I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of golden sand–
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! Can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream? – Poe
I’m afraid to read history.
Some history is fine. Stories about men doing brave things; those are fun. I’m not afraid of those. Stories of queens and princesses, and bravery; those are interesting. Not scary at all!
It’s the sweeping look at man’s past that frightens me to no end.
It frighten me because the sifting and shifting of man seems completely meaningless. The meta-narrative of history is incomprehensible to me, and as a Christian that is frightening! After six thousand years, one should be able to look back and gain some idea of God’s plan, but I can’t fathom it.
It also seems that the good guys, all those in history I value and identify with, always lose in the end.
The brave Britons opposed the new Roman Catholic heresy that was being foisted on them, and they were slaughtered because of it. They had all land and power taken from them, their prince for the rest of time to be chosen by a foreign power; their people marginalized to a small plot of land on a small island; for what?
The Crusaders fought to keep out the invading Muslim hoards, and now their ancestors allow Muslim to roam free across their boarders!
The brave Scots-Irish of the American South opposed tyranny and oppression, only to have their culture defeated and humiliated before all the world. There are no Southerners left to speak of, so thorough has been our destruction! Men today who consider themselves “unreconstructed” have no idea as to the depths they’ve actually been “reconstructed!” Are there even 100 true Southern men left? Maybe, but they don’t know each other.
The Boer nation; slaughtered en mass today.
Christianity? All but dead, and furthermore, true expressions are few and far between.
I could continue the list, but I’ve already told you that looking at history frightens me.
Because I’m afraid of history, I am deathly afraid of the future.
I can’t decide on what to do or where to go because I’m paralyzed. I don’t know why I even get out of bed in the mornings.
Where are you God?!
That’s the problem! I’ve lost my faith in Him.
But, in thinking about it closer, perhaps I haven’t lost all faith in Him. I still pray. I still pray, because I do have some little faith in Him yet. I have some little hope; some little joy.
Yes! I pray with all the fervor that my mustard seed-sized faith can assemble!
You know, Henry the VIII was a descendant of those Britons! His father taught him to love his ancestors, and his people, and their faith! Maybe there is something there afterall?
The fending off of Muslims helped solidify Christianity and Christian peoples in Europe. It looks like the same problem today is helping break through the utopian dreams of our European brethren! A white dawn is breaking in Europe!
The ideals of our American fathers were built on sand! That they are preserved by true Satanists instead of confused, yet honorable Southerners is a lesson that we will not learn until the future is upon us, but could it be learned in that way? Is the slaughter of fathers a warning to sons? Would we remaining 100 or so Southerons be persuaded of the evils of democracy had our ancestors formed their own nation?
One mustard-sized seed of faith shifts all of history into a stream of flowing experiences that ebb and flow around the concrete form of a cross.
And, that’s why I get out of bed in the mornings.