Prologue:
Last Light in Europe, First Fire in the New World
September 1620. Plymouth, England.
In the harbor, there’s this unimpressive boat swaying on the water: the Mayflower. She’s about to set sail under a charter from the Virginia Company, which scored a royal license to “settle” the New World (read: do whatever the hell they want with it).
On board:
102 passengers, including 40 Puritan separatists — the rest are “strangers,” meaning craftsmen, servants, mercenaries, a few hustlers, some families, a handful of single women, and a bunch of kids who had zero clue what they were getting into.
Puritans were religious refugees. Pilgrims.
They ran away because England was — in their eyes — corrupted, drunk, lazy, and too fond of Catholic holidays. Puritans wanted a life of purity, hard work, and Bible from dawn till dusk — ideally longer. Prayed six hours a day.
They were sure the world would end any minute now.
One unfocused Sunday? Straight ticket to hell.
They dreamed of a society where every neighbor was a moral watchdog with a holy broom.
The Mayflower was their Ark of the New Order. Every passenger believed the Creator was their personal moral publisher. The goal? Not gold. Not fame.
Just their own church, pure faith, their own land, their own God.
On board: cramped, stinking, freezing, nerves on edge:
They huddled together, sang psalms, wrote their wills. Everybody feared death, but even more, they dreaded going back to England under King James I, whose fancy title “Defender of the Faith” was a sick joke to them.
Here comes the „Puritan Diary on the Mayflower” — the writings of someone who didn’t just believe, but was sure God Himself was peeking over his shoulder, checking his ink bottle:
📜 The Diary of Samuel Trudmouth, Mayflower, Anno Domini 1620
Day 3 –
Waves as high as the Vatican’s ego. Sailors cussing. One spat into the wind, and, wouldn’t you know, the wind spat right back.
The Lord is awake.
Day 7 –
Women moaning with seasickness. Men groaning for lack of a decent sermon. The captain said, “No preaching below deck—you pray too loud.” We sent Brother Ezekiel to negotiate. He came back with a black eye.
Satan is busy.
Day 12 –
Jonathan’s baby cried all night. We’re not ruling out demonic possession. Organized fasting and prayers. Jonathan suggested a sea baptism—had to stop him.
Holy water running low.
Day 20 –
The Book of Justice was opened today. Brother Reuben accused of mumbling after supper, which might’ve been a curse.
We held a spiritual court. Found him half-guilty.
He took his punishment: a prayer-whipping and an extra serving of dried cod.
Day 27 –
Sailors singing dirty songs.
One of us suggested plugging our ears with tar. Brother Eliah did exactly that—now he hears nothing. Praise the Lord.
Day 34 –
Tonight a star appeared. Brother Zacharias said it’s a sign we’re near the New Jerusalem. Sailor said it’s Venus. Venus is Roman filth.
Note to self: don’t look at the sky again without a cleansing prayer.
Day 40 –
Land! Land! But is it God’s land or the Devil’s?
We’ll decide that with prayer, fasting, and bloody colony-building.
God gave us the New World. Not to understand it, but to conquer it.
They made it—thanks to prayers and the moody weather—to the American shore.
Not where they planned—storms, bumbling navigation, “God’s will.”
Instead of Virginia, they landed way up north, Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
And then, plot twist:
They’re on land belonging to nobody—no king, no company, no one.
No official permission to settle.
So what did they do?
On November 11, 1620, they wrote their own constitution: The Mayflower Compact—America’s first act of democracy.
In short: “No law here? Fine, we’ll write one ourselves.”
Here’s the First Sermon on the Promised Land
Delivered by Brother Ebed-Melech Suffering III (his own chosen name, for God’s glory and to scare the hell out of everyone):
Delivered on the Lord’s Day, fifth Sunday after landing in New England
Brothers.
Sisters.
Children who haven’t sinned yet, but surely will.
We stand on ground untouched by the shoes of papists, whore kings, or poets.
This land is raw. It’s wild.
It’s land that, obviously, God left for later—because it wasn’t ready for His people.
But now we’re here, and everything’s gonna change.
Book of Genesis, New Chapter:
“And the Lord said: Build yourselves houses with no balconies, for there’ll be no time to use them. Let your days be long in prayer, and short at the dinner table.”
No dancing here.
No theater.
No laughter without soul-searching first.
If you want to sing—sing a psalm.
If you want to laugh—think about hell first.
And Brother Elijah said:
“Sin has walked this land before.
Its name was ‘naked Indian with a nose ring.’
But the Lord gave us muskets. Not for shooting each other.
(Though some of you are asking for it.)”
And if you ask: what about freedom?
Brothers and sisters, freedom is when everyone thinks the same.
When every day starts with prayer, ends with prayer, and there’s no time in between for laziness, cards, or existential questions.
And to sum up:
We came here for glory. Not ours—His.
Only He knows we deserve nothing but work, repentance, and this holy grind we call “our calling.”
Amen.
___
The Beginnings
Beginnings? Just like any pioneers.
First winter: out of 102 people, 50 survive.
The rest? God’s done with them.
The colony story goes on for the next 150 years.
By 1770, England has 13 colonies—each a little different, but all treated by the Empire like a giant fridge full of gold, sugar, slaves, and souls to save.
This wasn’t some “new beginning for humanity.”
It was a religious, economic, and imperial project—with a spreadsheet and a mission from God, where anyone who tried to live differently (translation: Native Americans) wound up as a converted corpse.
Until finally—BOOM!
1776, revolution, because colonists have had enough:
„We’re not paying taxes without representation,
we don’t want your soldiers,
and by the way—get the hell out.”
And that’s how the United States was born. Out of rebellion, taxes, and that special Anglo-Saxon art of telling the boss: “Now it’s our turn to make the rules.”