Citizenship

In today's fast-paced world, the constant stream of news can feel like a firehose. Political scandals, partisan squabbles, conspiracy theories, outrage, and sensational headlines dominate the media landscape, leaving many feeling overwhelmed and disoriented. For Christians seeking to be informed citizens, this constant barrage of information can be particularly challenging.

Ryan Burge, an Eastern Illinois University professor said, “We were not designed to drink from a firehose in our lives when it comes to media consumption. Honestly, most days, there’s two or three things you need to pay attention to.”

For Christians who find themselves getting angry after watching cable news or scrolling through social media, several media-savvy Christians advise reading less and using discernment to determine which stories really matter. Jeff Bilbro, a professor at Grove City College, emphasizes the importance of avoiding the outrage cycle and seeking out more substantive news sources. He said:

As fallen creatures, we tend to be drawn toward things that titillate us, that are exciting and interesting and shocking and rile us up. When we give into those cravings, we reinforce and support journalistic models that feed them. Christians should be mindful of their own tendencies toward sensationalism and try to support different kinds of journalism.

When Americans go to the polls, they go to town halls, high school gyms, fire stations, and churches. There are more than 60,000 polling places in America, and roughly one out of every five is located in a church.

Conflicts over the correct relationship between religious communities and the state frequently grab headlines. But church polling places are rarely controversial. Here, governments rely on churches to be safe, trusted civic spaces. And 12,875 houses of worship extend hospitality to their neighbors, opening their doors for elections.

Top Six States in Percentage of Polling Places that Are Churches:

62% - Arkansas

58% - Oklahoma

38% - Florida

36% - Kansas

35% - Arizona

35% - Ohio

The podcast, “The Agent,” tells the story of Jack Barsky, a Soviet-era KGB secret agent embedded in the US, beginning in the 1970s. Gradually, his loyalties shifted and in a remarkable turn of events, the FBI actually eventually helped him to secure US citizenship.

Near the end of the podcast he says,

I had a home again, an official home. … I’d put East Germany out of my mind. I stopped thinking about the folks back there. ... I put it away and put it in a part of my brain that I didn’t want to access anymore. You always want to belong to something. This is one of the basic things that make us human. … Now I had a country again. That felt really good.

You can listen to the podcast here.

Possible Preaching Angle:

The Christian's change of citizenship is far more dramatic, from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light, thanks to Christ Jesus, our King.

Sandra McCracken writes in an article in CT magazine:

I woke up before the sun on a recent morning, just home from some overseas travel. The discomfort of jet lag is one of my favorite embodied metaphors of our spiritual reality. We live in liminal space. We are pulled between two time zones. On the one hand, by faith we are held secure in the love of God. We have received full redemption. On the other hand, though we have been made secure in Christ, we continue to experience uncertainty. We are sojourners, not yet home.

Jet lag is oddly comforting for me because it reminds me that much conflict in life takes time to resolve; there’s no way around it. Our bodies—and our hearts—require patience as they acclimate to new surroundings. In seasons of doubt or slow change, I come back to the truth … that above my uncertainty, I am secure.

Pastor Eduardo Davila tells this story:

I have here an extremely important document. We all have important documents: a marriage certificate, the title to your car, your birth certificate. This one is my naturalization certificate.

My family and I came to the United States as political asylees, leaving the remnants of a country ravaged by war and destructive socialism that did not deliver on its promises. When we came, we had Nicaraguan passports. We were able to come to the US, but we were not given full citizenship. We were not protected by the US. We were not allowed to vote.

But all that changed in 2008, when we walked into an office in Miami, took a few tests, and swore an oath of allegiance to the United States. We were granted full permanent citizenship status. We were fully in.

During the whole process, one aspect that stuck with me was realizing the seriousness of a statement that then-President Bush wrote: “We are united not by race or culture but the ideals of democracy, justice, and liberty.” Beautiful.

Paul tells us in Ephesians 2:19 that "Now you are no longer strangers and foreigners. You are citizens along with all of God’s holy people. You are members of God’s family." Praise God! When you come to Christ, you are no longer a stranger or foreigner. You have the full blessing and protection of the kingdom of Christ. You are no longer undocumented. You no longer need to fret over where you belong or how to survive.

At baptism, you renounced your old citizenship and swore allegiance to Jesus, and you were given a naturalization certificate. You are now part of the new humanity: you are no longer strangers and foreigners. Once a citizen of a different kingdom, your ruler was your vices, addictions, and fears. Your ruler was the prince of this world. That is what you left behind when you were baptized and chose to submit yourself to Jesus as your new King.

John Ortberg shares what he learned about civic duty and enthusiasm from being called to jury duty:

It was 9:00 on a Monday morning and I was one of 150 unhappy campers sitting on plastic chairs crammed into a sterile basement room in the San Mateo County Courthouse, reporting for jury duty. We all had one thing in common: We wanted to be somewhere else.

