KIpple for the season.

There is a clear choice. We follow the elite, and reject God, or we turn to God.

God created them male and female**. A man shall hold fast to his wife. It does not take a logician to see that ‘marrying’ outside Christ’s stated design, or pretending that you are of a sex that you’re not, or even approving of such confusion (Rom 1:32) departs from Christian teaching. This is not even controversial, but is rooted in history, culture, theology, and, I might add, biology.***

The question before us is not, Does Christianity affirm gay relationships, sexual disorientation, and extramarital sex? It assuredly does not and never has. If someone presents a religion that does, it’s not Christianity, because it does not follow Christ’s teaching. Words have to mean things.

No, the question is whom we will serve. Will we follow, teach, and promote Jesus’ teachings on sex and marriage even in the reddened, spitting face of modern popular hysteria? Or will we deny our God’s design for mankind in exchange for the praise of gossip columnists and modern, sophisticated metrosexuals?

Choose this day.

Kipling knew that if Britain turned away from God they would fail. They did, and they did.


God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!


I am afraid that we have forgotten God. Instead we are told, by the narrative of this age, we are Gods.

I know this: I am not God, and not worthy of worship. Choose not to be what you are not. Kipling sent us a warning. Heed it.