One of the interesting things about being a pastor is that people only see about an hour of what goes into Sunday morning. They see the sermon. They hear the music. They probably assume everything just sort of...happened.
What they don’t see are all the little decisions beforehand. Should we do this? Should we leave that out? Would this help people worship God...or distract them from worshiping God?
This past week I found myself thinking about those questions more than usual because July Fourth had just passed. And, of course, it was the 250th anniversary of the passing of the Declaration of Independence.
Now, I love this country. I’m grateful to live here. I honestly get a lump in my throat when a community sings “America the Beautiful.” Maybe that’s because it’s one of those songs that celebrates what’s best about us while still praying we’ll become better than we are.
But I also know something else. The church has never done particularly well whenever it’s become too closely wrapped up with political power.
History gives us plenty of examples. When the Roman Empire embraced Christianity, something wonderful happened. The persecution ended. But something else happened too. The church slowly began forgetting that its first loyalty wasn’t to an emperor, even a friendly one. And leadership began vying for positions of influence within the empire.
The same temptation has appeared again and again across history. It isn’t really about Rome. Or Germany. Or America. It’s about something much deeper. It’s the temptation to let our nation shape our faith instead of letting our faith shape the way we love our nation.
I kept coming back to something I didn’t actually say out loud on Sunday, but it was quietly guiding a lot of my decisions. My faith informs my politics. Not the other way around.
Now, notice what I didn’t say. I didn’t say Christians shouldn’t have political opinions. Of course we should. But which comes first? Again:
My faith informs my politics—not the other way around.
I don’t think that’s a liberal sentence or a conservative sentence. I think it’s simply what it means to follow Jesus.
The Bible has quite a lot to say about justice and mercy and truth and caring for the vulnerable. Jesus wasn’t afraid to challenge people in power. The prophets certainly weren’t. But that’s different from becoming partisan, and it’s certainly different from seeking earthly power.
Partisanship begins by asking, “What does my side believe?” Faith begins by asking, “What does Jesus ask of me?”
Sometimes those answers overlap. Sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes Jesus affirms our assumptions. Sometimes he quietly overturns them.
That’s one reason I love the picture of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey.
Everybody expected a king. Just not that kind of king. Not a king who came without an army. Not a king whose throne would become a cross. Not a king whose victory looked like self-giving love.
If I’m honest, I suspect Christians of every political persuasion (including me) occasionally wish Jesus looked a little more like the champion of our favorite causes. Instead, he keeps insisting that we’re citizens of another kingdom first. And oddly enough, I think that’s what frees us to become better citizens here.
Because when our ultimate hope isn’t resting on Washington, or Nashville, or whoever happens to be in office, we’re free to love our neighbors without fear. We’re free to tell the truth even when it’s inconvenient. We’re free to celebrate what’s good about our country. And we’re free to acknowledge where we still have growing to do.
I think that’s actually a deeper kind of patriotism. Not pretending your country is flawless. Not despising your country because it isn’t. Loving it enough to hope it can become more just, more compassionate, more honest, more like the kingdom of God.
That’s why I was glad we sang “America the Beautiful” during our announcements last Sunday morning. If you listen carefully, it’s less a celebration than a prayer.
“God mend thine every flaw.”
That’s a prayer I can sing with conviction. Not just for America. For the church. For myself.
Maybe that’s where real patriotism begins—not by declaring that our nation is already everything it ought to be, but by asking God to keep shaping us into the people he calls us to become.
Would you pray with me?
Father, thank you for the place where you’ve planted us. Help us to be grateful without becoming proud, and honest without becoming cynical. Keep reminding us that before we belong to any nation, we belong to you. Teach us to love our neighbors well, to seek justice humbly, and to follow Jesus even when he leads us somewhere we didn’t expect. May our faith always shape the way we live in this world. We ask this in the name of Christ, our true King. Amen.
Someone you know needs this encouragement. Share it with them!
Don’t miss our opportunities to connect.
Let us know what you’re thinking in the spirit of respectful conversation.