Until Larry happened.

Larry works for the government, and however much we pay him, it's not enough. In a few short minutes, he won over the crowd of prospective jurors and infused us with a sense of honor and purpose. "I know you're all busy people," he said. "But I want to say thank you. I want to tell you, on behalf of the judges and our legal system and the county of San Mateo and, really, our nation, we're grateful for your service."

Although almost no one is happy about getting a summons to jury duty, Larry said, it's actually incredibly meaningful, and it's the foundation of a justice system in which people have a right to trial by a jury of their peers. He told us a story about a ninety-five-year-old woman who was no longer able to drive, but who took three buses to get to the courthouse so she could serve. When she arrived, Larry asked her, "Did you call ahead like you're supposed to, to find out if you're even needed for jury duty?" She said, "I couldn't. I don't have one of those push-button phones." Turns out, she still had a rotary dial phone.

Larry reminded us of the nobility of justice, and the long centuries of struggle for it, and how, even now, people around the world were fighting, and in some cases dying, for the right to exercise this privilege. As he spoke, people stopped texting; they sat up straight; they nudged each other and seemed inspired. By the time my number was called, I was so excited to serve that when the judge asked me whether I could pronounce someone guilty, I told him I was a pastor and that, according to the Bible, everybody was guilty. I said, "I could even pronounce you guilty!"

I wasn't selected to serve on a jury that time, but the point is that a room full of sullen, silent, phone-checking, self-important draftees had been transformed into a community of joyful patriots in a matter of minutes. When people left the courthouse that day, they were talking and laughing like old friends.

In the early 80s, an image campaign began in the city of Atlanta with the hopes of encouraging Atlantans to see their city with pride and hope—despite some of its darker issues of race relations, violence, poverty, and unemployment. The jingle was endearing, if cheesy, chirping birds in the background and all: There's a feeling in the air, that you can't get anywhere … except in Georgia. I taste a thousand yesterdays and I still love the magic ways of Atlanta.

All of it was meant to inspire nostalgia, loyalty, and camaraderie—and to counter all the city's negative images. Those who remember it speak fondly of the "Hello Atlanta!" song's ability to highlight Atlanta's unique brand of urbanism and the pride.

Makes no difference where I go, you're the best hometown I know. Hello, Atlanta. Hello, Georgia. We love you on 11 Alive!

The song served as something of an anthem for the city, so much so that Ira Glass featured it on his program This American Life. He interviewed people who remembered the song. And then he completely burst their unique sense of city-pride by playing for them the exact same song and lyrics with "Milwaukee" or "Calgary" substituted out in chorus and pictures. As it turned out, this "image campaign" was a syndicated campaign that took place in 167 different cities worldwide. There's a feeling in the air, that you can't get anywhere, except … fill in the blank.

The Bible does not give us an image campaign about God's good news. It is not meant to play on a sense of nostalgia for generic people and places. The promise of the gospel is for particular people in particular places. And this good news can be for you today.

"The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state but rather the conscience of the state. It must be the guide and the critic of the state and never its tool."

In his 2010 memoir, A Journey: My Political Life, former British Prime Minister Tony Blair shares the following story:

A friend of mine whose parents were immigrants, Jews from Europe who came to America in search of safety, told me this story. His parents lived and worked in New York. They were not well off. His father died when he was young. His mother lived on, and in time my friend succeeded and became wealthy. He often used to offer his mother the chance to travel outside America. She never did. When eventually she died, they went back to recover the safety box where she kept her jewelry. They found there another box. There was no key. So they had to drill it open. They wondered what precious jewel must be in it. They lifted the lid. There was wrapping and more wrapping and finally an envelope. Intrigued, they opened it. In the envelope were her U.S. citizenship papers. Nothing more. That was the jewel, more precious to her than any other possession. That was what she treasured most.

Many Christians, like most of the populace, believe the political structures can cure all our ills. The fact is, however, that government, by its very nature, is limited in what it can accomplish. What it does best is perpetuate its own power and bolster its own bureaucracies.

—Charles (Chuck) Colson, advisor to President Nixon, writer, and founder of Prison Fellowship

Wilfredo Garza lived the life of an illegal immigrant for more than 35 years. Year after year, he eked out a living crossing the border from Mexico into the United States—some days finding work, some days not. Regardless, he was constantly looking over his shoulder. He was caught by the Border Patrol four times during that period and bused back to Mexico every time. Undeterred by each apprehension, he swam back across the Rio Grande to try again.

The cycle would likely have continued for several more years if not for an amazing discovery. One day, Wilfredo worked up the courage to walk into an immigration lawyer's office. There, incredibly, he found out that his father was born in Texas and spent time working there, which meant that Wilfredo was actually a U.S. citizen!

All these years he possessed the very papers—his father's birth certificate and work records—that proved his citizenship, and yet he lived in guilt and fear. Now he has a certificate of citizenship. Now he doesn't have to sneak across the border; he can walk through the main gate.

