Our Masculine Strength


I once told a friend that the servers at Latin Mass, in particular, evoke a great sense of both pride and humility in me. Here we have – in some cases – boys as young as seven or eight serving a Latin Mass with the absolute greatest of integrity. They have diligently studied and memorized another language and intricate movements out of love for Our Lord. I well up when I see this. It is plain to me that the moment these lads pull the cassock over their heads and step into the sanctuary, they have at that moment become men. It doesn’t matter what youthful scraps they may find themselves in on the field, what emotional outbursts erupt as they develop physically and for which their hormones have not yet caught up. It doesn’t even matter their stage of physical development. Lacking the muscle mass, voice change, and facial hair that will one day belie their sex to the world; no, these boys could fight battles with the strength of soldiers once they ring the bell and Father hands off his biretta. There’s just something about that role and how seriously they take it. I think we know the reason. It is indeed a grace.

Harvey Millican wrote these words last week. There is more to his piece, much more, and I recommend that you read it. But I like this passage particularly as it is exactly what I see when I attend the original Traditional Latin Mass.

When given a modicum of a chance, boys want nothing more than to be men. The original Scouts association, before it was deformed into a twisted plaything of our enemies, was a good example of this. Boys donned the uniform because they wanted to be a part of something greater than their young age bellied.

I began the same journey at the age of twelve when my family took up the hobby of whitewater kayaking with several other families. Weekends away in the wintry wilds of Western Australia forced me to adapt my behavior to that of an adult level. I could easily bemoan my latchkey existence as a Gen Xer, but what my father gave me in those seven or eight years enabled me to step into the world with some serious intent. Priceless.

I too am in awe when I see the young boys serving at Latin Mass. I wonder how I would have handled the same responsibility at their age. But more than that, such dedication to serve at such a young age gives me hope. It is all too easy in the degeneracy of our present world to fall into despair and hopelessness for the future. But the future is in these young men, and given the chance they want only to grasp it with both hands.

But it is not just the young boys in attendance that give me hope; it is the young girls too. Who kneel devoutly with reverence, their young heads neatly covered in a shawl of lace, as they too recite the Latin words and who raise the offered golden plate to receive the host with great humbleness. They too want to serve in their role as women if given half a chance to not be betrayed by the perils of feminism and equality.

Our religion, our heritage, our race; these are the critical components which tie us together, and which our children want to be part of. Not as spectators, but as worthy participants, whether it be in the home, or at the Latin Mass, or on some backwoods country trail with the light fading fast, the storm clouds looming hard, and the sturdy back of their father before them as he leads them to their destination.

I have had enough of reporting on degeneracy and the latest outrage of our enemies. We know who they are and we know that they are capable of anything, and that they will up their game so as to keep our attention. I believe it is time to stop giving them oxygen. We need to raise our own and protect our own in our communities based on God and patriarchy. Boundaries that create a healthy, stable and enriching environment.

Teach our boys to be men and our girls to be women and teach them who our enemies are, but keep them as innocent for as long as possible. Give them integrity, not modernism. Teach them to have faith and to love and fear God. Faith and righteous love are our cornerstones.

I once wrote that real men don’t cry, and yet Harvey says that he wells up when he witnesses these young boys serving the Latin Mass with the greatest of integrity. Harvey is right and I was wrong. The ability to be emotional at such moments demonstrates strength, not weakness. We need masculine strength now more than ever, but it is found in the simplest of things. We do not have to climb mountains to harness it. We simply have to learn to stop living in fear and despair.

Originally published at Pushing Rubber Downhill. You can purchase Adam’s books here.

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Adam Piggott writes about all things red pill and nationalist right. He examines what it means to be a man in the modern world and gives men advice beyond the typical 'how to pull chicks', (although he does that too.) He plays the guitar, smokes cigars, drinks wine and rum, rides motorbikes, is bad at cricket, and distrusts any man who has no redeeming petty vices. He does his best to be a reality check to any Millennials or progressives so unfortunate as to cross his path.