Several weeks ago, I was afforded the privilege of laying to rest a dear friend, not just to me, but my entire family. The service was beautiful and well planned, for the guest of honor was always one for detail. The setting was historic and grand, in the manor that befits the nature of both the Lord of Heaven and the life lived by the honored guest. The crowd was large, much larger than I expected, not that the honored did not deserve such an audience, but that our culture seems to have devalued such events. The minister performed his duties most excellent, weaving the details of a life well lived, flavored by the conversation the guest pathed during a three year battle with cancer. The Gospel was always in the forefront, as prescribed by the honored, for the benefit of her friends.
In this regal, Southern, historic church, surrounded by the shell of a once great Southern city, I rediscovered friends. Friends I had not forgotten, but that I had not seen in the years since I departed our once beloved city. How fitting that we met in solemness to discuss the transformation of our society and the city we all loved, upon the death of a person we all loved so well and who had done so much to bring beauty into our lives.
Just like her mortal body, destroyed by a cancer unseen for years and then once discovered fought with every ounce of constitution she could afford, our city is dying also. The names of our schools, which once honored great Southern men, are being changed, erased, murder and crime unchecked, a cancer spreading through the body of a once healthy city. These dear friends have almost all left the old neighborhoods, escaping to avoid the spread of the decay.
To my excitement, I was able to reforge an old fraternity, at least rediscover one forged among young men many years ago. All of these men were part of a small church that grew from the faithfulness of an old Southern preacher and infused by the power of the Holy Spirit to do His good pleasure. Many of these men are now Elders, or Deacons in their respective congregations. Of my core group, all are still faithful to their Lord.
The power of fraternity among Southern men is strong and can be rekindled in an instant. It was like we had never left each other’s side. Though we are all much older and have raised families, that church sold long ago and has distinguishable congregations of at least five, all grandchildren of the original. We were and are iron sharpening iron. You could see the enthusiasm in the faces of all of us and a longing for those days of pilgrimage from young men, to fathers, and for many of us grandfathers.
Identity Dixie is forging those same bonds now, for the same purposes. Purposed to honor our Lord, strengthening the ties of Southern men and their families, saving our land and our cities, and when that time comes, to honor those that have lived a life of service to others over self.
Come join us, and be not lesser men.
Deo Vindice!
Service to God and honor to the South.
As one ages, (s)he naturally attends, or at least feels more compelled to attend, more and more of these services. My mother once said to me that “everyone around me is dying.” What she meant was of course that ‘everyone she ever knew and formed a relationship with’ was dying. Quite. She was (and is) right of course, and I had very little in that moment of her “crashing into reality” to offer in the way of comfort. The wages of sin is death; the death rate over a long enough time scale is 100% and all that. Shall I go on?
One of the things I’ve personally noted at these services, is that the attendees will say to one another, “we need to get together under happier circumstances,” or something to the effect. Everyone agrees, and sometimes there is a “family reuinion,” or a “class reunion” that soon follows as at least an indirect result of these conversations. After which, it is back to the ‘same ol’, same ol’, generally speaking. And I’m as guilty as the next guy for neglecting this duty, I must admit. I generally leave it to the women to organize these reunions, and they do for awhile, but then they drop the project later on down the line because, … who knows?
In all of this, I try not to lose sight of the fact that much (most!) of this state of things came to being before I was even thought of, and therefore before anyone reading this, with exception of a very small few, were even thought of. One of the things that Identity Dixie offers me that nowhere else may be found is a recognition that our Confederate forbears were better than this, by a long shot. As your namesake might have said (and did say), “our forbears knew what they were about much better than we.”
Yes! We must remember, teach, build, be the people others absolutely can count on to keep in touch.
Thank you brother, your comments are a joy to read.
Thanks for a very good article. It is so true that we Southern men can rekindle those friendships from so long ago. In our small communities surrounded by farms we all went to the same school and attended church. We formed close bonds that have lasted and lament the passing of our time. We fear for the future of our European descents.