By Way of a Preface
When I started these stories I envisioned them as cautionary tales about a horrific future that we, as a people, were facing if the shadows of liberalism were not altered. That future has come upon us sooner than I imagined. The liberals have completely unmasked and are moving toward their final solution, which is the extermination of the non-illuminated whites. Who are the non-illuminated whites? They are the whites who do not accept every single aspect of liberalism: sexual debauchery, legalized abortion, and the worship of Satan through the sacred negro.
The liberalsâ end, in their satanic minds, justifies any and all means. The white grazers, white people who cannot accept the entirety of the liberalsâ illuminated agenda, are unable to cope with the liberals because they are part liberal themselves. They cannot get away from the soul-killing heresy, which says that God and democracy are one: they believe that Godâs way is the democratic way. And in a Demon-cracy, you do not fight evil, you vote against it. We are now, as a people, at the crossroads. If we do not reject non-violence, if we let the liberals get away with the complete disenfranchisement of the white race, the future I depict in these stories will be upon us.
I have refrained from suggesting actual battle plans in my blog posts because I believe that once the European people have the will, once they reclaim that âcharity of honor,â they will produce leaders who will know the best way to fight the liberals. I have already seen, in the wake of the election fraud, some very good suggestions as regards the practical measures that we should take once the real war begins. The will to fight, which will come when we are a fully integral Christian people, is all in all.
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Remembrances: What Child Is This?
Roses bloom and cease to be,
but we the Christ child shall see.
-Hans Christian Andersen
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Act I. Scene 1.
Susan: (tied to a chair) Mother, may I be untied now?
Mother: No, you may not be untied.
Susan: Please, mother, the cords are hurting my hands.
Mother: I canât help that, you have been a very naughty little girl. You will remain tied to that chair until two oâclock. Then and only then will I untie you.
Susan: But Iâm really and truly sorry.
Mother: You said that last time and then I found you this morning playing with that white boy you were forbidden to play with.
Susan: But I am white, and you said that my father was white, so why is it wrong for me to play with a white boy?
Mother: Now, you really are making me very angry, Susan. I have explained all of this to you before.
Susan: But I donât understand.
Mother: What is the one great commandant which is the basis of our religion?
Susan: That we should love the black race with all our heart, mind, and soul.
Mother: Yes, that is correct. But you did not follow that commandant when you played with that white boy.
Susan: But my father was…
Mother: Yes, I know, your father was white. But your father was an authorized white man. Do you know what that means?
Susan: Youâve explained it to be before, but I still canât understand.
Mother: I think you do understand, youâre just being deliberately willful. But Iâll go through it all again. Our black gods are nature gods; they represent all that is beautiful and good. But nature did not make them to fix things and build things; that is the task of white men. Now, white men are very, very evil, so we must not have too many white men in our nation. But we need a few white men to fix things and build things, therefore we donât kill all white men, we let a few live so that they can fix things and build things.
Susan: Was my father a fixer and a builder?
Mother: Yes.
Susan: Did he die?
Mother: Yes, he did, but I donât want you to talk about your father. He did some bad things before he died; he was not a good man.
Susan: Maybe Johnny is going to grow up to be a fixer and a builder.
Mother: Whether he grows up and is placed in the science lab or he is placed in the execution chamber should be of no concern of yours. In either case, you are not supposed to play with him. Now, Iâll untie you, but you will be punished severely if you ever play with that boy again.
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Act I. Scene 2.
Later that night Susan hears a tapping at her second story bedroom window. She gets up and opens the window to a small balcony.
Johnny: May I see you?
Susan: Iâm not supposed to see you ever again.
Johnny: Why canât you see me?
Susan: Because you are a white boy.
Johnny: But what is wrong about white skin? I have a storybook that has pictures, and all the people in the pictures are white.
Susan: Iâm not supposed to look at storybooks that come from the bad time.
Johnny: How do you know my storybook is from the bad time?
Susan: You said the book had white people in it, so that means it is from the bad time. Any book that doesnât have black people in it is a bad book.
Johnny: But there are nice stories in this book. There is a story called âHansel and Gretel.â They were a boy and girl who get lost in the woods and discover a gingerbread house.
Susan: I donât want to hear anymore… What do you mean by a gingerbread house, you canât make a house of gingerbread.
Johnny: Well, there is one in the book. And Hansel and Gretel meet a witch and then…
Susan: That is wrong. Witches were invented by white men in order to insult women. It is wrong to read stories about them. My mother says that…
Johnny: I think your mother is a witch.
Susan: (starts screaming) Mother, mother, that white boy is here.
(Susanâs mother runs into the bedroom with a Glock pistol and starts firing at Johnny as he climbs down to the ground. Susanâs mother isnât sure, but she thinks one of the bullets hits Johnny in the leg.)
Mother: (on the phone) Operator, get me the police. Is this the police? Good, I want to report a white boy who tried to break into my home and assault my daughter. He is about eight years old, blonde, and I think I shot him in the leg.
Police Dispatcher: We will send a squad car around to see if they can pick him up.
Mother: They better find him, I donât want him bothering my daughter again. (Coming over to the bed to tuck her daughter in.) You did good, Susan.
Susan: What will they do to him if they catch him.
Mother: They will kill him.
Susan: Oh no, I didnât want that to happen. I just got mad when he called you a witch. (She starts to cry.)
Mother: Stop that this instant, Susan. Women never cry, you know that, it is written in Article II, Section 6, of the Feminist Manifesto. There is nothing soft, nothing sentimental, in women; we are strong, we have nothing called sentiment in us. That was an invention of white males who once ruled this land and enslaved women and blacks. Now, stop crying or Iâll be forced to beat you again.
Susan: Itâs only that I feel sorry for…
Mother: You are not to feel sorry for a white boy. You simply must stop this. No more of it, do you hear?
Susan: Yes, mother.
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Act I. Scene 3.
A mountain stronghold of the White Underground.
John Taylor: Have you heard from Britain?
David Morgan: Yes, I have. I have a letter from Father Bontini. Would you like me to read it to you?
Taylor: By all means.
Morgan: (He reads the letter.) âThis is not the first time Iâve had to write about Christopher Grey because he hasnât the time. He seems to have no rest, he is always going about his Lordâs business. This time it was the plague raging through what used to be called Britain that called him away from the new Britain, which, as you know, used to be called Wales. You had the plague over there a year in advance of us, but it has now hit Europe with a vengeance. It is much more deadly than the COVID-19 virus of many years ago. This virus has a 90% kill rate and thus far there is no drug that can cure it.
