's and bestow upon her the things that are his. If he gives her his body and very self, how shall he not give her all that is his? And if he takes the body of the bride, how shall he not take all that is hers?

A Palm Sunday Post

"In the Cross of Christ I Glory"
Words by John Browning

In the cross of Christ I glory,
Towering o'er the wrecks of time.
All the light of sacred story,
Gathers round its head sublime.

Eric Volz

You may have heard about a man named Eric Volz who has been unjustly sentenced to 30 years in prison in Nicaragua. Eric was born and raised in Nashville and, after earning a degree in Latin American Studies in California, moved to Nicaragua to work as an editor for EP magazine. His ex-girlfriend was recently killed 2 hours from where 10 witnesses say that Eric was. However, Eric has been tried and convicted of the murder. The judge threw out all testimonies placing Eric 2 hours away from the murder and convicted Eric with no evidence linking him in any way to the crime.

This was all just a story to me until I found out that Eric's stepfather recently resigned from his position as Dean of Students at Belmont University. After seeing photos of Eric's parents, I realized that I actually went to their house as an entering freshman. The students were broken down into small groups and we all went to visit a faculty member's house. I remember being very encouraged by Eric's parents' comments about the Belmont Spanish Department. I also remember them talking about their son who had studied Latin American Studies in California. We are connected to this.

Please pray for this terrible injustice. Please research this more at these websites:
www.myspace.com/freeericvolz
http://www.friendsofericvolz.com

If you don't know who this man is, you need to...

Francis Shaeffer is well-known for his philosophical and theological thought, his teachings on connecting faith and culture, and the establishment of L'Abri Fellowship, a welcoming retreat-type set-up where people can come to seek honest answers about faith and Christianity. This article is a great introduction to the strides of Shaeffer to spread a thinking, weeping Christianity.

The Three Amigos?

I just found out that Che Guevara and Fidel Castro had a very close friend named Mario Chanes de Armas who accompanied them in early Revolution talks and activities. This obituary is a glimpse into the Castro regime and the tragedy of crossing a dictator. It is also an interesting gauge of the transformation of the Cuban Revolution from a democratic ideal for the people to a Communist push for dictatorial power.

A Post-Ecuador Thought

We are far too comfortable.

Mexico City Pics

Thanks to my friend Trey for sending me this link to some incredible (and overwhelming!) pics of Mexico City, where I will spend the next two years of my life!

http://www.mustangevolution.com/forum/t26103
(scroll down cause the first pics are a little weird)

How to Kill a Chicken (Mother to Daughter)

By Jared Weatherholtz

Ain’t no shame in killin’
for the sake o’ sustenance.
We gotta eat, baby,
and this here farm
is our supply.

So go out back behind the shed,
and corner Lucy at the edge of the fence.
I know she’s your favorite, baby,
but we raised her for food.
Ain’t no animal deserves life over humans.

So say your goodbyes to Lucy,
and when ya through,
pick her up gently,
just like when you pet
her to calm her nerves in thunderstorms.

Make your way to the
Bloody Stump,
stretch her neck taut
over the splintered surface,
close your eyes,

And swing. Swing hard, baby, and swift.
And turn your head, cause bloods a’gonna spurt.
But we gotta eat, baby. Remember that.
We gotta eat.

When the body falls to the ground,
Lucy’s gonna raise cane, baby.
I mean, she’s gonna run ‘round with no head on.
But don’t worry, cause Lucy’s gone then.
She don’t feel no pain.

That’s just her spirit, makin’ one final lap.
Lucy’s lived a good life, baby.
Most chicken’s don’t have half of what she has.
But a family’s gotta eat.
And you gotta learn to be a woman.

New Poems

I recently watched the movie Frida about the life of Mexican painter/feminist/politician Frida Kahlo. I can't stop thinking about the tragedy involved in this woman's dealings with life, love and art. These poems are the outcome of those thoughts. I hope you enjoy.

It was just a fuck. I've given more affection in a handshake.
–Diego Rivera

To Diego (on sorrow)

¡La cogiste!
My God, Diego,
anyone but my sister!
¡La cogiste!

I am a vessel, used and tragically tied to my loss.
Married to inconsistency.
Shackled to sorrow.
Subdued by abortion.
And there is nothing you can do now to make it all seem right.

So I will hack the blackness,
And shape feminine growth,
Into emasculated pride.
A statement of what was and what is.

It's like the accident all over again,
A steel rod is shoved through my back,
And takes my virginity.
Oh, how I wanted it to be yours!

I am a wounded deer. A running, wounded deer.
The arrows are all women that have no faces,
Only perfume that rubs off in the act of crashing.
I thought you would stop with them. With loyalty!

