Yesterday I had lunch with a group of close friends, including J. and C., who recently returned from spending several weeks in Guatemala. J. mentioned that while abroad they had been continuously questioned by the locals and other foreigners they met about US government and policies – “what do you think about Bush?,” “why does the US waste so much energy?,” “why do they not buy energy from Guatemala?,” etc., etc.
J. told us it was difficult not to be defensive about the questions. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t part of the government, she didn’t decide domestic or foreign policy, she didn’t have breakfast each morning with the president. But the more she thought about the situation, the more she realized that the foreigners weren’t mad at her personally - they were simply frustrated with some of her country’s decisions, just as they were frustrated with some of their own country’s decisions. They weren’t accusing her. Instead, her citizenship offered them an opportunity to vent their feelings about a situation they themselves had no control over, likely in hopes that maybe she could do something to change it. She likened it to the “Confession Booth” chapter in
Blue Like Jazz, where Miller and some of his friends set up a booth at a university festival to apologize to students about the many things that the Christian church had done to hurt and wrong people, and said that she began to see herself in some ways as a representative of the United States, apologizing to the people she met for some of the ways our government (past and present) has acted and some of the policies we have adopted at others’ expense. She knew that not all of the accusations were fair or justified, but, nonetheless, that there was a need for those who spoke them to share them all the same. A cathartic process, in some ways.
* * *
For a long time now I haven’t known quite what to think about my country. When I was 17, my family took a trip to England, and it was there that I fully realized for the first time my national identity. My heritage was important, my European ancestry something fascinating, but it did not define me. I was an American. I talked like an American, dressed like an American, ate like an American, thought like an American. I was old enough to know that my country wasn’t perfect or always in the right, but I was proud of our ideals and some of the things for which we had fought. And for a while, I was content with this conception of my home and nation.
Fast forward to 2001.
In the aftermath of 9/11, we were bombarded with frenzied nationalistic sentiment. Quickly we moved from grieving, honoring, and being proud of our country’s response to tragedy into a modern enactment of 50’s era McCarthyism, whereby in many circumstances, if you were not ultra-patriotic or of certain ethnic descents, you were suspected (even in the slightest degree) of terrorist leanings or activities. If you were not with us, we loudly proclaimed to our own and to the world, you were against us. Paranoia held us in a tight grip, and in the absence of an easily definable enemy (a terrorist cell or network is not as concrete an adversary as another country) we attempted to bring order to chaos by establishing our own system of black and white “logic”: 'America is based on good and just principles. Our way of life is the best. Our system of government is the best. Those who disagree with us oppose us.
Ergo, those who disagree with our government or way of life oppose that which is good and just.'
And in the Christian community, nationalism became synonymous with spiritual maturity. If you were to be a good Christian, you must be a good and patriotic American. And to be a good American meant to be a good Christian. Because we were wronged, God was on our side, and whatever we did, we did in His name and by His approval. Or so we believed. Working in a Christian bookstore, I watched truckloads and truckloads fill our store with quasi-religious American kitsch. Paintings of bald eagles and the Stars and Stripes, emblazoned with patriotic lyrics and out-of-context scripture references. Bookmarks and stickers depicting Uncle Sam kneeling at a cross. Pictures of crosses draped in American flags, stone decorative crosses etched with patriotic designs and the lyrics to “God Bless America.” In the hands of a few marketers and profiteers, my Savior had been reduced to little more than the spokesperson for nationalistic propaganda. I questioned this. I quietly voiced my concern. And when my relationship with God was then called into question, I quietly resigned in disgust. I found myself embarrassed about being identified as a Christian, embarrassed about being identified as an American.
* * *
In retrospect, going through this process taught me some valuable lessons, especially in regards to my faith. There are lots of things, I decided, that are of secondary, tertiary, or even no importance that get elevated into central positions by people inside the Church. I know lots of good Christians who smoke; lots of good Christians who drink; lots of good Christians who listen to “secular” music; lots of good Christians who don’t like praise and worship music; lots of good Christians who don’t like ritual; lots of good Christians who vote Democrat; lots of good Christians who aren’t particularly patriotic.