âKing Arthur took the measures necessary to keep us free of the plague. He placed armed guards on the border with orders to shoot and kill any and all invaders, whether they were Islamic soldiers or British-Islamic refugees. What else could he do? His policy, in my view, is in keeping with Christian charity. You canât allow your own people to be murdered by a virus spawned by your enemies. Arthur has literally launched all sorts of food supplies and experimental drugs over the border in cylinders in order to give some relief to those suffering from the plague, but he will not open up the borders.
âChristopher approved of Arthurâs policy, but he felt called to do something more. He told me, âThere must be a Christian presence over there, in this crisis.â
âI asked him, âDidnât the white Britons have a choice when they decided to stay in Islamic Britain instead of coming here to Christian Britain? Shouldnât they have to live with that choice?â
ââYes, they did have a choice, and not one single citizen of Christian Britain should have to suffer because of their apostasy. But I am not putting those Christians at risk. Iâm going over there alone.â
ââBut Christopher, what can you do? We have some drugs that can alleviate the pain, but there is no cure for this disease. You will die from it before you can really do any good.â
ââIâm 106 years old. Do I really have that many months left to live regardless of whether I die of the plague or not?â
ââThose months belong to God, Christopher. I donât want you to give them away in a hopeless cause.â
ââBless you, my friend. I know that you are speaking from the heart. But I feel I must do this. Those people, which are still my people, must, at the hour of their deaths, have some human conduit to Christ. If they will accept my love, it will link them to His love. So I must go.â
âWhat could I say? I knelt and asked for his blessing before he went. I knew I would need that memory for the remaining years of my life without his presence. âIn the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.â
âThat was six months ago. For some reason, known only to God, the Reverend Christopher Grey did not come down with the plague. The plague went down before Christopher Grey. He did not administer any drugs, but he was able to heal all those he came in contact with who had contracted the plague. What was his method? It was quite simple. In the case of the adults who came to him, he laid his hand on their foreheads and asked the Lord Jesus to come into their soul in order to heal them. And with the children he did likewise except that he took them into his arms as he asked Jesus Christ to heal them. Did he convert a whole nation because of his efforts? No, of course not. The whites, once they were healed, started talking about psychic forces and psychological factors that harnessed the power of the mind and gave the body assistance in fighting off disease. And many of the coloreds and the Moslems attributed the healing powers of Christopher Grey to the devil. But still, there were more than a few who were cured of the disease who did call on Him who saves for the first time in their lives. Whether that initial awakening will turn into faith is difficult to predict, but the grace of God was present, through Christopher Grey, in that heathen nation.
âWhy was Christopher permitted to go about Islamic Britain for six months? Because quite early in his mission of mercy he healed the eight year old son of the High Caliph of London. The High Caliph did not convert, but he did remove all restrictions on Christopherâs movements throughout Islamic Britain. We will not, here in New Britain, relax our vigilance, but for now Christopherâs mission of mercy has made for a more peaceful situation between Christian Britain and Islamic Britain.
âOf course, the larger question is â Why was Christopher able to heal so many people? Certainly it was Jesus Christ who healed them, but why was Christopher able to heal them in Christâs name, when the rest of us could not? I do not have a definitive answer to that question. There are some things that we simply will not know until we have crossed over to that other shore. But there is one thing I can say about Christopher that might give us a glimmer â a glimmer of Godâs grace. I have never known a man less tainted with the pride of intellect than Christopher Grey. No doubt because of the events of his childhood and his young manhood Christopher has looked on knowledge as a revelation from God that comes to the heart that loves. Christopher, throughout his entire life, has rejected the enlightened intellect. He refused to âevolveâ away from his âchildishâ and âfoolishâ faith in the God-Man, Jesus Christ. I do not have Christopherâs photographic memory, but I have committed Chateaubriandâs comments on the pride of intellect to my memory and my heart:
âNow, if the primitive constitution of man consisted in accordances such as we find established among other beings, nothing more was necessary for the destruction of this order, or any such harmony in general, than to alter the equilibrium of the forces or qualities. In man this precious equilibrium was formed by the faculties of love and thought. Adam was at the same time the most enlightened and the best of men ; the most powerful in thought and the most powerful in love. But whatever has been created must necessarily have a progressive course. Instead of waiting for new attainments in knowledge to be derived from the revolution of ages, and to be accompanied by an accession of new feelings, Adam wanted to know every thing at once. Observe, too, what is very important : man had it in his power to destroy the harmony of his being in two ways, either by wanting to love too much, or to know too much. He transgressed in the second way; for we are, in fact, far more deeply tinctured with the pride of science than with the pride of love; the latter would have deserved pity rather than punishment, and if Adam had been guilty of desiring to feel rather than to know too much, man himself might, perhaps, have been able to expiate his transgression, and the Son of God would not have been obliged to under-take so painful a sacrifice. But the case was different. Adam sought to embrace the universe, not with the sentiments of his heart, but with the power of thought, and, advancing to the tree of knowledge, he admitted into his mind a ray of light that over-powered it. The equilibrium was instantaneously destroyed, and confusion took possession of man. Instead of that illumination which he had promised himself, a thick darkness overcast his sight, and his guilt, like a veil, spread out between him and the universe. His whole soul was agitated and in commotion ; the passions rose up against the judgment, the judgment strove to annihilate the passions, and in this terrible storm the rock of death witnessed with joy the first of shipwrecks.â
âChristopher, first with his grief for his cherished pet and then later with the death of his beloved wife, loved so much, so deeply, that God vouchsafed him a vision of heaven, a heaven in which those he loved still lived in and through Christ. Christopher has never sought God through an illuminated mind and that is why, in my judgement, God has been able to work miracles by using Christopherâs Christ-imbued heart as a channel of His grace. Does that sound like raving to you? I hope not. In the meantime, Christopher is now back in Christian Britain and is looking forward to another Christmas. I hope this letter finds you well and I hope the White Underground in your area continues to grow. God bless you, and Merry Christmas!â
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Taylor: What can I say? I should say Iâm surprised, but Iâm not. I spent over a year in Christian Britain, which was long enough to get to know the Reverend Grey. He is not like other men.
Morgan: I like the way Father Bontini put it when he said that the plague didnât bring Christopher down, Christopher brought the plague down. It is true, what Bontini says, that Christopher has more completely purged the rationalist dragon from his soul than the rest of us. That is why he seems to be a man apart from the rest of us.
Taylor: But he doesnât feel apart from us, isnât that the key?
Morgan: Yes, it is, he loves much, like his Master.
Taylor: My faith is still in its infancy.
