The Spirit of Christmas

All was quiet in the trenches. For five months, they had been living in a hell the world had never seen before. Across the once-verdant fields of France and Belgium lay miles of dug out trenches, barbed wire, and the stamped out light of youth to never see home again.

The war came in August. It will be over by Christmas. At least that’s what the politicians say. Englishmen, Frenchmen, Russians, Germans, and Austrians to a man knew this to be true. At least it was when they left their homes all those bright, warm months ago.

Well, Christmas has come. No one was any closer to seeing his wife, his children, his home. Looking across the trenches, one could see lights burning, and what’s that? Singing.

The air was thick with frost and blood. Not unlike a thousand winters before it in the long history of our continent. But these were not songs of war that echoed across these Trojan plains. No, they were songs of warmth and brotherhood. One by one, the soldiers emerged. They tentatively walked across the no man’s land into what until only moments ago was certain death. Brother clasped brother, arms were shed, and the spirit of this most ancient of European days filled the air. There was singing, games, smoking, and all the manner of festive cheer that any German, Frenchman, or Englishman could muster.

This feeling of brotherhood was not to last forever. No, soon the orders came down and these children of Europa went back to the killing fields. To continue the first act in a long suicide. It was not until many years later that her children would know peace of any sort at all.

Today, over one hundred years on, her children face a new challenge. Perhaps her greatest in over a thousand years. She is facing invasion from without and a sickness unto death from within. Her “leaders” give speeches with subtitles in alien tongues, while her children are made homeless to make room for a new and strange people on her shores.

Europa’s women and children live in fear, perhaps for the first time in generations. Their virtue and indeed their very lives are threatened every day. Descendants of Vikings, of Romans, of Conquistadors now lie prostrate before the strange, abstract gods of our age.

The one thing that can’t be taken from us is who we are. We are the children of Europa. One hundred years ago, our grandfathers laid down their arms in brotherhood. Not because of some vague “brotherhood” of man, but due to the living tradition of the season that surrounds us.

As you read this, I hope you are holding your families and loved ones tight. Spare a moment to remember our ancestors who have gone before us, and look into the eyes of your children if you have them. It’s time to put away the petty squabbles and endless feuds that have divided us for centuries. After all, we are all the extended family of Europa.

The spirit of Christmas, or Yule, or however you wish to call it engulfs us. It would be wise to keep the flame of unity shown on those old fields of battle burning throughout the year. Frenchmen, Englishmen, Germans, Russians, Spaniards, Italians, and yes, even Americans must keep the fire burning. Because a dark winter awaits if we don’t.

Merry Christmas, and may we prevail!