I have set the Lord always before me;
because God is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.
My heart, therefore, is glad, and my spirit rejoices;
my body also shall rest in hope.
For you will not abandon me to the grave,
nor let your holy one see the pit.
You will show me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16:8-11)
At a recent council meeting, the conversation came up about
whether or not we should say the Pledge of Allegiance at worship on 4th of
July weekend, which moved to a conversation about whether or not the flag
should be in the sanctuary. I have very strong opinions about both of these,
and voiced them: we come to worship to pledge allegiance to Christ, not the
flag, and we look not to the flag for unification, but to the cross, the font,
and the bread and wine. Others on the council, however, felt strongly the other
way. Nothing was resolved at that council meeting. (I was on vacation 4th
of July weekend, and when it came up that morning, my supply pastor for the day
wisely suggested we work to resolve the issue as a community before acting one
way or the other.)
I suspect and indeed hope that the conversation continues,
because I believe it is an important one. I know I, at least, have continued to
think about it, especially in the midst of the current climate of our country.
Let me begin by saying that I am both very grateful to be an
American, as well as very serious about my citizenship. I keep informed about
what is happening politically, and vote whenever I get the chance. I gladly pay
my taxes, and consider it a privilege and not a burden to be able to contribute
to the programs that help this country function – keeping roads in shape, and
educating children, and caring for those who need a little extra help now and
then, and providing libraries where people can learn and grow, and so, so much
more. What an honor to be a part of something so big and amazing! I have
lobbied on Capitol Hill for the well-being of poor and hungry people in this country
and abroad, and have spoken to several groups about the value of advocacy,
especially faith-based advocacy (in fact, I wrote my masters thesis on the
topic). I go to patriotic parades, and wear red, white and blue on national
holidays, and sing America songs with gusto when the situation arises, and plan
to teach this wonderful repertoire of songs to my children. I am proud of my
country, and many of the principles on which it was founded, and the
forward-thinking way it has moved through the last two centuries. I’m glad I
live here.
But all that does not mean I want an American flag in my
worship space, and it certainly doesn’t mean I want to praise that flag in any
formal way when I come to worship my God. America is great, but God is greater.
I am a Christian, and I am an American, and my faith informs my political views
– like Jesus, I aim to have utmost concern for the poor and vulnerable, and
treat people with love and kindness, and strive for life, and I favor laws that
support this effort. But when I come to worship, I come to worship God and
God’s ideals, not America and American ideals.
Furthermore, when I come to worship God, I come to be a part
of something whole, something that brings life, something that reminds me that
in the midst of the brokenness of life, there is still something good. Right
now, the state of America does not do that for me. America right now is a place
where one of our presumptive nominees for president blames and demonizes
immigrants and followers of an entire religion, insults women and anyone else
who questions him, and, in the wake of the worst mass shooting in the history
of America, takes the opportunity for self-congratulations. America right now
is a place where someone on the FBI watch list can legally purchase a weapon
designed for mass killing, then walk into a night club and open fire, killing
49 people just out having a good time, and yet still, still, no common sense gun laws can get through Congress, despite
90% of Americans supporting it. (What happened to “of the people, by the
people, and for the people”?) America right now is a place where an upstanding,
well-liked and respected black man who followed all the rules can be shot in
his car in front of his girlfriend and her 4-year-old daughter for a broken tail light and reaching for his wallet when asked, and where the
day after, police officers who are providing protection during a rally for
peace, for peace, can by gunned down
by a sniper, and with not one word about any of it from the too-powerful gun
lobby, we have to assume they still believe, “We need more good guys with
guns.” Guess what – we had good guys with guns there, but they got shot.
And this is just recent news, not to speak of a Congress who
can’t accomplish anything due to a refusal to compromise, and health care and a
pharmaceutical lobby that seem more interested in “treating” sick people (and
putting them in debt) than keeping people healthy in the first place, and an
education system that is designed not by teachers but by people with no
training in education, and devastating debt for college graduates, and a host
of a other systemic issues – racism, sexism, and mass incarceration, to name a
few.
I know no country is perfect, and with such a diversity (a
diversity that I consider a gift!), it is near impossible even to agree on what
the problems are, let alone how to move forward on those issues. But when I
look around and see these American realities, and then see an American flag in the worship
space, I see it not as something powerfully unifying, but rather as something that reminds me of our deep divisions.
Let me take this moment to say: I don’t dismiss the
power this symbol has for others, especially those who have risked their lives
for the sake of this country. I am grateful for these brave people, and they
deserve our respect. I don’t dismiss that the flag, for many, has played a role
in their life of faith. As I said, my faith informs my own politics, and I
believe that, with due respect to "separate of church and state," faith and citizenship are indeed not mutually exclusive.
However, the flag is not a positive symbol for everyone. For the immigrants
who might sit in our pews, it is a reminder of feeling far from home, or
perhaps of feeling like outsiders in a strange land. (Psalm 137) For those who
fought in wars and still carry the physical and emotional scars and burdens, perhaps it is a
reminder of pain and what has been lost. For people like me, who are
disappointed in the current realities of this country, it is a reminder of our
brokenness and our division, of all the things I see in the news that make me
sick to my stomach, that make me want to weep and yell and throw things and
then weep some more for all the ways that we fall short of Christ’s great commandment, “to love one another as I have loved you.” (John 13:34)
I do think remembering the brokenness of the world isn’t
such a bad thing to do in worship – however, the tradition and symbols and
liturgy of Christian worship already have powerful ways to accomplish this,
even as those same symbols draw us toward unity. We begin worship with
confession, taking time to recognize the ways we all fall short of God’s hope
for us, then hear those healing words of forgiveness. We join in song together,
unifying our voices into one. We bring our children to the font, baptizing them
in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, just like many
generations before have done, initiating and welcoming them into the Christian
community, even as they receive the promise of forgiveness of sins and life
everlasting from the God who loves all people from all nations. As we prepare
for this act, we also remember all the ways God has used water in the past to
cleanse and free God’s people. We hear in the Word the ways God has spoken to
this broken humanity over the generations and offered them life, and then hear
how God still speaks that word to us today. We pray together for the needs of
the world – the whole world. We
gather around a table together, first breaking bread and remembering how
Christ’s own body was broken for us, then giving thanks that because of that
broken body, we all become a part of that body, become one Body of Christ, in which “there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or
free, no male and female” (Gal. 3:28) - no American or foreigner.
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