Morgan: So is mine, despite my gray hairs. (They both laugh)
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Act II. Scene 1.
Susanâs mother was wrong; she did not hit Johnny with a bullet from her Glock pistol, which is another example of the insufficiency of mere fire power without accuracy. Johnny was dragging his leg when he fled from Susanâs house because he sprained it when he jumped from the balcony. The 20+ bullets were sprayed all around him, but they did not hit him.
Johnny spent the night dodging the police cars. He knew of hideaways in alleys and old burned-out buildings that the police did not know about. In the early morning, after keeping on the move the entire night, Johnny came to an old dilapidated church on the edge of the city. At first he thought the church was abandoned without any inhabitants, but he saw a light in the adjacent rectory. Starved and desperate, he took a chance and entered the church. Needless to say the church was a âconvertedâ church: the sign outside read, âThe African Church of North America,â and inside the usual signs of the new religion were present. The former Stations of the Cross had been replaced by various scenes depicting the evolution of the black race from slaves to gods. Now, instead of Christ, a depiction of the Sacred Negro was at the front of the church. When Johnny entered the church, a white priest, about 75 years of age, was at the altar cleaning up the blood that had been spilled when the sacrificial white victim had been killed on the altar at last nightâs service. Johnny limped up to the old man with a vague hope that he could get something to eat without becoming a sacrificial offering himself.
Old Priest: What do we have here? A little white boy. I donât think you are supposed to be here, are you?
Johnny: Please sir, Iâm very hungry, could you give me some food?
Old Priest: Certainly, you just wait here and Iâll bring you some toast and jelly. Would you like that?
Johnny: Please, Iâd like any food.
Old Priest: Good, Iâll bring it. (The priest briefly leaves the room and brings back the food. He then sits down and waits until Johnny has eaten.) Iâll bet that makes you feel much better. What is your name?
Johnny: Johnny, sir. And yes, it was good.
Old Priest: Now tell me the truth, Johnny, you are a white runaway, arenât you? You have run away from the white internment camp.
Johnny: I donât know what an internment camp means. The guards call it the white pigsty.
Old Priest: It amounts to the same thing.
Johnny: You wonât send me back there, will you?
Old Priest: I am a priest in the African Catholic Church of North America, Johnny. Do you know what that means?
Johnny: It means you are going to send me back.
Old Priest: Johnny, you do not understand. You are a white boy. And as a white boy, you are full of evil, racist prejudices. If you are allowed to grow up free and unrestrained, how could we be sure that you wouldnât become a racist and hurt a black person? You might even become a member of the White Underground.
Johnny: But why do I have to be a prisoner in the white pigsty? You are white, and you are free.
Old Priest: There is where you are wrong, Johnny. I am not a normal white person. I am an illuminated white. By a process that you are too young to understand, I have become illuminated in my mind, which makes me black inside. To put it in terms that you can understand, let me just say that I thought very hard about how bad it was to be white, and I made myself, by thinking so hard, into a black man.
Johnny: But you still look white to me.
Old Priest: That is only on the outside, Johnny, on the inside I am black, and that is why I am free to perform the holy sacrifice at the altar every Sunday.
Johnny: You kill white people on the altar, donât you?
Old Priest: I wouldnât use the term âkill,â Johnny, I would use the term âsacrifice.â We sacrifice whites on the altar of the Sacred Negro.
Johnny: Will I be sacrificed on the altars of the Sacred Negro some day?
Old Priest: Yes, Johnny, you will be sacrificed there, as all members of the internment camps, the whites with no scientific aptitudes, are sacrificed. You, because you tried to run away, will be sacrificed on this altar next Sunday. While I was preparing breakfast for you, I called the police.
Johnny: Why do you hate me so?
Old Priest: I donât hate you, Johnny, it is not a bad thing to die, especially if we die on the altar of the Sacred Negro.
Johnny: But what happens to us when we die?
Old Priest: We become part of nature, we are absorbed by the elements.
Johnny: But I want to go to heaven when I die, me Johnny, I want to personally go to heaven to meet Jesus.
Old Priest: (very harshly) Who told you about heaven and Jesus?
Johnny: No one told me, I read about Jesus and heaven in a storybook.
Old Priest: (even more harshly) Storybooks, especially old storybooks, are forbidden in the African Republic of North America. Who gave it to you?
Johnny: No one, I found it. There were stories from the book, there were good white people in the book, too, white people who spoke of Jesus and heaven.
Old Priest: (slaps Johnny) That is racism, Johnny. You are not to speak of Jesus in such a manner. He is not a god.
Johnny: âRoses bloom and cease to be,
But we shall the Christ child see.â
That was in the book and I believe the book, because there were beautiful stories in the book.
Old Priest: (in a rage) You are not to speak of such things!
Johnny: I will, I will, you are going to kill me anyway!
Old Priest: (leaps upon Johnny and starts strangling him) Iâll kill you, Iâll kill you, you little fiend.
(In the midst of strangling Johnny, the priest has a heart attack and dies. As Johnny rolls free, he hears police sirens outside. As the police mount the stairs, he escapes out the window.)
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Act II. Scene 2.
A newly built science compound has been built over the ruins of the restaurant where Sister Jacqueline was taken away by the White Underground. It is dedicated to her. No one is allowed to mention the alleged miracle that happened there. It now houses about 80 white males with scientific aptitudes. They are afforded a little more freedom than the whites in the internment camps; they can get passes to leave the compound on special occasions, and they can receive visitors. Most of their time, however, is spent in the laboratories at the compound. They are not completely free to come and go as the illuminated whites are free to come and go. Susanâs father, Thomas Kent, is one of the scientists living at the compound. He shares a small apartment with another inmate, one Peter Mackenzie, although neither inmate is referred to by name. Kent is Inmate #79 and Mackenzie is Inmate #80. Kent once lived free, but his wife, Susanâs mother, reported him to the feminist branch of the enforcement bureau of the African State Church of North America with a charge of sexism. He was found guilty and sent to the science compound. He would have been executed if not for his scientific expertise. Susanâs mother simply told Susan that her father was dead.
As the scene opens, Kent and Mackenzie are in their apartment after the working day. Kent is reading a scientific journal â all other reading is banned â and Mackenzie is watching a state-sponsored sporting event in which only black athletes are allowed to compete.
Mackenzie: (turning off the set) It isnât much of a game.
Kent: (looking up from his journal) Whatâs the matter?
Mackenzie: The game is already over, the Number Twoâs got off to too big of a lead.
Kent: Thatâs a shame.
Mackenzie: I donât know how you do it.
