I was on vacation this past Sunday, July 1, and chose not to attend a church service. But I have certainly been to others in years past that remind me of the experience Boyd describes below.

I am deeply grateful to live in a country that affords me religious freedom (though I must admit, sometimes I wonder if that freedom leads me to a watered-down, sanitized version of Christianity. I mean, really, is there any "cost" to being a Christian in North America today? That's a topic for another post). Today (July 4th) I will certainly reflect on that freedom and others that I enjoy.

But I will do that reflecting from the perspective of a follower of Christ. For me, that means my thankfulness will spring from a heart filled with humility. Why was I born in southern California, rich beyond measure, instead of the slums of Calcutta? Being a U.S. citizen should not lead one to a sense of arrogance or entitlement, certainly for Christians. Rather, it should prompt one to ask of God, "What can I return, for all your goodness to me?"

Also, it means that I have to be careful, as always, to hold my kingdom of heaven citizenship higher than any other. This might seem like a given, but in reading the below excerpt I was reminded again that these lines are easily (increasingly?) blurred.

Happy 4th.

Shortly after the Gulf War in 1992 I happened to visit a July Fourth worship service at a certain megachurch. At center stage in this auditorium stood a large cross next to an equally large American flag. The congregation sang some praise choruses mixed with such patriotic hymns as "God Bless America." The climax of the service centered on a video of a well-known Christian military general giving a patriotic speech about how God has blessed America and blessed its military troops, as evidenced by the speedy and almost "casualty-free" victory "he gave us" in the Gulf War (Iraqi deaths apparently weren't counted as "casualties" worthy of notice). Triumphant military music played in the background as he spoke.

The video closed with a scene of a silhouette of three crosses on a hill with an American flag waving in the background. Majestic, patriotic music now thundered. Suddenly, four fighter jets appeared on the horizon, flew over the crosses, and then split apart. As they roared over the camera, the words "God Bless America" appeared on the screen in front of the crosses.

The congregation responded with roaring applause, catcalls, and a standing ovation. I saw several people wiping tears from their eyes. Indeed, as I remained frozen in my seat, I grew teary-eyed as well--but for entirely different reasons. I was struck with horrified grief.

Thoughts raced through my mind: How could the cross and the sword have been so thoroughly fused without anyone seeming to notice? How could Jesus' self-sacrificial death be linked with flying killing machines? How could Calvary be associated with bombs and missiles? How could Jesus' people applaud tragic violence, regardless of why it happened and regardless of how they might benefit from its outcome? How could the kingdom of God be reduced to this sort of violent, nationalistic tribalism? Has the church progressed at all since the Crusades?

Indeed, I wondered how this tribalistic, militaristic, religious celebration was any different from the one I had recently witnessed on television carried out by Taliban Muslims raising their guns as they joyfully praised Allah for the victories they believed "he had given them" in Afganistan?

--Gregory Boyd, The Myth of a Christian Nation