I
always love the Fourth of July. For me, fireworks never get old. They’re kind
of like chocolate chip cookies. No matter how often I experience them, they
always make me smile. And, like everybody else, I like a good celebration. As a
kid, the Fourth was a time to eat hotdogs and gather with the neighborhood kids
after dark when Mr. Gallagher, our neighbor, set off an impressive and highly
illegal pyrotechnic display in the street in front of his house. Today I look
at the Fourth a bit differently.
Like
the writer of Third Isaiah above, I rejoice for my country even as I mourn for
her. I feel deeply for America on her birthday. I guess I rejoice we’ve made
this experiment in democratic government work for 249 years. I rejoice that
we’ve always had the ability to course correct. Those brave 18th
century gentlemen who fought our war of Revolution won independence but, when
all the dust settled, found a new nation deeply in debt with farms and towns
ruined and a diverse population which knew what form of government it didn’t
want but wasn’t quite sure about the form it did want. Nevertheless,
they rolled up their ragged sleeves and created a nation. Our ancestors formed
an egalitarian government, established civil rights, abolished slavery (at a
pretty high and bloody cost), built cities and infrastructure, created social
safety nets, defeated fascism in Europe, and generously exported the produce of
our God-given prosperity to people around the world.
And,
of course, we’ve made a boatload of mistakes along the way. Some of them rather
recently in my view.
I
mourn when I consider wars we’ve engaged in which could and should have been
avoided. I mourn for our veterans and pray they receive the care they deserve. I
grieve to think of the vast and growing income inequality in our nation. I
shake my uncomprehending head at the persistence of gun violence. I fret over our
broken immigration system and our current epidemic of xenophobia. I sigh
helplessly for those affected by climate disasters and I worry how we can
continue to rebuild when floods, hurricanes, tornados and wildfires seem so
relentless and so many in government seem so unconcerned about the causes of
these tragedies.
But
I really want to find reasons to celebrate. I feel like those to whom Third
Isaiah wrote. Those Judean exiles—hostages really—whom the Persians allowed to
return to their ancestral land. They must’ve felt like throwing a party when
the captivity they’d known all their lives ended and they could migrate back to
the place their parents told them was the homeland God himself had prepared for
them. But when they got there, they saw there wasn’t too much to rejoice about.
Everything was in ruins, and nothing was what they had been told to expect.
And
yet, God was still God. “You shall see,” the prophet told them, “and your heart
shall rejoice; your bodies shall flourish like the grass; and it shall be known
that the hand of the Lord is with his servants…”
The
hand of the Lord is with his servants. Perhaps they were reminded that
God had called God’s people to be servants. Perhaps they remembered the word of
the Lord to their ancestor Abraham:
I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless
you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless
those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse, and in you all
the families of the earth shall be blessed.[i]
Perhaps,
in their great disappointment they remembered God’s faithfulness and began to
celebrate anew. They were people with a purpose. They might’ve been knocked
down, but they could rebuild, reorganize, and reimagine themselves. All they
needed was faith in God and belief that they would be blessed so they could be
a blessing to all the families of the earth.
When
Jesus sent out his seventy-member advance team (our Gospel lesson in the RCL:
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20), he sent them out on faith. They didn’t have a bankroll or
a credit card. He knew—and they knew too—that the world was a dangerous place.
They were sent out like lambs in the midst of wolves. Nevertheless, they went
forward believing that God was with them. They went ahead trusting in both God’s
providence and their mission as servants. They were commissioned by
Jesus to bring tidings of peace to the poor and healing to the sick. They did what
was asked of them, and they returned with joy.
As
we observe this 249th anniversary of America’s independence, how
shall we go forward? I’d like to suggest a slight reimagining of the American
Dream. So far, that dream has been to own a home and be financially better off
than the previous generation. Maybe we need to think a little more like
servants. Maybe we should dream that everyone in America has a roof over their heads,
and those roofs will be secure from the ravages of a (currently) ungovernable
nature. Everyone will have enough to eat. Everyone will be safe on the streets
where they live. All the sick and elderly will have the care they need and
deserve, and our nation will continue to work for peace and prosperity for all
the families of the earth.
Perhaps
our national prayer should be the words of that lovely song:
America, America! May God thy gold refine; Til all success be nobleness and every gain divine.
We
may feel like sheep among wolves, but God is still on the throne, our nation
and our democracy still exist, and our command from Christ to serve is still in
force. There is still reason to celebrate.
I
hope you enjoy the hot dogs and fireworks. Don’t lose hope. Please come see me
again!
[i]
Genesis 12:2-3