I am the sister of a whore.
You were you,
And she was she.
But now you are an adulterous one.

I am the sister of a goddess.
Whose very heart rushes blood through my veins.
And spurts stains on my white dress.
I could not live but for her. I could not die but for her.

I am a stark Roman column!
Who has found hope in the bodies of other men (and women)!
Who has weathered the rains of tragedy, and pain, and loss,
And refuses to shed a single hope to the disappointment of nature!

You are not I,
And I am not You,
Yet when I find me, I
Am hopelessly entangled in us.

La cogiste.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Frida Kahlo
(as played by Selma Hayek)

This corpse is still breathing.

Tragedy, pure tragedy, does not strike often.
And if it does, it runs like a demon cast out by the Lord himself,
to find the next innocent victim.
I, however, have a history of such demons.
They nest in my bones,
caress my very column with the arousing fingers of death.

This corpse is still healing.

Diego says my scar is immaculate.
It runs from the small of my back,
around the hip and into my garden.
I told the doctors that the pipe stole my virginity.
It’s not true though. I was fucking boys in my closet a year before the accident.

This corpse is still lusting.

There’s really no beauty like that of the female body.
To have breasts--big, weighty breasts--is to have honey,
That all the gods want and need.
Even the goddesses want to drink from my supply.

This corpse is still needing.

Diego is my sustenance
in a dying world--my dying world.
To be with him is to sup--
to dine with God in art and passion and sex.

This corpse is still leaving.

I painted myself in a mirror today.
I looked proud like the Romans.
My eyebrows grown together like the wings of a sparrow.
One day they’ll carry me away, away from this tragedy.

This corpse is still breathing.

Screwtape Letters movie and more

Check out the second half of this article for the 411 on a possible C.S. Lewis The Screwtape Letters movie, Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life in movie form (comparitive to Crash somehow, wtf), and some interesting thoughts on the Christmas film release The Nativity.

http://www.infuzemag.com/interviews/archives/2007/02/ralph_winter.html

Checkenlo!

Women Missionaries in India Beaten

I can't help but think about the fallen state of our world as I read this news I received by email from the organization Gospel for Asia.

It's hard to really sympathize with the persecuted church. I think it's because we can't really imagine what it must be like. I mean, we hear about it plenty. We say it's tragic. But we really don't feel the sorrow of the weight of Christ's church being persecuted.

I think for me, the fact that those being persecuted were women really helped me to see the injustice of persecution for what it is.

Anyway, this is mainly just to post the article. I just started writing some of my thoughts.

An Elegy to My Best Friend

Jared Weatherholtz

It’s been almost six months since you left. The vibrant sting of newness has stranded me with a numb gap and a bent towards filling that space with something—anything. You see, you were my best friend. And, at least I hope, you still are. But when you forsook what meant so much to me and what we both thought meant so much to you, things changed. With the air of assurance and promise left life and eternity and hope.

At first, a mix of misunderstood emotions clamored for my attention. Of the more prominent and implicit feelings were anger and sadness—anger that you had left me alone and sadness that you were gone. I was mad. No, I am mad. I’m mad that you forsook what you knew and trusted in. I’m mad that I am left with no source of comfort or support, except of course the One you kissed. But here in this shell I am left to cry and flare and wonder at your death. At the pronouncement, I almost didn’t take it seriously. It was announced with such life that it seemed impossible. I wanted to laugh it off and be the same. But the only life left in you was a memory and a relic.

Did it hurt? Did it hurt to know that I would know? I hope so. I hope you dreaded the day I would know. After all, that’s the true test of friendship isn’t it—for you to care if I knew? I think you hated the day I would find out. I think caring about that day almost changed the history of your life. I think it almost made you hang on. But I’ll never know. I can only hope that I meant enough to you to almost change your mind, because, obviously, I didn’t mean enough to you to truly change your mind.

But isn’t that how life goes? Only the individual in question can really have the final say in his life—and God. As for God, the questions that used to be offered to him have now turned to pleading. On a regular basis, and I desire that it might be more frequent, I pray for you. I pray that God might bring you back to life. I want him to give you the life we thought you had before. Some may be skeptics. But isn’t that what all of the living have to be thankful for, being brought to life from the dead? I pray that God would bring you back to life. O God, bring Brandon back to life! I can’t stand the phone calls knowing that you’re gone.

Cholulandia

By Jared Weatherholtz

Metal clanks with metal as the handle turns and stops,
The door swings and the box is unleashed. I am unleashed.
The chill of a morning just born has my body hair at attention,
And I can honestly say there is nowhere I’d rather be.

