In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? – 1 Corinthians 15: 52-55
A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yield time—penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings.
– Charles Dickens
Pilate would have saved Christ, by using the privilege of the day in his behalf, because that day one prisoner was to be delivered, but they choose Barrabas. He would have saved him from death, by satisfying their fury, with inflicting other torments upon him, scourging and crowning with thorns, and loading him with many scornful and ignominious contumelies; But they regarded him not, they pressed a crucifying. Hast thou gone about to redeem thy sin, by fasting, by alms, by disciplines and mortifications, in way of satisfaction to the Justice of God? That will not serve, that’s not the right way, we press an utter Crucifying of that sin that governs thee; and that conforms thee to Christ. Towards noon Pilate gave judgement, and they made such hast to execution, as that by noon he was upon the Cross. There now hangs that sacred Body upon the Cross, rebaptized in his own tears and sweat and embalmed in his own blood alive. There are those bowels of compassion, which are so conspicuous, so manifested, as that you may see them through his wounds. There those glorious eyes grew faint in their light: so as the Sun ashamed to survive them, departed with his light too. And then that Son of God, who was never from us, and yet had now come a new way unto us in assuming our nature, delivers that soul (which was never out of his Fathers hands) by a new way, a voluntary emission of it into his Fathers hands; For though to this God our Lord, belong’d these issues of death, so that considered in his own contract, he must necessarily die, yet at no breach or battery, which they had made upon his sacred Body, issued his soul, but emisit, he gave up the Ghost, and as God breathed a soul into the first Adam, so this second Adam breathed his soul into God, into the hands of God. There we leave you in that blessed dependency, to hang upon him that hangs upon the Cross, there bathe in his tears, there suck at his wounds, and lie down in peace in his grave, till he vouchsafe you a resurrection, and an ascension into that Kingdom, which he hath purchas’d for you, with the inestimable price of his incorruptible blood.
– John Donne
Death is truly a fearsome thing. The death of my mother and then the death of my father some ten years later left a searing pain in my heart that has never quite gone away. It is only my trembling faith in the Christ of the European people that keeps me from despair. Nor could I face my immediate family if I thought our white moments together here on earth were doomed to end with the grave. Nothing matters if He did not rise from the dead on the third day.
My faith, received and nurtured at the racial hearth fire of the antique Europeans, is under constant attack in our modern world. Christ’s resurrection from the dead occurred independent of whether or not we believe in it. But our belief is determined by our faith in the ties that bind us to our Lord. That He comes to us through the door of our racial home was the belief of our European ancestors. If they were wrong, what happens to our faith? How then shall we know the Lord? We won’t know Him. We might know a generic, Jungian Christ, who is a symbol of a man’s yearning for some god of airy nothings beyond mortal man’s ability to comprehend. Such is the nebulous Christ of the Pope Francis type of Christian. But such a god will not serve men with hearts of flesh. We need another God, we need the Christ of Europe.
If race means nothing, why did God create different races? If race means nothing, why did our Christian ancestors place such importance on it? And if race means nothing, why do we see the face of Jesus Christ in the culture of the antique Europeans and not in the cultures of the colored barbarians? The children of darkness are indeed wiser, at least in matters of this world only, than the children of light, because the children of darkness know that race and faith are intertwined. Destroy a man’s racial home, and he will have no place in which to receive his Lord.
St. Paul tells us that we must circumcise our heart if we want to know Christ. Where is such a circumcision to take place if not at our racial hearth fire where our kith and kin dwell? The liberals, the Moslems, and the colored barbarians attack the white race, because they know that Christ, whom they hate, resides at the hearth fire of the European people. His people have left Him there alone; they are now too intelligent to believe in a God who enters human hearts, but the heathens, liberals, and colored barbarians still fear the specter of a Christ-centered people. They, like the swine in the Gospel, will resist Him until their deaths. But for how long will we resist Him? When will we return home?
There are splinter groups of Europeans such as the BNP who affirm their race. And there are splinter groups of Europeans, such as the Britain First party, who affirm Christianity. But the former group will not champion Christ, and the latter group denies that Christianity has anything to do with race. Again, I refer you to the enemies of the European people. Why do they equate white and Christian as one and the same? The demons who eventually went into the swine and over the cliff knew immediately who Christ was. We, the Europeans, must know what the demons knew: we must know who Christ is, and we must know something more. We must know who Christ is, and we must know that we need not fear Him; we must cling to him, love Him, and make Him the King of our racial hearth fire. You do not love your enemies by retreating before them and bowing down to their gods. We love them by fighting them in the name of the Christ of Europe. If they convert, that is all to the good, and if they die in defiance of the true faith, then that is as it should be as well. But we serve no one except the devil when we deny our own people and the God of our ascending race.
It is Easter, and it is time for Handel’s Messiah and feasting. But we can enjoy Handel’s Messiah and the Easter feast, because our people, the hated and despised white people of Christian Europe, circumcised their hearts and allowed the dear Lord into their racial home. With a grateful heart and a trembling faith, I too will welcome Him to my racial home. God bless all my kith and kin who do likewise. To you, I say, “Christ has risen!” And you shall reply, “Indeed, He has!” +