The Plunge

One summer, when I was about eighteen, I had the privilege of going on the road with a traveling evangelist, who is still a great friend to this day. In his prime, he was the real deal – an old timey, tent meeting, jump on the piano, and spit into the third-row screamer. The meetings were the kind where the evening offering was taken up by passing a KFC bucket up and down the aisles. It was a fire and brimstone circus, and it was fantastic! 

One stop on our summer tour was Madison, Florida. The locals had erected a huge tent, preventing any thunderstorm from dampening the spirit of our traveling carnival of exuberant enthusiastic revivalism. Although, through all the theatrics of the week, which would now make the Presbyterian in me blush, the Holy Ghost did His good work. Many penitent sinners were transformed by the zealous oratory of our evangelist, electrifying that beautiful little community.

In today’s political environment, those memories remind me of the enthusiasm of Trump rallies. There is a certain fervor and dynamism that attracts the masses. The wicked are castigated, and there is hope for a better tomorrow, not just for themselves, but for the Empire as a whole. “Those ole Demon-crats have to be vanquished,” yells the congregants. And Donald J. Trump, the survivor of many fiery darts from those devils, captivates the faithful for hours. There is not a black minister alive that is not taking notes in amazement, and wondering how The Donald gets these White folks to stand up for that long of a sermon. 

The final hours of the election remind me of another story from that summer – plunging into the danger of the unknown. 

During those hot summer days, before the festivities of the evening services, our team went for a refreshing swim at a local spring. The water was clear and cold, the bottom white and sandy. A rather tall pine towered over the waters, and a ladder of wooden slats ascended up towards a small platform high above the spring. I was all in, and quickly vaulted up to the tiny plank. My heart began to race, realizing my next step would be a testament to the faith of an ambitious and peacock-y, aspiring preacher boy. 

The height was greater than I guessed and the water much clearer than I expected. The combination of the two made the spring look empty with only hot white sand at the bottom. But, there I was. There was no going back. It was decision time. I took a big breath, gasped, and jumped, not knowing if it was to my doom or euphoria.

Today, as the polls close, the entire Empire will take a breath, gasp, and plunge into the unknown, if only just for a speck in historical time. 

We’ve been here many times, brothers and sisters, and whatever the result, we will endure. For we hope for a home not granted to us by the whims of the changing political tide, but one established for us by our ancestors and Our Lord. Never forget, our goal is a free and independent Dixie. Establish your hearts and minds to that end. 

Deo Vindice!

God save the South!