I loathe soccer, wherever it is played. Didn't even let my kids play it. But really liked this story. It gives me hope that we are truly in a new Reawakening.
My family will be moving to the UK and I was wondering which football club I should introduce to my son as "our team" to follow. Looks like this article has answered my prayer! Go the Gunners!
Know this is a bit long, but please give it a read anyway:
Who Will Take the Son?,By Unknown [Modified]
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had nearly everything in their gallery, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often spend hours together admiring and discussing the stunning compositions before them.
One day the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while saving another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only child.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood there with a large gleaming package in his hands. He said, “Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in his heart. In his shock his death was painless.
He often spoke about you and your shared love of art.” The young man brought forward his hands. “I know it isn’t much. I’m not a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”
The father unwrapped the parcel. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. The father stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his lost future on the canvas. The father was so drawn to his son’s eyes that his own eyes welled with tears. His throat seized. He thanked the young man as best he could and, nearly choking, offered to pay him for the priceless image. “Oh, no, sir. I could never repay what your son did for me. It is a gift.”
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. From then on whenever visitors came to call, he first took them to see the painting of his son before he presented any of the other great works they had collected together. ...And yet, still heartbroken, with only his son’s portrait to console - as well as torture by his absence - overtime the gentlemen’s body failed him as his heart was steadily cut-up from the sum total of gloom, grief is capable of rending.
There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the fruit of the greatest artists and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the man’s son. The auctioneer pounded the gavel.
“We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?” There was silence. Then a voice near the back of the room shouted, “We want to see the famous paintings. Skip that one.” But the auctioneer persisted. “Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100. $200?”
Another voice shouted angrily. “We didn’t come to see this armature portrait! We came to see the Van Goughs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids.” But still the auctioneer continued. “The son! Who will take the son?”
Finally, a voice came from the back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son, of whom both he was fond. “I’ll give $10 for the painting.” Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. “We have $10, who will bid $20?”
“Give it to him for $10! Let’s see the masters.” But the auctioneer continued. “$10 is the bid, won’t someone bid $20?” The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the image of the son. They wanted the more “worthy” investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. “Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!”
A man sitting on the second row shouted, “Now let’s get on with the collection!” But the auctioneer laid down his gavel. “I’m sorry, the auction is over.”
“What about the paintings?”
“All apologies. When I was called to conduct the auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the art collection. That man in the back who took the son gets everything.”
God gave his son over 2000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, “The Son, the Son, who will take the Son?” Because, you see, whoever takes the Son, gets everything...
I adopted Arsenal as my European club in 2002, when my Brazilian team, Atlético Mineiro, sold Gilberto Silva to North London. So yes, yesterday hurt.
But Arsenal is worth admiring for more than football. This squad reflects something rare in modern Europe: faith, discipline, gratitude, brotherhood, and open Christian witness in a continent increasingly embarrassed by its own inheritance.
That is why PSG winning was especially hard to stomach. PSG represents much of modern football’s uglier side: state money, ideological cowardice, and a fan culture where “Free Palestine” spectacles are treated as harmless while everyone knows how selective and loaded that symbolism has become after October 7.
UEFA’s spineless response was worse. A giant political "Free Palestine" banner is apparently fine if the bureaucracy decides it is not “insulting or provocative.” The same governing class that polices armbands, slogans, gestures, and religious expression suddenly becomes very nuanced when anti-Israel politics enter the stadium. But, is anyone really surprised?
Anyone aware of the riots taking place in France after PSG's win, can only view it as just another data point highlighting France's willingness to allow its culture to die through a long surrender of memory, borders, confidence, and moral clarity. England is not far behind.
That is why the light in North London matters. Maybe Arsenal’s Bible Brothers are not just a nice football story. Maybe they are a sign that people are beginning to remember what their elites forgot: that a nation cannot survive if it is ashamed of its faith, its culture, its language, its borders, and its inheritance.
