Reflections by the Pond
July 23, 2003

Pledging Allegiance

To those of us living in the heartland of the United States, July seems a particularly "American" sort of month. Not only does July contain the date on which we celebrate the declaration of our independence from England (July 4, 1776)--a holiday marked by picnics, hot dogs, and fireworks--but it also contains many county and state fairs--those regional celebrations of tradition, place, and our agricultural heritage. And even for those of us averse to the summer climate, the perfectly natural and universal heat and humidity of July (with the accompaniment of chirping crickets and singing cicadas), seem, to us, to define something uniquely American.

A nationalistic spirit has become unseemly these days. To many of our European brethren--and even to many of the faux sophisticates on our own left and right coasts--patriotism has become synonymous with a cartoonish jingoism, and something abrasive to those ill-at-ease with our unique sense of liberty, dogged determination, self-reliance, and visceral pride of place.

Unlike the more cynical nationalism observed by citizens of some European states--a form of condescending patriotism that considers anyone unlike themselves to be grossly inferior--we who live in the heartland and frequent county fairs ripe with the aroma of cotton candy and cow dung celebrate who we are without caring a whit what others may think of us. To us, there is no better place on earth to live than right here. But if someone else declares the same sentiment about their own abode, then we will not consider them base, but, instead, will celebrate their right to be just as proud of who they are!

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, "But the righteous man shall live by faith." Romans 1:16-17 nasbu

Some in God's kingdom wear their faith like the nationalism of those in old Europe: "I'm a Christian, and if you aren't, then I pity you--you of small mind and lowbrow intelligence. You're obviously an idiot." Others wear their faith like the Dixie Chicks touring across the pond: "What, me a Christian? Sssshhhhh... Keep it under your hat. Yes, I'm a Christian, but I'm really embarrassed to admit it. I'm ashamed to be associated with that kind. I'm not really like them, you know."

But others wear their faith with the earthy confidence of a Midwestern farmer in town to pick up a load of seed--his overalls dusted by the soil, and his boots smeared with bovine pasture droppings: "You betcha I'm a Christian. Best thing that ever happened to me. I love my Lord. Let me tell you all about Him..."

Jesus bore the weight and shame of the cross. Before His friends and family He was stripped and beaten, bloodied, and put through an agonizing, most public death. He did all this because He, though divine, wasn't ashamed to be associated with gross sinners. He wasn't ashamed to be called their Savior and Lord. Jesus wasn't--and isn't--embarrassed of us.

So why are so many of us embarrassed of Him? Why do we hide our faith, as if we are ashamed of something that has brought us hope, salvation, purpose for living, and eternal security? Then again, why do some of us wield our faith like a club, brutalizing and castigating anyone who doesn't think as we?

There is an ugly form of pride that exalts self. But there is a healthy, God-exalting pride in who we are as Christians, and what Christ has to offer those who do not yet know Him. It is not arrogance, but assurance. It is not condescension, but a willingness to share from what has been freely given.