For the determined unbeliever, sheer denial of God isn’t enough. They must insist on defiling even the memory of God. It’s why Nero must not only invade the temple, he must sacrifice a pig to Zeus. It’s why Mark Studdock must not just be forced to deny God, but to “trample on [the crucifix] and insult it.” It’s why apostate churches must not just permit gay marriage, but must invite a drag queen to lead their service. It’s why it isn’t enough just to ignore the resurrection of Christ — we must insist on worshipping a demon in His place. We must insist on a day of trans visibility.

“For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born.” (1 Corinthians 15:3–8)

Collectors, whether of motorcycles or moths, typically feature the most valuable parts of their collection in some prominent place. Nobody wants people leaving the Tower of London recalling only Queen Victoria’s collection of silver toenail clippers. Therefore, the crown jewels must be first and foremost in the treasury display.

Two days ago was Easter Sunday, on which we celebrate the most pivotal event in history. Because Jesus Christ has done the impossible, carrying our sins in his body, death is no longer the final word in once was. For centuries the events of holy week have been the crowning jewel not just for Christians, but for the West, which owes its entire system of law and governance to the basic truths set forth in the Bible, which stand or fall on the literal fact of the resurrection (1 Cor. 15:19). In other words, the resurrection is the best and brightest piece in our collection. There is no gift we presently enjoy that doesn’t trace its roots back to the splendour of the empty tomb.

One would think such a treasure would, whenever possible, be brought into the light. Especially in the midst of such darkness as we find ourselves in today.

But one would be wrong.

Instead, our leaders decided to take the driest, most inglorious mouse turd they could find, adorn it with glitter glue, and place it in a bomb-proof reliquary. And here I’m talking about the so-called “trans day of visibility.” A day arbitrarily set aside in honour of the mass-psychosis that has taken hold of our nation. A day to remember the multitude of youth being shovelled into Molech’s arms by activist educators, virtue-signalling parents, and sycophant media shills. A day on which we must give extra-careful consideration to the TikTok “influencer” with a 5 o’clock shadow and a patterned dress trying to argue that parents don’t have rights over their own children.

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