Arsenal lost the final. But something more important than a trophy may be growing in North London.
That was a much-needed read, though their anthem is bittersweet. Christianity built the West, and we are throwing the foundation away, pretending the building will stand. When I was in D.C. last year, I went to a Church to do the rosary. I noticed a serious-looking man doing so as well, accompanied by what appeared to be a bored Secret Service guy. At a later WH tour later, I saw the same Secret Service guy. I don't know who the serious man was, but I was glad to know that whoever he was, the rosary was part of his daily practice. I want a leader who submits to something higher than himself and who acknowledges they are a sinner who makes mistakes that need to be corrected.
Just an addendum: I have heard that there are two major meta-narratives in the world: shame/honor culture and guilt/sin. While thinkers, such as David Berlinski, credit Christianity's belief that God made the world intelligent and ordered and man is tasked with discovering the order, I think the sin/guilt was an essential component as well. The sin/guilt is a release valve that an error might be made and once it is acknowledged, work can begin again. And, yes, I know of all the horrible things done by leaders of Christianity but I also can look around and see how it typically rights itself in the end.
I love the game, but I do agree with you on penalty shootouts. IMO, every major final should be home and away, with each finalist getting a match in front of its own supporters. These one-game finals on “neutral” pitches mostly serve the organizing body. They shut out the fans who are there every weekend but can’t afford the travel, hotels, and inflated ticket prices. Great for revenue. Not so great for the soul of the game.
They are winners in every way.
I loathe soccer, wherever it is played. Didn't even let my kids play it. But really liked this story. It gives me hope that we are truly in a new Reawakening.
My family will be moving to the UK and I was wondering which football club I should introduce to my son as "our team" to follow. Looks like this article has answered my prayer! Go the Gunners!
Great time for a young lad to become a gunner. Will teach resilience after suffering. Blessings for the big move.
Know this is a bit long, but please give it a read anyway:
Who Will Take the Son?,By Unknown [Modified]
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had nearly everything in their gallery, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often spend hours together admiring and discussing the stunning compositions before them.
One day the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while saving another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only child.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood there with a large gleaming package in his hands. He said, “Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in his heart. In his shock his death was painless.
He often spoke about you and your shared love of art.” The young man brought forward his hands. “I know it isn’t much. I’m not a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”
The father unwrapped the parcel. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. The father stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his lost future on the canvas. The father was so drawn to his son’s eyes that his own eyes welled with tears. His throat seized. He thanked the young man as best he could and, nearly choking, offered to pay him for the priceless image. “Oh, no, sir. I could never repay what your son did for me. It is a gift.”
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. From then on whenever visitors came to call, he first took them to see the painting of his son before he presented any of the other great works they had collected together. ...And yet, still heartbroken, with only his son’s portrait to console - as well as torture by his absence - overtime the gentlemen’s body failed him as his heart was steadily cut-up from the sum total of gloom, grief is capable of rending.
There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the fruit of the greatest artists and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the man’s son. The auctioneer pounded the gavel.
“We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?” There was silence. Then a voice near the back of the room shouted, “We want to see the famous paintings. Skip that one.” But the auctioneer persisted. “Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100. $200?”
Another voice shouted angrily. “We didn’t come to see this armature portrait! We came to see the Van Goughs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids.” But still the auctioneer continued. “The son! Who will take the son?”
Finally, a voice came from the back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son, of whom both he was fond. “I’ll give $10 for the painting.” Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. “We have $10, who will bid $20?”
“Give it to him for $10! Let’s see the masters.” But the auctioneer continued. “$10 is the bid, won’t someone bid $20?” The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the image of the son. They wanted the more “worthy” investments for their collections. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. “Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!”
A man sitting on the second row shouted, “Now let’s get on with the collection!” But the auctioneer laid down his gavel. “I’m sorry, the auction is over.”
“What about the paintings?”
“All apologies. When I was called to conduct the auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the art collection. That man in the back who took the son gets everything.”
