So, people are clamoring yet again to ban the Confederate Battle Flag, all brought on by the Southern Baptist Convention’s vote to suppress the symbol. At best, some of these pastors pushed the move to ease their white guilt. You know the type. The kind that says if you’re a white Christian who doesn’t admit he’s a racist and wallow in self-loathing to an acceptably nihilistic level, well, you must not love Jesus.
At worst, other pastors used the faith-based meeting to push a political agenda steeped in cultural Marxism. You know the type. If ain’t politically correct and the “amens” don’t abound from the social-justice warriors in the congregation, well, you must not be preaching an “authentic” message.
These pastors then want to castigate me as the one who’s pushing division. Last time I checked, the Body of Christ was a place of unity without your meddling. One pastor even called to get rid of the flag in people’s own homes and for personal use, like he’s some kind of Michael Bloomberg of the pulpit. (Then again, he quoted multiple Bible verses in a strained attempt to deny the existence of individual rights, so his progressive motives were in glaring and hideous display, flag or no flag.)
Moreover, if preaching the love, mercy, and grace of Jesus isn’t enough to attract the right color, class, age, ethnicity, or whatever demo is the target, that’s not your problem. Keep spreading the Good News, equip your congregants to be fishers of men, and God will handle the rest. The Gospel is enough, so enough already with the phony displays of unity at your convention.
I, for one, am sick to death of people who have no understanding of history; people who claim indoctrination is fact; people who have no ability to consider nuance; people who believe whatever the government schools and mainstream media spoon-feed them; people who think intentions trump principles and logic; people who incessantly call to ban everything; and people who are offended by anything. Maybe I should have a personal secession.
I could write a dissertation on the Civil War; the necessity of state’s rights for a free people; Lincoln’s litany of federal tyranny; the evil of Sherman’s “total war” policies; the horrors of Reconstruction and the “remaking” of the South; the unconstitutional and immoral acts waged by the U.S. before, during, and after the bloody conflict; how most Southerners weren’t slave owners and instead chose to fight in order to defend their homes from invaders; the rampant racism in the North; the fact that Emancipation Proclamation was a purely political move because slavery still persisted in non-Southern states after this raw display of executive abuse of power; how even abolitionists by today’s standards were racists; how many Native American tribes fought with the Confederacy as they saw the Union as the real enemy; how the Battle Flag has Christian roots (really, I’m not kidding); and many, many other politically incorrect, yet factual items about this incredibly misunderstood and propagandized time in our history.
But for now, I say that if a symbol of Southern heritage offends you, well, you should at least be intellectually honest enough to ban everything that is a reminder of this detested region and its people, from bluegrass to “y’all” to sweet tea; biscuits and gravy to Southern rock to Southern accents; Elvis to Duane Allman to George Washington; saying “ma’am” to mint juleps to jazz; BBQ to saying hello to strangers to Tennessee Williams; fried food to country music to James Madison; collard greens to the blues to Thomas Jefferson. Eventually, you will have to ban the people themselves by either creating an American caste system in which white Southerners will become the untouchables or by cleansing your multi-cultural utopia of the backwards-ass-cracker outcasts through eugenics.
Till then, I’m displaying the Confederate Battle Flag, the Stars and Bars, the Bonnie Blue flag, and whistling Dixie. I’m advertising to the world that my husband is a member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, and I’m an ancestor of C.S.A. General A.P. Hill. I’m yelling from the highest rooftop that my son’s middle name, Lee, was chosen out of our deep reverence of General Robert E. Lee. I will teach my children real history and encourage them to stand up to thugs, liars, and deceivers, popularity be damned. I’m saying to y’all that I will never be bullied by pastors or progressives of public pressure to disown who I am and where I came from. And all the while, I’ll be praying for the haters, bless their hearts.