Kent: Do what?
Mackenzie: Live here without going nuts. Iâve been here 6 months, and already I canât stand it here. Youâve been here â how long have you been here?
Kent: If you mean how long have I been at this facility, it has only been about 10 months.
Mackenzie: I donât mean that. How long have you been a laboratory worker?
Kent: Five years. I was once a free worker, but my wife had me sent here.
Mackenzie: That is the downside of getting married.
Kent: Were you ever married?
Mackenzie: No, I was a free white, an illuminated white, but a co-worker reported me for making a racist comment.
Kent: What was it, or shouldnât I ask?
Mackenzie: I simply wondered why whites, if they were illuminated, shouldnât be allowed to play in the sporting events.
Kent: And that got you sent here?
Mackenzie: Yes.
Kent: It could have been worse, you could have been executed for such a remark.
Mackenzie: I suppose I was lucky, but still this place is driving me nuts. Iâve only been given two weekend passes since Iâve been here, and those passes are limited to places that are not more than five miles from this laboratory.
Kent: Yes, we are rather confined here.
Mackenzie: What did you do that made your wife report you to the feminist board?
Kent: We had a three-year old daughter named Susan. She would be eight years old now. Well, I donât know if any man, despite what the feminists say, ever gets rid of a certain feeling that he is dealing with something soft and sweet when he is dealing with the best of the opposite sex. When I thought my wife wasnât looking or within hearing distance, I hugged my daughter and called her âdaddyâs little sweetie pie.â My wife heard me.
Mackenzie: And she reported you?
Kent: Yes, she did. In less than a half-hour, my life as an illuminated white was over, and I became a laboratory worker. It could have been worse if I hadnât been scientifically inclined.
Mackenzie: Yes, it could have, but still you must get sick of this grind.
Kent: I do, but most of all, I miss my daughter. Iâm sure my wife has told her I was an evil man, and has probably told her I am dead.
Mackenzie: Do you hate your wife?
Kent: I suppose I should say I donât hate her because she was only doing her duty according to the feminist manifesto, but to be honest I must say â Yes, I hate her.
Mackenzie: I donât think I could ever get up the energy to hate.
Kent: A very wise man once said that we cannot love where we should love, if we do not hate where we should hate.
Mackenzie: Who was that man?
Kent: His name was Edmund Burke.
Mackenzie: Where did you hear of such a man, he isnât someone we are supposed to know about, Iâm sure about that.
Kent: Have you ever heard of Herb Broadhurst?
Mackenzie: Yes, wasnât he that archivist who joined the White Underground?
Kent: Yes, he was. And it was on this very spot, where this laboratory was built, that Herb joined with the White Underground.
Mackenzie: Did you know him?
Kent: Yes, and he used to tell me about some of the stories of the white people he read about in the Archives.
Mackenzie: He wasnât supposed to do that, was he?
Kent: No, he wasnât. Nevertheless, I found his stories from the Archives quite interesting.
Mackenzie: They eliminated the Archives after what happened with Broadhurst, didnât they?
Kent: Yes, they did.
Mackenzie: Why was what happened at the Inn that used to be here hushed up?
Kent: Many people who were here that Christmas Eve night claimed a miracle occurred. They said a twelve-year-old girl was brought back from the dead.
Mackenzie (laughing) Is that all? She probably just received mouth-to-mouth CPR and recovered from an unconscious state.
Kent: Possibly, but there were some people who insisted that a man brought the girl back to life simply by touching her forehead.
Mackenzie: That is ridiculous. Who was the man?
Kent; No-one is quite sure who he was. He disappeared after the incident. Before the alleged incident occurred he was chained outside in the snow.
Mackenzie: Who had him chained there?
Kent: Sister Jacqueline had him chained there.
Mackenzie: Who released him?
Kent: Thatâs the problem. Nobody knows how he got rid of his chains. He suddenly appeared at the door without his chains. He then went to the girl, who had been struck dead by one of Sister Jacquelineâs policemen, and brought her back to life. That is how the story goes.
Mackenzie: Pure nonsense.
Kent: Maybe.
Mackenzie: What do you mean by âmaybeâ? Surely you donât think some mysterious stranger actually brought a young girl back to life?
Kent: No, I canât say that I think that. But I know that Herb Broadhurst thought so, and I really liked that man.
Mackenzie: I didnât know him. But he wasnât a scientist, which is why he saw a miracle in something that was scientific. CPR is a wonderful thing, but it is science-based in its principles.
Kent: Youâre probably right, but Iâd still like to know more about that night.
Mackenzie: What would you still like to know?
Kent: Well, Iâd like to know what happened to the mysterious stranger.
Mackenzie: That is easy â he left with the White Underground.
Kent: No, he was gone before the White Underground arrived.
Mackenzie: He was probably waiting outside for them to arrive and left with them.
Kent: Possibly.
Mackenzie: You seem to want there to be a mystery where there really is none.
Kent: I suppose I do. But didnât you say you were bored here?
Mackenzie: Yes, I did.
Kent: Why, if science is all and all, are you bored with it?
Mackenzie: Itâs not science Iâm bored with, itâs the lack of outside diversions that I miss.
Kent: Well, then I still maintain that if science was all, you wouldnât need outside diversions.
Mackenzie: I donât see that.
Kent: Then letâs drop the subject. All I know is that I miss my daughter.
Mackenzie: Wait, I hear something on the balcony.
(Kent goes out onto the balcony and finds a boy â it is Johnny â shivering with cold and barely conscious. He brings him into the apartment.)
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Act III. Scene 1.
The rectory of the major enforcement bureau of the African Catholic Church of North America. Monsignor McKinney (aged 55) and Father Mandela Johnston (age 34) are in the dining room finishing a late breakfast.
Johnston: I see that boy who killed one of our priests is still at large.
McKinney: Yes, I canât understand why the police havenât caught him yet. Itâs been three days now since the murder.
Johnston: Is it really that important that he is caught? After all, he is just one boy.
McKinney: Iâm surprised at you, Father. Itâs of vital importance. Father Nicholas was of no particular importance â he didnât really have a parish, we had put him out to pasture six years ago â but he turned on the tape, as he was required to, before he spoke to that white boy. And that white boy blasphemed against the Sacred Negro.
He quoted from a forbidden book of stories, and he made reference to Christ, not as a forerunner of the Sacred Negro, but as the son of the living God. We must capture that boy and find out where he got that book. And we must find out who spoke to him about Christ. If that boy was an ordinary murderer, he would not be a concern, but since he is a blasphemer he is our concern. When the police apprehend him, they will turn him over to us.