Mornings in Mexico catapult a man into life,
He doesn’t need the comfort of fancy cars and big houses,
What he needs is the chill of high altitude, a horizon of ancestry,
And a street full of vibrant life that cannot be conquered.

My yellow Veloci is steel. Stainless Steel. And she’s a real beaut.
As I straddle her, I can’t help but remember how we’ve been there for each other,
When she is hurt, I mend her (or at least take her to Jorge who mends her),
And when I am hurt, she carries me through beauty that salts my wounds, and kisses.

Aztecs perform sacred rituals on Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl,
Or at least they did a thousand years ago,
But I’m pretty sure they still bury dogs over there,
To keep their children company.

But what I see this morning is a silhouette of perfection,
The chill paints a veil for the volcano, gilding the lifeless warrior,
Connected houses painted pink and yellow and blue blur past,
I have never felt so free, so free to live and to work. And to ride.

Poverty abounds. It’s not swelled-stomach-poverty,
It’s more like I-make-six-dollars-a-day-and-can-barely-feed-my-kids poverty,
Somehow the bare-foot woman selling seeds and nuts missed the message,
The look in her eyes says she’s content. Maybe it’s the morning air. Maybe it’s not.

["I like your handsome drugs. Your pleasant..."]

By Joshua Beckman

I like your handsome drugs. Your pleasant
drugs. You frozen fingernails. Your painted
fingernails. That man screamed out. "The
karate chop of love," before tackling that woman.
The breeze. Your sort of quiet happy voices.
The karate chop of love. Your handsome drugs.
If you, in all your sexiness, could just bring that
over here. A barrel of fried chicken. That girl
named Katie. A birthday party. Yeah. I go
running in, all ready to show everyone the
karate chop of love. And that girl named Katie.
A barrel of chicken. The breeze. This
birthday party is fucked without the karate
chop of love. Your handsome drugs.

Identity Theft

My Spanish professor recently had her identity stolen! How crazy is that? She is Spanish (i.e. actually from Spain, not Mexico). Before teaching here in Nashville, she taught in the Spanish department in a university in Cincinnati. One of her ex-colleagues (and now ex-friends!) apparently had access to all the teachers' social security numbers. So, he stole a bunch of them, her's included, and sold them to the Mexican Mofia to traffic immigrants into the U.S. The crazy thing is that he is Colombian. So, here you have this immigrant who steals a fellow immigrant's (my teacher's) identity. Lame. Luckily they caught the guy and he is going to jail.

My teacher's thoughts: "Frankly, I hope he spends a long, long time in jail."

Justice.

Yo shawty, I'm from da south cadillac!

So, this http://www.urbandictionary.com is pretty much the coolest thing i've ever seen.

The reason?

You find out stuff like this http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=south+cadillac.

2 of my favs...

These are two of my favorite songs as of late.

"Jesus Christ" by Brand New--this song has brilliant insights

Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face
The kind you'd find on someone that could save
If they don't put me away
It'll be a miracle

Do you believe you're missing out
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
But with nobody in your bed
The night's hard to get through

And I will die all alone
And when I arrive I won't know anyone


Well Jesus Christ, I'm alone again
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Cause this problem's gonna last more than the weekend.

Well Jesus Christ, I'm not scared to die,
I'm a little bit scared of what comes after
Do I get the gold chariot?
Do I float through the ceiling?

Do I divide and fall apart?
Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark
And the ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands

I know you'll come in the night like a thief
But I've had some time, O Lord, to hone my lying technique
I know you think that I'm someone you can trust
But I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up

So do you think that we could work out a sign
So I'll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try
I know you're coming for the people like me
But we all got wood and nails
And we turn out hate in factories
But we all got wood and nails
And we turn out hate in factories
And we all got wood and nails
And we sleep inside of this machine.


"Monring Yearning" by Ben Harper


My fingers touch upon my lips
It’s a morning yearning
It’s a morning yearning
Pull the curtains shut try to keep it dark
But the sun is burning The sun is burning
The world awakens on the run
And we’ll soon be earning We’ll soon be earning
With hopes of better days to come
That’s a morning yearning Morning yearning Morning yearning…

Another day another chance to get it right
Must I still be learning?
Must I still be learning?
Baby crying kept us up all night
With her morning yearning
With her morning yearning Morning yearning…

Like a summer rose I’m a victim of the fall
But am soon returning
Soon returning
You’re love’s the warmest place the sun ever shines
My morning yearning
My morning yearning
Morning yearning…

El Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe

Today commemorates the day in which Juan Diego crossed the hill of Tepeyac in order to attend Mass when he was met by the Virgen of Guadalupe. You can check out the story here http://www.mexconnect.com/mex_/guadalupe.html.

