How Secularism Stole Our Sundays, By Peter West

Picture a Sunday in 1960s Australia. The sun's up, church bells ring, and families in their best gear stroll to St. Mary's or the local hall for worship. Pubs are shut tight—blokes might grumble, but they're home, carving the roast with the kids underfoot. Neighbours pop by, yarns spin, and the wireless hums hymns, not ads. That was our Sabbath: Jesus first, family close, Australia whole. Then came the 1960s cultural revolution, a secular tidal wave laced with cultural Marxism that washed it all away. Pubs opened, churches emptied, and Sundays turned into just another day to shop or squabble. Secularism didn't just steal our rest, it stole our soul, leaving families fractured and a nation wobbling. But we're Aussies, not quitters. This Easter, let's start taking Sundays back, planting the Cross firm for faith, mateship, and the country we love.

Back then, Sundays were sacred, and I don't just mean the prayers. In towns like Rockhampton or suburbs of Adelaide, the rhythm was set: morning service, kids in Sunday school learning about the Resurrection, then home for Mum's lamb and spuds. No shops beckoned—most were closed, same as pubs, by law and habit. Families had time, real time, to laugh, argue, mend fences. My old man read us Bible stories, his mates would drop in for billy tea, and we'd feel part of something bigger. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours—Christian to the core, built on values that carried us through wars and hard yakka. Church wasn't a tick-box; it was Australia's heartbeat, tying us to God and each other. You could feel it: one nation, one faith, proud under the Southern Cross.

Then the 1960s hit, and the rot set in. The cultural revolution wasn't just hippies and rock'n'roll—it was a secular sledgehammer, smashing what held us tight. Cultural Marxism crept in, whispering that faith was old-hat, that "progress" meant ditching God for self. By 1966, pubs were pouring on Sundays—cheers to freedom, they said, but it pulled blokes from families, swapping pews for pints. Schools dropped prayers, swapping them for "modern" lessons that mocked tradition. TV pushed consumerism; suddenly, Sunday was for sales, not salvation. The elites—academics, pollies, media—cheered it on, calling Christianity a shackle while praising every new idea from overseas. Multiculturalism joined the party, diluting our shared Christian story with a mishmash that left us strangers. By the 1980s, Sundays were unrecognisable—shops buzzing, churches quiet, families too busy chasing "more" to notice what they'd lost.

The fallout's stark. Families aren't what they were—divorce rates doubled since the 1960s, kids barely see their parents, and screens kill the yarns we used to share. Community's gone too; in cities like Perth, folks don't know their neighbours, let alone pray with them. Church attendance? Down 30% since my youth, while shopping malls pack out. Secularism's promise—freedom, happiness—turned out hollow. Cultural Marxism's fingerprints are everywhere: history rewritten to shame our faith, schools teaching kids to question everything but believe nothing. Australia's adrift, no anchor, no shared story. Easter Sundays now? More about chocolate than Christ, a pale shadow of the holy day that once brought us together. It wasn't progress; it was theft, stripping our Christian roots for a rootless, divided mess.

But Aussies are stirring, and Sundays can live again. In places like Dubbo, churches are filling with families fed up with the noise—parents bringing kids to hear about Jesus, not influencers. I heard of a bloke, Mick, in Toowoomba, who's made Sundays his stand: no shops, no telly, just church and a barbie with the clan, teaching them Psalms like his dad did. It's catching on—his street's joining in. From coast to bush, folks are saying no to secular rot, choosing the Cross over chaos. It's not just nostalgia—it's a fight for the nation our grandparents knew, where Sundays meant something bigger than a sale.

You can start now, this Easter. Make Sundays holy again. Skip the shops—Coles can wait. Get to church, even if it's just you and the missus; sing loud, pray hard. Gather the family—roast on, phones off, and talk about Jesus, the diggers, what makes us Aussies. Teach the kids why Sunday's special, not just another day. Push back: if your council's gone woke, letting pubs or malls drown out faith, give them an earful. Vote for pollies who'll keep our Christian heart beating, not sell it for votes. Support the true churches,anyone holding the line. It's not about rules; it's about roots—family, faith, country. Every Sunday you reclaim is a jab at the secular beast, a step toward an Australia that stands tall.

This Easter, let's bury the rot and raise the Cross. Secularism stole our Sundays, but Jesus offers them back—rest, love, a nation united. Picture it: families whole again, laughing over lunch; towns alive with hymns, not ads; Australia proud, not fractured. That's what Sundays were, what they can be. I see it clear: kids learning truth, mates sharing faith, a country anchored in God. So make this Sunday count—light a candle, say a prayer, and tell the world we're done with their revolution. The Cross beats their chaos every time. Let's rebuild Australia, one holy Sunday at a time.