Reading Francis

Since Memorial Day, patriotism has been on my mind.

I am old enough to remember the American Bicentennial. I was seven, and I remember TV specials, local parades, and especially a traveling exhibit on America’s first 200 years that criss-crossed the country by Amtrak. I think I saw it a couple of different times, but I’m not sure.

Through at least high school, I was appropriately patriotic. My Dad was a World War II veteran, and I grew up playing Little League on the fields of our neighboring Navy base. I loved the movie Red Dawn and the entire Rocky franchise (well, through Ivan Drago and Rocky IV). When I was in high school, I went to Europe for a couple of weeks as part of a State Department “People to People” Ambassador program. One of my enduring memories of the trip was being in East Berlin for the 4th of July, which was eerie, as it was still under Communist rule. 

Maybe it’s a function of being a Gen Xer that my patriotism faded over time. We saw the Challenger explode and American invincibility erode. I realized that the Marine Colonel who briefed my People to People group in the State Department was Oliver North, and he apparently had some other projects on his plate at that time. I studied enough politics to learn that America wasn’t always the good guy. 

When I started studying theology and politics more intently, it was hard to miss the fact that, if you buy into the First Commandment, if you believe that God alone is worthy of ultimate loyalty and ultimate love, a lot of what’s wrong in the world stems from the elevation of lesser loves into that ultimate spot. Love of country, and love of politics, are by far the most vulnerable to being idolized, with devastating results. (I wrote a book sparked by my struggles with that.) 

Read enough Bonhoeffer, and you can’t unsee it. Even after becoming Catholic, I still found myself resonating more with the stark anti-idolatry of Stanley Hauerwas, the fierce critic of “cultural Christianity” that is the modern descendant of Christendom.

There have been a couple of things, though, since Memorial Day, that have softened my heart.

America! America! 

God shed His grace on thee, 

And crown thy good with brotherhood 

From sea to shining sea!

On Memorial Day weekend, I was in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio, for a dear family member’s high school graduation. I cannot recommend this highly enough; I may crash future public high school graduations in future years.

What made this one just like every other was the unmitigated optimism of the students and joy of the parents at this milestone rite of passage. What made this one different, to me anyway, was that this nondescript suburban high school had its ceremony programs in four languages: English, Spanish, Nepali and Arabic, (for the large Somali population). The two student speakers, who were fantastic, were first-generation Americans with families from Nepal and Congo, respectively. As students crossed the stage, it was wonderful to see how joy was expressed differently by all the cultures celebrating these American high school graduates; we were sitting near some of the African families, and we knew when the student getting a diploma was from a family they knew. We could see other sections of the crowd light up when the graduate was from their community. But they all were celebrating the whole class, too.

All these folks sang along to the national anthem as well as the alma mater. They were so happy to be here, and so happy to be celebrating this milestone for all their children, the ones they were related to by blood and the ones they weren’t.

America! America! 

God mend thine every flaw, 

Confirm thy soul in self-control, 

Thy liberty in law!

Last week, I got to witness a naturalization ceremony for the first time. While these are harder to come by than high school graduations, if you get a chance to attend one of these, you should. Thirty-three new Americans from 18 countries of origin, accompanied by less-new Americans, many of whom had also come to citizenship through naturalization. In the stiff headwinds of anti-immigrant rhetoric, these folks had studied harder and waited longer to cross the stage than most of the high school kids, and their preparation included learning more about our country than most of us who are born here ever knew. If I’m honest, their oath included making some promises to our country that I would be reluctant to make. Yet they and their families were so joyous that this day had come.

America! America! 

May God thy gold refine 

Till all success be nobleness, 

And every gain divine!

I remain suspicious of lesser loves that can so easily pass themselves off as counterfeit gods. But after the naturalization ceremony, I was at dinner with my family in a sports bar, and precisely at 9pm, all the baseball games and whatever odd sports were on all vanished, replaced on every screen by the US Men’s National Team World Cup opener against Paraguay. Maybe it was because the US isn’t a hegemonic power in this particular sport, or maybe it was because we weren’t playing a bitter rival, but the enthusiasm of the U-S-A crowd was easy to share. I (not only a Gen Xer, but a fan of sports teams that generally serve up only disappointment) half-expected that the US might lose to this, “the other guay”. Instead, the home country won handily and seemed to play well (to the extent that a non-soccer fan could tell), without animosity toward or from their foe.

In fact, through the opening games of the World Cup, the enduring impressions have been joyous. [Checks phone to be sure a major fight hasn’t broken out tonight.] Visitors to the United States have gone viral with their awestruck encounters with American institutions like Buc-ees, Taco Bell, and SEC football stadiums. They have been overcome by the kindness and hospitality of Americans  that has been mostly absent from our political rhetoric. The tourists, oddly, have served as a flashlight in the dark, pointing out the beauty and character of Americans that we too often bury in partisan vitriol. I am not always proud to be an American, but it turns out that there are a lot of Americans I can be proud of.

America! America! 

God shed His grace on thee, 

Till paths be wrought through wilds of thought 

By pilgrims foot and knee!

The truth is, lesser loves are important, even if they are dangerous. They give us training in thinking, feeling, acting and living beyond ourselves. At the same conference with the naturalization ceremony (as well as two sessions on building cultures of common good and citizenship), one of the best speakers told the story of the fall and rise of the US Men’s Basketball Team, from 1992 “Dream Team” to 6th in the world and back. As the coach who resuscitated the program built a culture of sacrifice, he embedded the collection of multimillionaire athletes among American soldiers serving overseas in tense geopolitical environments. One of the players observed that it was the first time in his life that he had been surrounded by people who cared more about others than they did about themselves.¹

That is a lesser love at work. Marriage is like that. Parenting is like that. Community and civic participation is like that. Even sports can be like that. Even patriotism. To the extent that these attachments lead us to put someone else’s needs ahead of our own, they build the muscles on which true worship rests.

None of those reaches the boundless Love of a God who creates, cherishes and redeems each member of His Creation. The lesser loves can only be training grounds to step farther beyond our own selfish interest to pledge ourselves first to another. They will always run the risk of creating idolatrous eddies that close off loyalty to a universe smaller than God’s. When we love our team or country, but balk at loving our foe, we remain short of the goal. 

America! America! 

God shed His grace on thee, 

Till selfish gain no longer strain 

The banner of the free!

I’ll be spending Independence Day listening to American anthems and watching some massive fireworks shows. Honestly, that’s more for love of the kid who is working the show than the country they celebrate. Given the choice, I’d avoid the heat and the crowds otherwise.

But the last few weeks have rekindled some patriotism that has been waning in me for the last few decades. That high school graduation, the naturalization ceremony, and the realization that the idolatrous dangers of lesser loves are offset by their value in stretching us toward the ultimate Love for which we are made, together are helping me celebrate our 250th a bit more. 

I’m not a huge fan of modern patriotic songs, and the national anthem is a killer to sing along to. I prefer America the Beautiful, which both celebrates the goodness in America and challenges us to live up to the difficult virtues that are worthy of reverence.

Happy birthday, America.

excerpts from America the Beautiful, Katherine Lee Bates, 1895

1. That I resist naming the player, who attended my alma mater, and the coach, who led our rival school, further reinforces that I am first among sinners here. ↩︎