I am not a patriot.
Yes, I’ll be
celebrating July 4th with family and friends.
And yes, I respect and support those I know in the armed forces.
And yes, I have a deep
love of this amazing country: the beautiful land of mountains, rivers, lakes,
plains. The vibrant, energizing, multidimensional cities. The troubling,
inspiring history. The complex, carefully crafted institutions.
But I am not a
patriot.
I winced as a kid at
the “love it or leave it” slogan that confronted critics of war in Vietnam and
shouted down civil rights advocates.
And I cringe at the
suggestion that “making America great again” involves building walls, gathering
guns, and shutting out anyone not like me.
"Patriot"'s Greek root,
“patris,” points to love of the fatherland, yet patriotism too often moves far beyond
love of the place where one was born. By definition, a patriot is “a person who
vigorously supports their country and is prepared to defend it against enemies
or detractors.”
Historically, patriots
have been easily led into violence at real or supposed threats to their nation.
Leo Tolstoy, alarmed
at the patriotic fervor of his own fatherland, Russia, wrote:
The feeling of patriotism . . .is an immoral feeling because, instead of confessing himself a son of God . . . or even a free man guided by his own reason, each man under the influence of patriotism confesses himself the son of his fatherland and the slave of his government, and commits actions contrary to his reason and conscience.
Tolstoy died before
seeing the wreckage in Europe caused by misguided patriots. Hitler prided
himself on his patriotic fervor; Mussolini was called “the high priest of patriotism.” Their followers, patriots all, went far past reason or conscience in their
tragic attempts to uphold national pride and purity.
Here in my own beloved
country, patriots led the American Revolution, grabbing guns to assert their
rights rather than look for political methods to achieve the same desired
goals. Anyone who questions the wisdom of that approach is by definition
unpatriotic, yet it’s hard not to notice that dozens of countries found
independence from the British Empire through less aggressive means.
Our history lessons celebrate the daring patriots,
ignoring completely the voices of Quakers, Mennonites, Moravians and others who
cried out for wisdom, patience, prayer and an end to the promotion of war.
I live near Valley Forge, drive through it
often. I sometimes pause to look again at the miserable log huts where so many
died in the winter of 1777-8. Too often we glorify war and forget the horrible
loss of life. We imagine war was inevitable, without sifting back to see what
alternatives were missed.
Google “American patriot” images and you’ll
see lots of pictures of flags and guns.
The second Amendment is the part of the
Constitution of most interest to modern patriots.
But we’ve always had patriots.
In the Revolution, patriots conscripted
pacifists, fined and imprisoned them, condemned them as traitors. Scrubbed them
from the historical record.
Later, patriots burned
Catholic churches and Irish homes in Philadelphia in the nativist riots of the
1840s.
Patriots lynched
Italian immigrants in the 1890s, put Japanese, German and Italian Americans in internment camps during World War
II.
Today, patriots, many of them grandchildren of immigrants themselves, cheer
at the idea of deporting millions of refugees back to the hazards that drove
them from their loved but fractured fatherlands.
Einstein lamented “heroism
on command, senseless violence and all the loathsome nonsense that goes by the
name of patriotism.”
Alduous Huxley, writing
in the shadow of two world wars, warned:
One of the great attractions of patriotism—it fulfils our worst wishes. In the person of our nation we are able, vicariously, to bully and cheat. Bully and cheat, what’s more, with a feeling that we are profoundly virtuous.
I don’t like bullies, whatever
their cause, whatever their seeming virtue.
I don’t believe in
simple solutions.
And although I
sometimes dream of shooting the deer and groundhogs eating my backyard shrubs,
I think we’re in danger if our answer to every problem is a gun.
As I said, I’m not a
patriot.
Instead, I’m a
citizen.
The idea, though not
the word, dates back to the Greeks.
In Athens, I spent
time in the forums where citizens gathered to talk, share concerns and solutions,
create polity for the common good.
The Greek philosophers
talked and wrote much about citizens: free men able to both rule and be ruled,
willing to sacrifice for the common good, moderate, generous, committed to
justice.
Looking back, we can see
their justice fell short: women and slaves had no place in their arrangement.
But the idea of
citizen has been carried forward and strengthened, not least by the Christian
heritage that set aside nationalist identity and invited all, men, women,
slave, free, to be citizens of a new kingdom distinctive in its insistence on
justice, freedom, and provision for all.
Jesus initiated that
kingdom with his first public words:
The Spirit of the Lord is on Me, because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
Paul, himself a
citizen of Rome and visitor throughout the Greek cities where democracy was
formed, spoke of a new identity shaped not by country or class and of a new
form of citizenship, not in a nation, but in the kingdom announced by Jesus
himself.
In Philippians 3:20,
he wrote “But our citizenship is in heaven.”
The word he used,
translated for us as “citizenship,” is a rich one: politeuma.
A polis was the place
where people lived, a Greek city-state held together by commitment to the
common good, governed by the ideals of wisdom, courage, moderation and justice.
Many English words
come from that one root: police, politics, polite.
It carried an idea of
order, commitment, proper behavior, interwoven benefit. The idea of
commonwealth is also carried in that word: a political society that exists for
the common good and mutual support of all.
As Paul made clear in
letters to citizens and non-citizens throughout the Greek world, followers of Christ
were to set aside allegiance to their particular place or polis and live instead as
visible examples of the new kingdom or commonwealth to come.
I’m hungry for that kingdom. That same hunger drove many of those who first traveled to what became
the USA.
Committed to freedom of
worship for all.
Insistent that all
learn to read and think as an avenue to vibrant faith, fruitful work, reasoned
involvement in political discourse.
Eager to provide equal
opportunity, regardless of ancestry.
Passionate about the Biblical ideals of justice and shalom for all - not just freeborn landowning men.
Those goals have never
been perfectly realized.
Our founders fell
short, as do we.
As will our children.
But at their best, our
founders envisioned a polis that made visible those ideals articulated by
Christ and his followers.
Our constitution
posits a “we the people” determined
to establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.
Those
are the aspirations of citizens, not patriots.
And
those aspirations will never be met by building walls or deporting refugees.
In
many ways, being a patriot is easy: grab a gun, shout some slogans, find an enemy.
Being
a citizen is far, far harder. Understand the issues. Consider conflicting points of view. Balance priorities. Look for
consensus. Put the well-being of others above your own rights or interests. Persevere in hope. Pray for wisdom.
The
problems that confront us are complex, systemic, deeply embedded. Placing
blame, scapegoating others, waving flags and guns will only make them worse.
Our
democracy, our country, our world are in desperate need of citizens.
Citizens
not just of our own nations, but of the kingdom whose compassionate ideals
shaped the Constitution we honor.