Johnston: Iâm sorry, Monsignor, I didnât realize the seriousness of the matter.
McKinney: It is easy, living as we do, to get complacent. We only associate with our fellow believers, but there is a white underground out there. We canât forget that.
Johnston: But arenât they just a small remnant?
McKinney: Small is a relative term. They have had an impact. Just two years ago they took Sister Jacqueline away to be tortured and killed.
Johnston: Do we know if she was killed?
McKinney: We must assume the worst; the white underground are racists.
Johnston: Itâs a terrible thing. And what about Father Taylor and Herb Broadhurst? They were members of the Illuminati and they became racists. It makes me sick to think of the enormity of their treachery.
McKinney: Yes, itâs a terrible thing. To know the true God, the Sacred Negro, and then to descend to idolatry, superstition, and racism is unforgivable. I must preside over the trial of an apostate Illuminati today.
Johnston: I didnât know. Who is it?
McKinney: I donât believe you know him, itâs Thomas Davenport; he was a psychologist in the Execution Division of our church.
Johnston: The same position that Father Taylor once held?
McKinney: Yes.
Johnston: What is it about that position that creates apostates?
McKinney: Donât be too hasty with your judgements, Father. We have hundreds of priest psychologists, and this is only our second case of apostasy.
Johnston: But even one case is too many.
McKinney: True, but we must keep things in perspective. I am going to look into shorter terms for our psychologists in the execution division. I think the pressure of deciding who must die and who will live grates on the psyche of some men.
Johnston: I donât think a really grounded man should have a problem. If a white man refuses illumination, he should die; itâs that simple.
McKinney: I agree, but some men seem illuminated and then fall for reasons we still donât understand.
Johnston: Perhaps today at Thomas Davenportâs trial you will be able to get some insight into his psyche that will help you weed out future apostates.
McKinney: He hasnât been found guilty yet.
Johnston: But isnât that just a formality? I heard he made an open declaration of his racism â he said that Jesus Christ was the one and only Son of the Living God.
McKinney: Yes, his guilt seems apparent from what Iâve heard, but I will let him explain himself in open court. Perhaps youâd like to attend.
Johnston: Yes, I would. Iâd like to see one of these apostates close-up.
___________________
Act III. Scene 2.
The trial of Thomas Davenport, formerly a priest-psychologist in the Execution Division of the African Roman Catholic Church of North America. Monsignor McKinney presiding.
McKinney: State your name.
Davenport: My name is Thomas Davenport.
McKinney: You have been charged with blasphemy against our holy faith. How do you plead?
Davenport: Guilty.
McKinney: What are you saying? Donât you want to issue a defense?
Davenport: I am guilty of blasphemy as you describe it. I do not believe in the Sacred Negro. I believe that he is a false god. I believe in the God of the white Europeans whom you persecute, I believe that Jesus Christ is the one true God who died on the cross to save us all from sin and death.
McKinney: Guards, have that man gagged. (Two guards tie Davenportâs hands behind his back and then gag him.) Now, I must say a few words before I pass sentence. You have committed an unpardonable sin against our holy faith. When you attack that faith, you attack us all. We have struggled mightily against white racism, and it is only by the grace afforded us by the Sacred Negro that we have been able to conquer, within our own psyches (note that I do not use the word âsoulâ, which is a concept of white racists), the white racism within. Our illumination has been dearly bought. We cannot permit anyone to try and drag us back to racism.
(Monsignor McKinney rises from his seat and raises his arms in the air) I can see the Sacred Negro in my mindâs eye; he calls on me to pass judgement on the racist before me. (He sits down.) I sentence you to torture and death two days hence. So die all racists.
Johnston: (coming up to Monsignor McKinney after the trial) I didnât get much of a chance to see into his psyche as he was not allowed to talk.
McKinney: Are you suggesting that I should have let him talk any further after he publicly blasphemed?
Johnston: No, of course not, but I would still like to learn a bit more about him, so I could be of some use in stopping such men from attaining any positions in our church again.
McKinney: I could give you a pass to visit him in his cell. Would you like that?
Johnston: Yes, I would.
McKinney: Iâll arrange it.
___________________
Act III. Scene 3.
Davenportâs cell.
Father Johnston: I canât have your death sentence altered, I havenât the power. And quite frankly, I wouldnât alter your death sentence even if I had the power to. I think you deserve to die for your apostasy.
Davenport: Did you come here just to tell me that?
Johnston: No, I came here to tell you that if you cooperate with me, if you answer my questions, I can have the torture you are currently scheduled for remitted.
Davenport: I donât particularly care to be tortured, but I wonât answer any questions that put my fellow Christians in jeopardy.
Johnston: My questions are not that type of questions.
Davenport: If they wonât compromise anyone else, Iâll answer your questions.
Johnston: Good. I would like to know how you, an illuminated white, made the descent into racism. By what process did you go from light to darkness?
Davenport: Of course, I do not see it as you see it. From my perspective I went from darkness to light. But since you ask me, Iâll try to articulate the reason for what you call âmy apostasy.â
Like you, like all whites who are allowed to grow up and live in the African Republic of North America, I believed that the negro was sacred. I believed that we, as white men, were called upon to serve the negro with our whole heart, mind, and soul. And for many years, I did just that. All my work in the science lab was holy work to me, because it was done in the name of the sacred negro, it was done to make the sacred negroesâ lives here on earth more pleasant.
I was given permission to marry a white woman, because I had demonstrated my scientific aptitude. The Illuminati on the council felt that my offspring might also be scientifically inclined. I was relieved when my son, at age three, scored very high on the scientific aptitude tests, because I saw there was an excellent chance that he would be allowed to live, that he would not have to be executed. Even though I knew it was in violation of Section III, Article 17 of the African Republic of North Americanâs constitution, I had formed a very close bond with my son and my wife.
Johnston: Even though you knew such bonds were forbidden? When you knew that the procreation of the species was not supposed, within the bond of white marriage, to be connected with sentiment?
Davenport: Yes, I did form ties of sentiment with my wife and child. I just couldnât seem to help myself. But I still believed in the sacred negro despite my sentimental attachment to a white child and a white woman.
Johnston: I do not see how the two principles can be reconciled, but please proceed with your story.
Davenport: When Edmund was 6 years old, my wife died tragically in what they told me was a car accident.
Johnston: You donât believe it was a car accident?
Davenport: I believed it at the time, but now I know differently. I know that she was raped and murdered by your black gods. She got lost â she was always bad with directions â and drove into the rape and murder zone.
