Deep Thoughts on God and Country

I am many things.

Some of them are obvious: I’m a woman, I’m White.

Some of them are less obvious: I’m a daughter, I’m a book collector.

One thing I try to make obvious is that I am a Christian. (I am also a professional missionary, but the only thing that makes me professional is that I get paid for it. I think every Christian is a default missionary, or should be.)

I am also a citizen of the United States. An American, as it were.

That could be either a good or bad thing these days. If you spend much time online, you will see an equal amount of pride and hate for this country. That can stem from current leadership to historical events to previous policies to present actions. It is what it is.

I want to be unambiguous about my feelings. I love my country. I was born here, raised here, and I have been well-steeped in the culture and mythos of what it means to be an American. I have also been critical of my country. We have not always been the beacon of freedom that is oft purported.

But this country is the only one I have in this physical realm. It’s what I know, and for me, to love something is to desire for it to be the best version of itself it can be. Like it or not, the United States has deep roots of religion and freedom. The first settlers were equal amounts of saints and strangers. Both were seeking a type of freedom that could only be gained away from the rigid structures of the Old World. It’s an early form of Manifest Destiny, in which people make their own way in the world with divine assistance.

I love this country for what it tried to be and what it could still be. I even love it for some of what it still is. I want my country to do well, to prosper. I’d like to think that no matter where I was born, I’d feel the same.

But I am also a Christian. I am a follower and a disciple of Christ. I want people to know the same true freedom that Christ brings that has nothing to do with political borders or social rights.

Now, I hate the Identity Discussion. I think someone’s identity can inform who they are, but one immutable or transient characteristic does not a person make. We are all many things, an amalgamation of thoughts and identifiers.

But I find myself struggling with the intersection of my Christianity and my patriotism. I try not to define myself as a Christian [blank]. It doesn’t matter what goes in the blank, because I think the moment you start to use Christian as an adjective, you begin to place more emphasis on the noun it is modifying. I am a Christian. Full stop. How people define that noun is another discussion, but I do believe it should contain the same basic proposition across the board. To be a Christian, for me, is to believe that Jesus Christ is the Savior and Lord of my life, and it encapsulates a desire to do and be what He has called and made me to do and be.

No part of that definition includes a love of country. In fact, Jesus himself seemed to keep those two ideas separate. “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” I have earthly obligations, but my superseding obligations are to God.

And yet…

I see a lot of discourse online about what it means to be a Christian in the United States. We should want our country to follow biblical principles. We should be advocating for laws that honor biblical commands. We should elevate Christian ideals and people.

All fine ideas. But things start to get a little murky. All too often, there is an understanding that anyone advocating for something that does not follow biblical principles is evil. Consequently, the people who put forward those proposals are also evil. There’s lip service about praying for our enemies, but I seldom detect any actual intent behind the words.

And what happens when my desire for my country to prosper seemingly goes against biblical principles? There are many things we could do as a country that would not seem to be very Christian, but they would undoubtedly put us in a more favorable political or social situation.

I’m rambling a little, and I’m sorry about that. This topic has been on my mind for a while, and I’m still trying to figure out how to coherently relate my argument. I don’t even know what my argument is, actually. Or if I have one. I just know that this intersection of Christianity and patriotism has come up more and more.

Because it’s not just American patriotism. I was in a trauma workshop with a few Ukrainians, and one thing we talked about at length was the biblical principle of forgiveness. But how do you forgive a country that is warring against you? These Ukrainians love their country. But they also love God. There are individual slights that can be overcome. But how do you reconcile with a political regime? Can you?

I get periodic emails from Landmark Events. The AI overview says that they specialize in guided Christian heritage tours and historical explorations across the U.S. and abroad, focusing on key sites of faith, conflict, and providence. I’ve never gone on one of the tours, but I would love to. Part of why I love history so much is seeing how God has orchestrated events in amazing ways.

A recent email was about Corporal Thomas William Bennett. After the draft in 1967, he volunteered as a conscientious objector and became a medic in Vietnam. He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for rescuing fellow servicemen from beyond enemy lines before being killed.

But it was a line from a letter home that really stuck with me. Bennett was a Baptist from West Virginia, and he, too, struggled with the ethical intersection of his faith and his patriotism. “Out of obligation to a country I love I will go and possibly die for a cause I vehemently disagree with.”

This struck a chord within me. I have never been asked to join the military or serve my country beyond my obligation as a citizen. But I would like to think that I would make a similar choice.

And then, a few weeks later, we had Founder’s Day. This is a yearly event in which someone (usually Lori) presents a few fun things about the founders of One Mission Society (back before it even was OMS). This year, Lori shared quotes from all of the presidents.

I don’t know why she chose this particular quote for Juji Nakada, but again, it struck a chord.

“I was born in a Samurai family, I confess I loved my country more than God. … The Samurai are the ancient military class of Japan. … Their object was to live and die for their country.”

 “When I was sanctified, God delivered me from all things, even from patriotism, and I have always felt that to love Him [God] supremely and even die for His sake is a great privilege. I feel that the spirit in the blood of the Samurai is the kind of a spirit we ought to have for God … having but one object in life: to live and die for our Lord.” 

I am now left with two seemingly opposing views, equally striking.

1) It is because of my love for God that I serve my country in such a way that I might die.

2) It is because of my love for God that I reject my country in such a way that I might die.

Now, I don’t mean to say that Nakada renounced his ethnicity. He didn’t actively work against his country. But he did supplant its place at the center of his identity.

Equally, Bennett did not work against his country, but he also didn’t serve it in a conventional manner. His country was part of his identity, but it was not the center.

I know professed Christians in the military. I know professed Christians who are ardent pacifists. I know professed Christians in politics. I know professed Christians who believe religion and politics should be kept entirely separate.

I guess I have to decide where I reside. What is the central tenet of my identity? What do I do when parts of my identity clash? The easy answer is to place God at the center and subjugate everything else. The easy action, though…

I think it’s the discourse that bothers me most. When the Ayatollah was killed in Iran, I saw people celebrating. I get it. He was an objectively bad dude. But to celebrate a death? To celebrate a soul being forever separated from God? That goes a bit far. And yet it took me a while to come to that position. I was relatively ambivalent, perhaps even supportive of the idea that an enemy of the United States had been neutralized. It had little effect on my own life. But I saw what people said, and I wondered if they realized that other people might look at their reaction to the event and start looking at other things they posted or talked about. They might wonder how a Bible verse one day jived with a celebration of a death the next.

This could get into a whole other discussion about how Christians and “Christians” are perceived online. Because you can say you’re a Christian, but if you don’t live it, I’m going to doubt you. But I’m a Christian. I (theoretically) know how a Christian should be behaving. But if a non-Christian sees a supposed Christian acting like every other person he knows, or worse - what kind of message does that send? Why would they ever be attracted to a religion that preaches one thing but does the opposite?

I can guess where my struggle on all of this started. I knew of Charlie Kirk, but I hadn’t really listened to a lot of his stuff until after he was assassinated. He loved God. He also loved his country. He was active in motivating others to do the same - love God, and love country. Nine days before his death, he posted on Instagram: “God, family, country. In that order.” It was a common refrain for him, and I believe he lived it out. He seemed to practice what he preached. What I don’t know is how he reconciled those moments when God and country clashed. When others told him that his version of God wasn’t compatible with his version of country or political activism. That to truly love his country meant he had to compromise his faith.

I want it to be easy. I want to love God, and I want to love my country. I hope, when I have to make that choice, that I choose God. Because He will always be there. And this world, this country, is not my ultimate home. I hope I’m a good witness. I think, sometimes, that means saying less and doing more.