It's a holiday called The Day of the Virgen of Guadalupe and I'm saddened by the mysticism and straight up idol worship that has crept into Christianity. I'm speaking particularly of Latin American Catholicism, but in light of some discussions I have had with some people this week, it's applicable to various "Christian" sects out there right now. It's not a new thing. I'm thinking about Galatians and how Paul is passionate that the people have forsaken "Sola Gratia" (although not in Reformation terminology). His plea is a return to true Christianity where Christ alone cures our sin through Grace alone.

I'm watching a celebration on Univision that has different musical acts perform songs to the Virgen (a worship service to the Virgen, basically). In between, a priest reads scripture (and has a terrible Spanish accent I might add). Earlier they showed different Catholic church locations around North America and interviewed people who had come from all over. People were filled with gratitude for the miracles the Virgen had granted them. I'm reminded of the celebration to the Virgen in Cholula, where I was in Mexico. It was terribly saddening to see so many people, so many religious people, take something true and tweak it to something untrue.

*Right now one of the singers is taking a vocal break in the song to thank a picture of the Virgen for loving here and being with her always.

Some of you may have heard me say this before, but one of my first days in Puebla, I found myself in a cathedral. In the front right of the church was a statue of the Virgen with the words "Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest" written above her. I think that about sums it up.

Such a beautiful people. A people I am downright in love with. And yet they are caught up in idols in the very religion we share in name. I'm gonna go pray for them.

drugs, guns, and glam-shots...we are pop-culture icons.

A few days ago The Jubilee Year had its second band photo shoot ever. It was the first one with the newly re-formed band. There was a lot of living up to do since our first shoot, that took place about 2 years ago, was one of the funnest things we've probably ever done together as a band. But, alas, the shoot lived up.

It started with everyone harrasing everyone else about some insignificant thing. For instance, our drummer, Casey, wanted to wear this bright green "Cuban Soul Revival" shirt. He was insistent (in a joking way), and it was pretty dang funny to give him a hard time about it.

But the fun really started as we were staking out spots to "do our thang." We were in some part of Nashville I'd never been to (where the Yazoo Brewing plant is) and we noticed this awesome old green house/store. We continued past and set up shop elsewhere, but on the return, we decided it would make for some awesome photos. So, we are about to turn right at this local grocery which backed up to the green house, when we noticed five fairly scandalous individuals seemingly doing nothing. I'm not sure if you know this, but it's not normal to do nothing on a street corner in the "hood." We're roling slowly at this point, about to make the turn past them, when a car turns in front of us, rolls down the passenger side window, and asks them a short question, which they then respond to, and an exchange of some sort. Now, from my experience watching cops, I know that every drug deal in the world which involves a street corner and a car looks the same--JUST LIKE THAT! So, we all freak out and yell things like, "HOLY CRAP, GO!" and "DUDE, THAT WAS A FREAKIN' DRUG DEAL!" Needless to say, we took our business elsewhere. Not the end.

We're continuing to another "locale" (photo lingo), up 8th avenue and behind Greer Stadium. As we are turning onto the Greer Stadium road, P.J. yells, "Dude, real bullet holes!" We all notice a car turning beside us that has two REAL bullet holes in the driver side door. These were not to be mistaken for those bullet hole stickers that the "cool" kids put on their cars. Yeah, that's the way the day was going. Also not the end.

We continued to the spot behind Greer Stadium, which none of us minus the photographer had ever been to before, and decided to set up in an "alley," which was really a walkway that led to an entrance to some sort of porch/cement company (I don't know either). So, we're shooting some photos, looking voluptuous when a woman wearing all camouflage comes out and stairs. We keep shooting, cause if you ignore something uncomfortable, it will go away. She finally says, "Whatcha doin' guys?" as if she had just caught us in the midst of the worst crime ever.

"Just taking some band pictures," we responded. She made her way slyly toward us.

"I coulda shot you!" she said. (We all laugh nervously) "It's not funny. I know it sounds extreme, but I could have. We don't have many people come around here. I could've shot you thinking you were up to no good!"

At this point w'ere all thinking, "Man, she's actually serious."

"Next time," she says, "just come in and ask first."

Ok, so, I may be alone on this one, but if she was going to shoot us for posing for photos on the walkway, would she not be more prone to shoot us if we come INSIDE the plant uninvited. Just a thought.

Needless to say, she did not shoot us. In fact, she let us keep taking photos. I think Casey pood his pants though.

And that is the story of the Dec. 6th, Jubilee Year photo shoot.

You can check out some of the pics at www.myspace.com/thejubileeyear