Johnston: You know that it is perfectly legal for blacks to rape and murder any white woman without a special pass. Did your wife have her pass?
Davenport: I donât k now for sure, she might have forgotten it that day. But should that make a difference? Why should the blacks have the right to rape and murder white women even if they donât have a pass?
Johnston: If you werenât already scheduled for execution, that statement alone would be your death warrant. But go on — if you tell me your whole story, I will keep my promise and remit your torture.
Davenport: After my wifeâs death, I had only my son left to live for.
Johnston: You know that was wrong. You are not to live for what used to be called kith and kin; you are to live solely for the Sacred Negro.
Davenport: I know that is how it is supposed to be, but you asked me to tell my story.
Johnston: Go ahead.
Davenport: Two years after my wifeâs death, Edmund was eight; he contracted the plague. It came as quite a shock to me because he got the plague at a time when it had virtually died out in this country. It was still raging in Europe, but we no longer had any active cases. I could only conclude that I had carried it home from the lab. I had been working with the virus in order to develop a vaccine.
Now, before you interrupt me again, let me say that I knew I was supposed to report Edmundâs illness. But I didnât, because I knew he would be executed. I packed up as many provisions as I could carry in the minivan and took Edmund to the mountains. I wanted him, if he had to die, to die in peaceful surroundings, not in a science lab. My special illuminated status allowed me to pass through the sentries guarding the roads.
Johnston: Did your son die in the mountains, then?
Davenport: No, he did not. The White Underground came upon us. That is all I will say. They came to me, a man who had sent hundreds of white Christians to their deaths for their refusal to worship the Sacred Negro, and they helped my son.
Johnston: How could they help your son? The plague is and was incurable.
Davenport: They told me there was a man in Britain who could cure the plague. He had just returned to Christian Britain after healing thousands of plague victims in Islamic Britain.
Johnston: And who was the man?
Davenport: His name was…
Johnston: Christopher Grey?
Davenport: Yes.
Johnston: He never cured anyone, all that is nonsense.
Davenport: He cured my son.
Johnston: If your son got better, it was a psychic phenomenon, it had nothing to do with Christopher Grey.
Davenport: Thatâs what Christopher Grey said: he said he had nothing to do with my sonâs recovery. Only he did not call it a psychic phenomenon. He said that it was Jesus Christ who healed my son and that he was merely a vehicle for Christ.
Johnston: That is blasphemy. There are no miracles outside of the natural world. The so-called miracles are psychic phenomena. We must look to the Sacred Negro for the real miracles, the miracle of the Natural Savage untainted by the non-illuminated whites.
Davenport: So you say. But I saw a miracle. I had a mask and gloves on, a mask and gloves I had especially designed for myself when the plague had hit our country. The White Underground had us isolated from the rest of their population, but they kept us supplied with food and water. I didnât believe that my son could be cured, since he had entered the final stages of the disease, but there was a great peace amongst those people that made me glad that I had fled the city with my son. It was — you can make of this what you want — on the third day that I was among the White Underground that he, Christopher Grey, appeared. He simply nodded to me and walked right up to my son and took him in his arms. To me he looked like an enormous angel, like something from another world. He said, âPlease, Lord Jesus, come into your child, Edmund Davenport, and cure him.â
He held him for another two or three minutes in his arms and then he laid him back on the bed. And my son was plague free! I wept and I believed. I fell on my knees before Christopher and started to thank him. But he got on his knees beside me and thanked our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And he was right — at that moment, when I saw my son healed through the power of Christ, I believed. Most certainly I am the least of Godâs children, because I persecuted His people, and I needed to see before I believed, but still I now belong to Him. I was captured by your police force when I came back to get a few of my things, but I am thankful that my son is with the White Underground. And that is my story. If it will make my death less painful, I am glad I told it to you. If not, it will not change my faith.
Johnston: You truly deserve the death sentence that Monsignor McKinney gave you. As for the torture that is customary in these cases, Iâm afraid I lied to you. I do not have the power to remit your torture. And quite frankly I wouldnât do it if I could. You deserve to be tortured because you have gone over to the racist Europeans, the Christers, and must be punished most severely with torture and death.
Davenport: So be it then. I know He will sustain me.
Johnston: Jailer! Itâs time to let me out.
Morgan: (outside the cell) The jailer is temporarily indisposed. I relieved him of his duties. You and Mr. Davenport are coming with me.
Johnston: Who are you?
Morgan: My name is Morgan.
Johnston: The leader of the White Underground?
Morgan: Yes, and you are going to meet many of my friends and some of your former friends such as Sister Jacqueline, who remains our prisoner.
Johnston: Hel… (Morgan muffles his scream and takes him away, accompanied by the newest member of the White Underground, Thomas Davenport.
_______________________________________________________
Act IV. Scene 1.
The apartment of Thomas Kent and Peter Mackenzie. Kent has placed Johnny in his bed, covered him with blankets, and brought him a cup of hot chocolate. Johnny has regained consciousness.
Kent: And where have you come from? Easy on the milk, donât drink it too quickly.
Johnny: Iâm so hungry and thirsty.
Kent: Iâll get you something to eat as well, but take your time with it. (Kent goes into the kitchen to get Johnny some leftovers. Mackenzie speaks to him in the kitchen.)
Mackenzie: Iâm sure that is the runaway white kid the police are looking for.
Kent: Probably.
Mackenzie: Then weâll have to turn him in right now.
Kent: Letâs wait a bit, at least let him eat.
Mackenzie: Whatâs the use of that, he will be killed as soon as they take him.
Kent: Still, Iâd like to give him this chicken.
Mackenzie: Why?
Kent: It would give me pleasure to feed a human being instead of a laboratory rat.
Mackenzie: Donât be absurd, Iâm calling the police. (He walks over to the phone. As he does so Kent goes to his desk drawer and draws out a small semiautomatic pistol.)
Kent: Leave the phone alone.
Mackenzie: Have you gone mad?
Kent: Quite probably I have gone mad. Which is all the more reason why you shouldnât touch that phone — I will shoot.
Mackenzie: All right, I wonât touch the phone. But if you harbor a white escapee from the internment camp we will both be executed.
Kent: Donât worry, Iâll see to it that youâre not implicated. Put your hands behind your back. (Kent ties and gags Mackenzie and puts him in the closet. Then he goes into the bedroom, bringing Johnny the chicken. When Johnny finishes eating, Kent speaks to him.)
Kent: Youâve been very busy these last few days, havenât you?
Johnny: Yes, I have, and Iâm very tired.
Kent: Well, in just a little while you can get some sleep. But first Iâd like you to tell me your story.
