Cambria Will Not Yield

Thursday, December 24, 2009

The King of Europe


So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.

That wonderful movie Brigadoon starts with two weary travelers who have lost their way, “somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland.” If I go back to a time when I was twenty-two, I can remember wandering through the Highlands of Scotland myself and coming across a gathering of antique Europeans of Scottish descent in a small town pub. While drinking a beer in the pub's main room, I heard some men in another room reciting poetry and singing Jacobite songs. I asked the bartender what was going on in the next room. He took me by the arm and led me over to the jolly revelers. “This is a friend of mine from America. He’d like to join you.” With the same hospitality of the bartender, who had known me for all of five minutes, the poetic revelers welcomed me to their gathering. Between choruses of "Will Ye No Come Back Again?" and "Bonnie Dundee " the men told me that they were a group of Scots who met once a month to drink good whiskey and beer and celebrate the great Celtic poets.

When asked (not that those poetic gentlemen would have treated a Saxon unkindly) whether I was of Celtic descent, I told them I was Welsh. If I had been in Bavaria, I would have emphasized my Saxon heritage. When in Rome... The Welsh heritage delighted them, eliciting such comments as, “The Welsh are Celts, too,” and “Wallace was Welsh, you know.” The evening went on with one ode to the Celts after another. If that had been the sum of the evening, a celebration of the poetic Celts, I would have gone to bed feeling I had had a wonderful evening with a fine group of provincial and chauvinistic Celtic poets. But something happened in the course of the revels that changed my view of the poetic Highlanders from one of bemused respect to that of profound reverence. After singing the thousandth Scottish ballad and praising those “poetic Celts” for the umpteenth time, the leader of the merry minstrels stood up and offered a toast: “It’s good to remember and celebrate the Celt, but let us never forget the king of poets is a Saxon. Let’s raise our glasses to the Bard of Avon.” And they all cheered and drank deep for the gentle bard.

So, in the end they were poets first and Celts second. And their poetic truthfulness, in that they recognized poetic greatness no matter that its origin was Saxon, ultimately stemmed from the fact that they were Christian.

All things rich and wonderful that this world has ever known stem from the fact that Christ walked this earth. And Europe is sacred ground because European men and women made Christ their kinsman and their liege Lord. The pagan poet, like the pagan warrior, ultimately disgusts us because he lacks the spirit that elevates a man to a higher realm of existence, to the poetic realm. In celebrating the poetic element in their fellow Celts, and in recognizing the poetic supremacy of the gentle bard, those Scottish cavaliers were celebrating and honoring incarnate Europe, the Europe of Christ, the only Europe for men and women with hearts of fire. Long live eternal Europe, long live Christmas, and forever may He Reign over both! +

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Sages, leave your contemplations,
Brighter visions beam afar;
Seek the great desire of nations,
Ye have seen His natal star;
Come and worship,
Come and worship,
Worship Christ, the newborn King!

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Sunday, December 14, 2008

The City of David is the City of Europe


It is certainly helpful, if one is a Christian and therefore an historian, to have some kind of dating system or chronology to distinguish one period from another. One can say to a fellow Christian, “I dislike the 18th century rationalists,” and the fellow Christian will know what you are talking about. He will know that you are talking about a certain group of thinkers that spewed out nonsense between 1700 and 1800.

But historical dates can be misleading rather than helpful when they become magic symbols with a quasi-mystical significance, as the year 2000 became for many infidels and pseudo-Christians. In a normal reading of history, the event determines the significance of the date, not the reverse; that is, the date does not determine the meaning of the event.

I think it is significant that the leaders of the Christian world chose to end the century in which wizardry replaced Christianity, with a celebration of wizardry rather than Christianity. The churchmen paid homage to an age. I wish they had hurled their defiant ‘no’ to the century, but I was not asked for an opinion. Why do I say the churchmen have ceded Christianity’s place on the royal throne to wizardry? I say this because the Christian churches have caved into the scientistic view of the world. And the scientistic view of the world is akin to the wizard’s view of the world. The wizard and the churchmen seek to harness God’s power through a technique rather than by loving God and seeking Him through the quest. In the traditional way to God, the way of the West, the hero prevails because he has “that within which passeth show.” He helps the blind beggar; he kills the ogre that is persecuting the villagers; he responds to God’s grace in an integral way, the human way, the way of the Cross.

Contrast the old hero’s methods with those of the modern churchmen. In their view we can skip the quest. If we tap into the power of the universe by accepting a view of evolving mankind and the Church, we can become co-equals with God – we can be “masters of the universe” with greater strength and power than even a WWF wrestler. But haven’t we, if we accept the vision of the new churchmen, already said in our hearts, “There is no God”? Yes, we have. When one seeks God in the evolutionary process, one has left the Christian God behind. And outside of Christ there is no God. God is a personal God, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of the Incarnation, the Crucifixion, and the Resurrection, or He is not God at all. The promise of harnessing the power of blind, dumb nature may excite modern man, but it should send cold chills down the spine of any Christian with even a remnant of faith left in his soul.

And please, let us not pretend the modern emperors of the Christian half-way houses are clothed. They still use traditional phrases, but their meaning when using them is something quite different from that of the saints of old. On every substantive issue, the modern clergy have departed form Christianity. And they justify each departure with the explanation, “We have evolved more.” Capital punishment is no longer necessary because we now have evolved beyond that point; Christian states are no longer necessary because we have evolved beyond the need to look on the Christian faith as the one true Faith that must be protected; borders in the Church and in nations are no longer necessary because the concept of white folk is racist; and feminism must be supported because it is better that millions of babies be aborted than one feminist should think the modern churches are not evolving institution that deplore patriarchy.

