Historians value primary sources. This means that when they study a period, they seek written or other forms of material from those closest to the events of interest.
Over the last roughly 6,000 years, individuals have come and gone like grass. Families and communities have come and gone. Nations and empires have come and gone.
Men and women have told their tales, using tongue, quill, pen, and keyboard to recount victory and loss, glory and shame, goodness and evil, valor and cowardice. The wise have sought to learn from those who have come before. Fools have ignored this.
And one day, when time reaches its telos, and the King returns in splendor, the history of this world will be complete. I imagine it could be that in the new earth, the bound books of this world’s histories will be found on library shelves, and tales will be told aright round warm campfires.
I will be there to hear the telling of these stories. And the country of my birth, according to the wise will of the Maker, while by no means the focus or peak of this world’s unfolding, shall be truly known. While presently a man who far too feebly wars against his flesh, in those soon to come days I want to be at the telling of the tales, and have been a first hand witness who then, in the midst of the happenings, lived with moral clarity and courage.
Forty-four years ago, a darkness fell upon my country. For forty-four years it has not lifted. It was before me; I have never known my land to be free of it. Forty-four years ago, my country’s government, constituted on the foundation of the Maker giving each human inalienable rights, chose to use its might and money to fuel what is likely the world’s worst genocidal bloodbath. Ten times the number of victims than those who were lost during the Holocaust have been dismembered, sucked to goo, and squashed, fundamentally with the promise that if a noble man were to step in and do what was necessary to stop the killing, he himself would be executed by government agents, or locked in a cage, either way treated like the murderers being protected.
Today is Sanctity of Human Life Sunday, 2017. And today the killings have continued. I am writing today to testify that we all know what is going on. Let my testimony be clear for the ages. There were no ignorant parties in this affair. The people of my country have welcomed and harbored the darkness, for in it they seek to hide from the Maker, him whom they despise with their very marrow. They hate him, and so hate his image bearers. While, due to Adam’s transgression, they are born in sin before God, the victims of the American genocide, governmentally sanctioned and guarded since Roe v. Wade, have done nothing to deserve their treatment from other humans. Their crime is that they are human, and are vulnerable to the lashings out of God haters who anarchically have gotten their way, might making right in a land upside down in its rebellion against truth.
The darkness is thick. The blood flows with the stench of iniquity. But darkness simply is unable to grasp permanence, like mist over the river at dawn.
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”–J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King