Francois-Xavier Peron, a major political leader in France, has stated that France is about to enter into a civil war, between French and Muslim. He also spoke about the subject of a Christian France and how it is the Faith that is the only way that can ensure France being rescued from evil, death and collapse.
He also made a warning to the United States (with all the merit, may we add) not make the mistake France made, in its acceptance of religious freedom for Islam and Freemasonry. It has ended, destroyed their country!
Before the war breaks out again, food will be scarce and expensive. There will be little work for the workers, and fathers will hear their children crying for food. There will be earthquakes and signs in the sun. Towards the end, darkness will cover the earth.
When everyone believes that peace is assured, when everyone least expects it, the great happenings will begin. Revolution will break out in Italy almost at the same time as in France. For some time, the Church will be without a Pope. England, too, will have much to suffer.
The revolution will spread to every French town. Wholesale slaughter will take place. This revolution will last only a few months but it will be frightful, blood will flow everywhere because the malice of the wicked will reach its highest pitch. Victims will be innumerable. Paris will look like a slaughter-house. Persecutions against the Church will be even greater but it will not last long…
France is a nation consecrated by the blood of martyrs, and for a long time I have wanted to present you with a writing on these holy saints of France who endured the most horrific of persecutions in the early times of Christianity’s presence in that country. So, here it is, for you to remember what men and women died in the battle for the Faith to be perpetuated in France. It the first part of a three part series that I have been writing on the history of Christendom in France. Here is the first part, entitled The Martyrs’ Blood….
The soul wanders in the deserts of confusion, like a vagabond it goes here and there, searching with desperate eyes for the house that stands without guile nor deceit, snare nor wile, upon the lofty hill on which can be beheld many a witness, adorned with crowns, armed with swords, embellished by that enwrapping light of forgone virtues, singing the song that resounds the cosmos, of martyrs of days bygone, and who arms the weary heart to uphold “patience to the fight proposed to us: looking on Jesus, the author and finisher of faith, who having joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and now sitteth on the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 12:1-2) Behold the wheat fields, rooted in the rich nourishment of sacrifice— for things die and decompose, they feed the soil and life springs upwards toward heaven—; see how they are free of tares and warmed by the sun, ineffable light that enlivens our bodies and stirs within us the flame of hope that endures death and lives on to eternity. Such a profound sight, yet they desire nothing, and like content souls have they no urgency to travel, but simply put, they just are, and we behold them in the stillness of their being. Behold the fields of wheat, flowing with the winds of consonance upon the ascending mountain of humanity’s redemption.