These things, and many like them, don’t really matter that much in the grand scheme of things. They’re a little like bill riders and pork barrel spending; they are not central to Christianity or the message of Christ. You don't have to accept them to accept His grace. They neither accurately nor inaccurately reflect someone’s relationship with God or their status as a “good” or “bad” person of faith. The bottom line is that there are many different kinds of Christians, a lot of things that get attached Christianity that are really “up in the air,” and we don’t all have to agree about them or believe exactly the same way to be considered Christians or to love one another. (I understand that not everyone will agree with this paragraph.) Love, after all, does not equate with endorsement.
At the same time, though, it’s important for us to remember that we are part of a group of believers that has gotten a lot of things wrong (and continues to still get a lot of things wrong – to err is human, and frustrating as it is sometimes, I am continually reminded that the church is full of (and for) human beings). Just as with Miller’s “Confession Booth,” we should never see ourselves as completely inculpable or too proud to apologize and ask forgiveness from others for the many hurts and pains our faith has caused, whether we are the direct culprits or not.
By the same token, just because we as Christians have gotten it wrong doesn’t change the ideals or the message or what is true. Those things, the things that I believe Christianity to be essentially about, haven’t changed and won’t, regardless of how many times we sin and screw up.
* * *
Which brings me back to J.'s parallel between religion and country. It seems odd that until yesterday, I had never found a way to reconcile my feelings about my nation in a similar manner to what I had with my faith. About Christianity, I had realized that there were many aspects that I could disagree with and still “keep my faith” – they were inconsequential. For whatever reason, I had never turned this line of thinking towards the United States, and yet it’s just as applicable. Consequently, today is the first 4th of July in many years that I’ve felt like celebrating.
Over the past day and a half, I’ve begun to realize that being an American doesn’t mean that I have to like the arrogance or bad sportsmanship we see in domestic or international sports. It doesn’t mean I have to like wasting energy or natural resources. It doesn’t that I have to like the greed and corruption displayed in certain sectors of the corporate world. It doesn’t mean that I have to like every conflict or military operation my country takes part in. It doesn’t mean that I have to like my faith being co-opted by some segments of my government.
Those things, among others, do not comprise the core of what I believe this nation to be about. For me, America is about freedom. It is about having choices and opportunities. It is about helping others and trying to better the world around me. It is about having a say in what I do and how I live. It is about celebrating and accepting the uniqueness of groups, individuals, ethnicities, faiths, and races. It is about being able to disagree, being able to have my own opinion, and having rights that cannot be taken away. It is about recognizing worth in every person, no matter how “important” or “unimportant.” Those are things that I can believe in. Those are things that I can be proud about.
That doesn’t mean that we don’t do a lot of things wrong or badly or that we don’t take our ideals to damaging and dangerous extremes. It doesn’t mean that we’ve fully realized our own ideals in this country. It doesn’t mean that we’re immune to corruption, that we’re always right and just or that our motives are always pure.
And for that, I offer my apologies as an American citizen. We have a lot to be apologetic for. We are a nation of human beings, and, as Alexander Hamilton reminds us, men are not angels. We always have and always will have room for improvement, and I will never completely defend our policies, our decisions, or our methods. But I will defend the ideals upon which this nation was founded. I will defend the freedom and liberty for which we are gathered together as different states, groups, and unique peoples.
On this Fourth of July, I hope that we as a country might never lose sight of these principles and ideals, never forget what it is we truly stand for. As we strive to better protect our own rights, may we not deny the rights of others. May we never forget that we are but one nation in a world of many nations, and that the rest of the world is watching. May we never forget why and for what we celebrate.
Happy 4th of July.