I recently, while shopping at a local grocery store, saw an all too familiar sign of the times. In front of me was a grotesquely fat white girl with four black and white children. She paid her bill with food stamps and labored her way out to her vehicle, a very expensive, new model van.

Now my white pagan neighbor, who regularly worships black athletes on T.V. and proudly declares his lack of any racist tendencies, would condemn the fat, white girl. He would condemn her for being on food stamps and driving an expensive van, which is clearly in violation of the food stamp program. And he would be mad at the government that allowed her to get away with it. But he would not be bothered about the mixed blood offspring.

My anger was directly related to the mixed blood concubinage. If I had seen a married white couple with four white children using food stamps, I would have been pleased to see that my government was actually doing something worthwhile, supporting white nuclear families, with our tax dollars. But of course, that is just a fantasy. Neither our local, state, or federal governments will ever again do anything to support white families.

When faith in Jesus Christ dies, the charitable impulses that went with that faith become demonic urges. Genuinely Christian welfare programs used to link the life sustaining necessities of food and shelter with moral regeneration. Our souls inhabit bodies so the body must be served, but it is ultimately the soul that we must claim for Christ; this was the motto of those old Salvation Army type churches.

‘Tis not so today. Since there is no sin, except the sin of white racism, there is no need for redemption in Christ. You can buy redemption on the cheap by simply renouncing, if you happen to be white, your whiteness. (If you are not white, then you are already a god and you have no need to renounce anything.) And having once renounced whiteness, you can become part of Satan’s kingdom -- after all, the U. S. Government is a very important limb of Satan – and start receiving the benefits of membership.

The Christmas season is a very depressing time of year for me. And that is not because of the “blatant materialism” of the stores such as Wal-Mart. Outright paganism of the Wal-Mart variety is not that depressing. It is the Christian clergy who have replaced faith in Christ with faith in social progress, which always translates to the worship of the black savage, that depress me. Christmas is a family and church affair. The family part I still have, but as regards the church, I cannot celebrate the birth of the God-man with a group of individuals who spend the other 364 days of the year asking – no, demanding – that I renounce my faith in a flesh-and-blood Messiah born in the city of David to the virgin Mary, in favor of a faith in a god of shadows and uncertain origin who appears only to condemn racism and then disappears again in the liberal mists.

Fitzhugh was right. The problems of existence are too complicated to solve with our minds. The peasant’s heart responds to the simple words of the apostle whom Christ loved: “And every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God: and this is that spirit of antichrist, whereof ye have heard...”

The story of Bethlehem was the guiding light of Europe for 1500 years. Why should I or any other white European forsake that light for the darkness of Satan’s black hell?

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Monday, December 24, 2007

The Nativity of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ




Where is this stupendous stranger,
Swains of Solyma, advise?
Lead me to my Master's manger,
Show me where my Saviour lies.

O Most Mighty! O MOST HOLY!
Far beyond the seraph's thought,
Art thou then so mean and lowly
As unheeded prophets taught?

O the magnitude of meekness!
Worth from worth immortal sprung;
O the strength of infant weakness,
If eternal is so young!

If so young and thus eternal,
Michael tune the shepherd's reed,
Where the scenes are ever vernal,
And the loves be Love indeed!

See the God blasphem'd and doubted
In the schools of Greece and Rome;
See the pow'rs of darkness routed,
Taken at their utmost gloom.

Nature's decorations glisten
Far above their usual trim;
Birds on box and laurels listen,
As so near the cherubs hymn.

Boreas now no longer winters
On the desolated coast;
Oaks no more are riv'n in splinters
By the whirlwind and his host.

Spinks and ouzels sing sublimely,
"We too have a Saviour born";
Whiter blossoms burst untimely
On the blest Mosaic thorn.

God all-bounteous, all-creative,
Whom no ills from good dissuade,
Is incarnate, and a native
Of the very world He made.

Christopher Smart


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Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Merry Christmas

Humor is a very subjective thing. So one is treading on thin ice when he ventures to recommend a book or movie that he thinks is humorous. But one also likes one's friends to laugh. And anyone who opposes the modern anti-European fervor is my friend. So here goes.

All of the following movies and books are in the grand European tradition of laughter. Namely, they induce a laughter that uplifts and does not degrade as the modern, filthy humor does.

The first two items on the list are films starring Laurel & Hardy, filmdom's kings of the old European comedy.

1) Swiss Miss
2) The March of the Wooden Soldiers
3) The Wrong Box by Robert Louis Stevenson. You can't go wrong with this one. This work must be shared. It can be comfortably read aloud over a period of three days.
4) The Reporter Who Made Himself King by Richard Harding Davis. The book, written by the man who wrote the short story that the Walt Disney series Gallegher was based on, is also, like The Wrong Box, too good not to be read aloud. It can be read comfortably in one or two sittings.
5) One sitting will suffice for Kipling's comic masterpiece, "The Village That Voted the Earth Was Flat," which can be found in the short story collection, A Diversity of Creatures, or here, online.

I'm posting this well ahead of the 25th to give anyone interested a chance to acquire and read any or all of these comic European masterpieces in time for Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

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Friday, March 23, 2007

Away in a Manger



Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where He lay,
The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the Baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes;
I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray;
Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care,
And fit us for Heaven to live with Thee there.

-Anonymous

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Saturday, February 03, 2007

In the Bleak Midwinter
















In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

--Christina Rosetti

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