God gave his son over 2000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, “The Son, the Son, who will take the Son?” Because, you see, whoever takes the Son, gets everything...
I adopted Arsenal as my European club in 2002, when my Brazilian team, Atlético Mineiro, sold Gilberto Silva to North London. So yes, yesterday hurt.
But Arsenal is worth admiring for more than football. This squad reflects something rare in modern Europe: faith, discipline, gratitude, brotherhood, and open Christian witness in a continent increasingly embarrassed by its own inheritance.
That is why PSG winning was especially hard to stomach. PSG represents much of modern football’s uglier side: state money, ideological cowardice, and a fan culture where “Free Palestine” spectacles are treated as harmless while everyone knows how selective and loaded that symbolism has become after October 7.
UEFA’s spineless response was worse. A giant political "Free Palestine" banner is apparently fine if the bureaucracy decides it is not “insulting or provocative.” The same governing class that polices armbands, slogans, gestures, and religious expression suddenly becomes very nuanced when anti-Israel politics enter the stadium. But, is anyone really surprised?
Anyone aware of the riots taking place in France after PSG's win, can only view it as just another data point highlighting France's willingness to allow its culture to die through a long surrender of memory, borders, confidence, and moral clarity. England is not far behind.
That is why the light in North London matters. Maybe Arsenal’s Bible Brothers are not just a nice football story. Maybe they are a sign that people are beginning to remember what their elites forgot: that a nation cannot survive if it is ashamed of its faith, its culture, its language, its borders, and its inheritance.
Arsenal lost the final. But something more important than a trophy may be growing in North London.
This is a touching story. When are they scheduled for disposal by the Woke British Overlords?
That was a much-needed read, though their anthem is bittersweet. Christianity built the West, and we are throwing the foundation away, pretending the building will stand. When I was in D.C. last year, I went to a Church to do the rosary. I noticed a serious-looking man doing so as well, accompanied by what appeared to be a bored Secret Service guy. At a later WH tour later, I saw the same Secret Service guy. I don't know who the serious man was, but I was glad to know that whoever he was, the rosary was part of his daily practice. I want a leader who submits to something higher than himself and who acknowledges they are a sinner who makes mistakes that need to be corrected.
Just an addendum: I have heard that there are two major meta-narratives in the world: shame/honor culture and guilt/sin. While thinkers, such as David Berlinski, credit Christianity's belief that God made the world intelligent and ordered and man is tasked with discovering the order, I think the sin/guilt was an essential component as well. The sin/guilt is a release valve that an error might be made and once it is acknowledged, work can begin again. And, yes, I know of all the horrible things done by leaders of Christianity but I also can look around and see how it typically rights itself in the end.
Not uncommon I know, but growing up our coach had us all pray together, and it was essential.
Sooo encouraging!
Thank you for such an uplifting story.
Thank you, what a great way to end the day, knowing there are young people who embrace Christ and are inspired by the Holy Spirit.
How does Mamdani square being a Marxist Islamofascist with being an Arsenal fan?
Unfortunately Arsenal has many leftist celebrity fans, it is based in London after all.
I’m reminded of a line from an old TRB tune, “the winter of ‘79”, which goes, ‘Spurs beat Arsenal, what a game, blood was running in the drains.’
Great post, Yuri! Wonderful to see humility championed in pro soccer…
I hate soccer, especially when a championship game is decided by a shoot-out.
I love the game, but I do agree with you on penalty shootouts. IMO, every major final should be home and away, with each finalist getting a match in front of its own supporters. These one-game finals on “neutral” pitches mostly serve the organizing body. They shut out the fans who are there every weekend but can’t afford the travel, hotels, and inflated ticket prices. Great for revenue. Not so great for the soul of the game.
Makes the money-grubbing way to obvious…
Dang it, I hate looking illiterate.
I didn’t realize black people could be British?
I wouldn't mind being conquered and replaced were they by men like these.
It would make for a severe mercy.