Johnny: Like in the storybooks?
Kent: Yes, if that will make it easier for you.
Johnny: Well, once upon a time I was born in a big prison camp. I donât know who my father and mother were, because I never, that I can remember, had anyone around me. There were only black men with whips and sticks around me. They always beat me. They told me if I failed the tests, they would kill me and eat me, just like the witch in the Hansel and Gretel story.
Kent: Did they, the guards, tell you about Hansel and Gretel?
Johnny: No, that was a book I found two years ago. I read it many, many times when no-one was paying any attention to me. I had a hiding place for the book just outside the camp. I also had a little tunnel I dug that led outside the camp. That is where I read the book and visited Susan.
Kent: Who was Susan?
Johnny: She was a white girl I used to go and see. I thought she liked me. I still think she does, but when I called her mother a witch, she screamed, and her mother shot at me. That was about five days ago, but Iâm not sure exactly how long it has been. A lot has happened to me since that time.
Kent: What was the last name of Susan?
Johnny: Iâm not sure what Susanâs last name was. But her motherâs last name was Wagner.
Kent: Johnny, that young girl is my daughter.
Johnny: Then she should be with you. Iâm sure she is not happy with her mother, because her mother ties her to a chair when she is bad.
Kent: I donât think Susan could be so bad as to warrant being tied to a chair.
Johnny: I think that was my fault. When Susan played with me, she was being âracist,â so her mother punished her.
Kent: Yes, she would do that. You were right, Johnny, Susanâs mother is a witch.
Johnny: I thought so. But what can we do? Susan shouldnât have to live with a witch.
Kent: No, she shouldnât. Iâm going to take care of that. But you havenât finished telling me your story. How did you end up here, and why are the police chasing you?
Johnny: They say I killed a priest of the African Roman Catholic Church of North America.
Kent: Wait, before you go any further, let me get my roommate out of the closet. I really shouldnât have put him there. (Kent leaves the room for ten minutes and then comes back with Mackenzie.) Now, Johnny, please go on with your story. My friend here will listen as well. And when you have finished, we will both leave together while my friend calls the police, but not before he has given us a half-hour head start. Isnât that right, Peter?
Mackenzie: Agreed.
Kent: Go ahead, Johnny.
Johnny: Susanâs mother, the witch, started shooting at me, so of course I had to run away. I couldnât go back to the prison camp like I used to do because I knew Susanâs mother had called the police. So I ran and hid, and I ran and hid some more until I came to an old African Roman Catholic Church. The priest there started being nice to me. He gave me something to eat, and he seemed kind. But when I said, âRoses bloom and cease to be; But we shall the Christ child see,â he attacked me and started to choke me. I thought I was going to die, but then he suddenly stopped choking me. He rolled over on the floor beside me and stopped breathing. Then I saw the police cars outside the window and I ran away. As I was running away, I heard someone yelling I had murdered the old priest. I didnât murder him, but I knew they would kill me anyway because of Susanâs mother, so I kept running.
Kent: How did you survive for five days and nights?
Johnny: I grabbed some food off the old priestâs table before I ran from that church. I made that last two days. Since then I havenât eaten until now. It was on my fifth day of hiding and running that I came upon the big church festival. It was being held outside.
Kent: What were they doing at the festival?
Johnny: They were killing white people, isnât that what they always do at religious festivals?
Kent: Yes.
Johnny: Well, they had all the white people lined up â there must have been hundreds of them lined up waiting their turn to be killed on the altars of the big outdoor church. The black guards all had those guns that shoot a lot of bullets.
Kent: Were you hidden during the festival?
Johnny: Yes, I was in the bushes on a hill overlooking the festival. But I guess I wasnât paying attention because a black sentry came up behind me and grabbed me. âHow did you escape,â he said. I tried to get away, but he held me tight and started to carry me down to the religious festival where the whites were being killed. But halfway down the hill somebody started shooting at the black guards, and I heard one of them say, âItâs Morgan and the White Underground.â Then the white prisoners started running for cover, and the black guards started shooting back at the White Underground people. But soon all the blacks were dead, and the White Underground people came and started telling the white people they could come with them. I tried to cry out to the White Underground people, but the black man held his hand over my mouth and started running into the hills with me.
Kent: Didnât anybody from the White Underground see him running away with you?
Johnny: No, I guess we were too far away.
Kent: But youâre here now. Somebody must have helped you get away?
Johnny: Somebody did — his name was Michael.
Kent: Tell me about it.
Johnny: Well, the black guard was quite angry with the White Underground for killing all his friends. That is what he said, but he didnât really seem as sorry for his friends getting killed as he seemed sorry that all the whites werenât going to be killed. He kept saying, âWell, at least Iâll kill you, at least Iâll kill you.â And when we came to a clearing, he put handcuffs on me and made me kneel down while he built a fire. He said he planned to roast me alive. When he got the fire nice and hot, he undid my handcuffs, picked me up, and threw me in the fire.
Kent: Johnny, how is that possible â you donât have any burn marks on your body?
Johnny: I didnât burn up because he was there in the fire.
Kent: Who was there?
Johnny: Saint Michael the Archangel. That was his name.
Kent: Did he tell you that was his name?
Johnny: Yes, he did, and he said the Christ Child had sent him to watch out for me. He told me that Baby Jesus had heard me calling on Him by name when I told the old priest that, âRoses bloom and cease to be. But we the Christ child shall see.â
Mackenzie: This is too much. The child is lying, he is making all this up.
Kent: Is he?
Mackenzie: Of course he is, you donât seriously believe in archangels and the baby Jesus?
Kent: People once believed in such things.
Mackenzie: Yes, in the age of superstition people believed in a lot of things, no doubt. But we are men of science.
Kent: You are a man of science. And you can have it.
Mackenzie: You believe his story?
Kent: I want to believe it.
Mackenzie: Thatâs not what I asked you. I asked you if you believed his story.
Kent: (Looks at Johnny and seems to be studying his face) Yes, I believe his story, more than I believe in that science lab over there.
Mackenzie: Youâre insane!
Kent: Perhaps.
Johnny: The angel Michael must have known you would believe me because he took me here after he killed the black man. He told me you would take care of me.
Kent: If the angel told you that, then I will take care of you. We shall join a friend of mine, Herb Broadhurst, in the White Underground. But first I must go rescue my daughter Susan from that witch. Would you like that?
Johnny: Yes, I would, very much!
Kent: (addressing Mackenzie) Youâve promised me one half-hour head start.
Mackenzie: Iâll give you more than that, I wonât phone in a missing person report until the morning.
Kent: Thanks.
Mackenzie: (with a wave of his hand) Get out of here before you have me seeing angels.
_____________
Act IV. Scene 2.
Susanâs apartment. Johnny has shown Kent where he can climb up to Susanâs bedroom. Kent climbs up into Susanâs bedroom, but he goes through Susanâs bedroom to the witchâs bedroom. Without waking the witch, he goes to the dresser, opens a drawer, and removes the clip from his wifeâs Glock. Then he goes back to Susanâs bedroom and gently wakes her. Johnny has been waiting there in the bedroom as well.
Kent: Do you hear me, Susan?
Susan: Yes, who are you?
Kent: Iâm sure you donât remember me, but I am your father, and Iâve come to take you away from here to a better place. And Iâm taking Johnny with me as well.
Susan: My father is dead.
Kent: No, that is not true. I am your father. Look at me, Susan, look very carefully at my face.
Susan: I am looking.
Kent: What do you see?
Susan: (suddenly lighting up) I see love there, you love me! I know you must be my father!
Kent: Then youâll come with me?
Susan: Yes, oh yes!
(At this point, Susanâs mother, the witch, enters the bedroom.)
The Witch: (pointing the Glock at Kent) I donât know how you got here, but youâll never leave here, you disgusting white male. (She pulls the trigger of the Glock, but of course nothing happens.)
Kent: I removed the bullets, my dear. (The witch rushes at Kent, her fists flailing, but Kent knocks her out with a straight right-hand punch. Then he goes over to her to see if she is still alive. She is still breathing.)
Susan: Why does my mother hate everyone?
Kent: Your mother is a liberal, Susan.
Susan: What is a liberal?
Kent: A liberal is someone who hates Jesus Christ, and because liberals hate Jesus Christ, they hate His people.
Susan: I donât understand. Who is Jesus Christ?
Kent: I donât understand much myself, Susan, but where we are going, there will be many people who understand about these things. They will tell us about creatures such as your mother who hate everyone, and they will show us other people who love one another as Jesus Christ once told us to do.
(Speaking more to himself now than to the others, Kent looks at his wife.) I thought I loved you. Youâre still beautiful, at least on the outside. Maybe that is why I was punished through you. I only looked on the outside, not on the inside.
Johnny: Will we go now?
Kent: Yes, let me tie her up and gag her before we go.
Johnny: Roses bloom and cease to be, but we the Christ child shall see.
Kent: Yes, we will.
_______________________________________________________
Act V. Scene 1.
A room in the mountain headquarters of the White Underground. Herb Broadhurst, Morgan, Kent, and Thomas Davenport are there.
Kent: Iâm very grateful to you for taking me, my daughter, and Johnny into your mountain refuge. We certainly were in need of a refuge.
Morgan: We all are. There are many such refuges scattered throughout the continent.
Kent: Are you the leader?
Morgan: Yes, but every refuge has their own, for want of a better word, clan leader. I simply keep all the various clan chapters in touch with each other and ultimately in touch with King Arthur II of Britain.
Kent: Who was crowned by Christopher Grey?
Morgan: Yes.
Kent: Is he actually a real person? Iâve heard so many strange stories about him.
Davenport: He is quite real. He has been here for the past month. He came to heal my son and show the worst of sinners, one Thomas Davenport, the grace of Jesus Christ. Heâll be returning to Britain tomorrow, but tonight heâll celebrate Christmas with us.
Kent: Iâd like to meet him, but I must say this whole Christian thing is a little above and beyond me.
Broadhurst: Itâs above and beyond all of us to some extent. We all are infants in our faith.
Morgan: Yes, we are, but we believe.
(Christopher Grey enters the room.)
Grey: Lord, I believe, help my unbelief. That is always our prayer. But it takes faith to make that prayer (looking at Kent and Davenport). Allow me to invoke an ancient privilege. Please kneel.
(They all kneel, while Grey prays.)
Dear God, please bless these, your children; help them to know you in and through their brothers and sisters in Christ, gathered together here in your name. Keep them always in your heart and give them the grace to allow you into their hearts. We ask this, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, Amen.
Morgan: Amen.
All: Amen.
Grey: Iâll be back before I return to Britain, but right now I have a very important appointment with a young boy.
_____________
Act V. Scene 2.
At the top of the mountain refuge where thousands of white Christians live, there is a huge nativity scene. Christopher Grey takes Johnny by the hand, and together they walk to the top of the mountain and stand before the representation of the Baby Jesus in the manger with the Virgin Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, and the Shepherds kneeling before Him.
Johnny: Is this the Baby Jesus?
Grey: No, itâs just a model, a picture in wood of the Baby Jesus.
Johnny: Itâs a nice picture, but I want to see the real Baby Jesus.
Grey: Why must you see him, Johnny?
Johnny: Because I love Him. âRoses bloom and cease to be, but we the Christ child shall see.â
Grey: You shall see Him, Johnny. I want you to kneel down. Cup your hands like this (Grey cups his hands in prayer) and listen to what I say. (Grey recites, from memory, the nativity story from the Gospel of Luke:
âAnd it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.â
Grey: Did you see Him, Johnny?
Johnny: Yes, I did, but I saw another person standing with the Baby Jesus. It was a man with a crown of thorns on His head and deep cuts in His hands and His side. And when I saw the crown of thorns and the wounds, I cried inside my heart, because I was sorry for Him. But then He became all shiny and bright, and He was beautiful. He still had marks on Him but they were healed. And I knew He loved me, I just knew it.
Grey: The Baby Jesus is that Man with the crown of thorns and the wounds. And the Baby Jesus is that wonderful Man of light. He is Christ, He is our Savior. Do you believe in Him, Johnny?
Johnny: Yes.
Grey: Letâs go down the mountain. Your young friend Susan is waiting for you down there and so are the rest of your friends.
Johnny: Do they love the Baby Jesus too?
Grey: Yes, they do.
_____________
Act V. Scene 3. Finis.
The Rev. Grey reads from Luke, chapter 2, and then he leads the faithful in song:
Away in a manger
No crib for his bed
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down his sweet head
The stars in the sky
Looking down where he lay
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep on the hay
The cattle are lowing
The poor baby wakes
But little Lord Jesus
No crying he makes
I love Thee, Lord Jesus
Look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle
Till morning is nigh
Be near me, Lord Jesus
I ask Thee to stay
Close by me for ever
And love me, I pray
Bless all the dear children
In Thy tender care
And take us to Heaven
To live with Thee there
And take us to Heaven
To live with Thee there.