While I was attending graduate school in the early 1980s, I stopped for coffee in a Malibu, California, restaurant. Coming from a non-political family, I knew nothing of political activists—but I met one that day in that restaurant.

He told everyone what a mess the United States had become. He ridiculed our government and our educational, industrial, and banking systems. He was on such a roll that he had everyone on his side except for two people: an old man and me. The activist shied away from me, seeing my Pepperdine hat, Ronald Reagan tee shirt, and Wall Street Journal. So he went after the old man.

As he approached, the old man continued slurping his soup and turned his back. The activist sat down at the old man's table and offered, "Mister, if you can tell me just one thing the United States has ever done for you, just one measly thing, I will leave you alone."

Finally, the old man looked up. He licked his spoon clean and set it down on the table. His red face indicated years of laboring in the sun. With a heavy Russian accent, he replied, "Ve hold zees truz to be self-evident, dat all men created equal, life, liberty, perzuit of happiness." Then he went back to the soup. The activist, defeated, could not argue against what the old man had experienced on both sides of communism.

It's not all that hard to argue that Ken Burns is the biggest name in the world of documentaries. His stirring works about the Civil War, baseball, and jazz have garnered numerous awards and helped put PBS back on the "must-see" list. What could be argued, though, is his ability to consistently give the Latino population its rightful due.

It began with Burns's 1994 documentary on baseball. In 18 hours worth of material, Latino players were given six minutes of attention—four of which went to Roberto Clemente alone. In 2001, his 19 hour opus to jazz music afforded a little less than three minutes to examine the Latino contributions to the genre. With his new 14hour look at World War II—to air on PBS in September 2007—Burns has done it again. Not one Hispanic veteran was interviewed despite the fact that half a million Latinos fought in the war effort, and their military service "produced a higher ratio of Medal of Honor recipients relative to population than any other ethnic group."

In a CNN.com commentary, Ruben Navarette Jr. wrote: "If either PBS or Burns knew more about the ethnic group, they might have known they were playing with dynamite … A special source of pride are the World War II veterans, who came home to segregated schools, restricted restaurants, and bans on speaking Spanish."

When several Hispanic associations protested the snub, Burns told the press he was going to add an addendum at the end of the 14 hours, celebrating the Latino contributions to the war effort. When his proposed footnote approach received a lukewarm reception, Burns finally agreed to shoot new footage and interviews that he could weave seamlessly into the production.

On the way to work this morning, I pulled up to a stop light and noticed an interesting SUV in front of me. The owner of the SUV is clearly a person of deep loyalty. The spare tire mounted on the back had the words "Texas Longhorns" and an orange, steer-head icon on it. The trailer hitch displayed another steer-head icon and the word "Texas." The license plate frame was bordered with the words "Longhorns" on top and "University of Texas" at the bottom.

But something didn't add up. That license plate frame was screwed into a blue-and-white, Illinois, "Land of Lincoln" license plate with a picture of old Abe himself on it. I live in Illinois, and the SUV's license plate shows that this driver now does, too. I assume the owner of this SUV had moved, but had not yet identified with his new home and had no plans of changing loyalties.

That's normal human behavior. When we move, we often go through a slow transition of loyalties to our new home. And so it is as a Christian. When we come to Christ, the kingdom of God becomes our home, but the kingdom of this world does not leave our hearts easily. The great challenge of the Christian is to overcome divided loyalties and fully identify with God's kingdom.

"It's hard to remember that Jesus did not come to make us safe, but rather to make us disciples, citizens of God's new age, a kingdom of surprise."

—Stanley Hauerwas, Duke University

A little-known hymn by Cecil Spring-Rice called "I Vow to Thee My Country" was a lifetime favorite of Diana, Princess of Wales. She requested the song be sung at her wedding, and it was sung again at her funeral in 1997. The lyrics of the hymn provide a rich vocabulary for contemplating what it means to give our lives to God and his kingdom.

I vow to thee my country, all earthly things above. Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love. The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test. That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best. The love that never falters, the love that pays the price. The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice. And there's another country, I've heard of long ago most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know. We may not count her armies, we may not see her King her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering. And soul by soul and silently, her shining bounds increase and her ways are ways of gentleness and all her paths are peace.

Within the scope of those human matters that are relative, political systems have their place in society; but the Christian is not called to confer on any of those systems the quality of the absolute, because that which is absolute is found only in God. Furthermore, without pretending to have a false political neutrality, the Christian should always reserve the right to criticize any political system, whether of the left or of the right, in the light of the Word of God.

When Secretary of State during the Reagan administration, George Shultz kept a large globe in his office. When newly appointed ambassadors had an interview with him and when ambassadors returning from their posts for their first visit with him were leaving his office, Shultz would test them. He would say, "You have to go over the globe and prove to me that you can identify your country." They would go over, spin the globe, and put their finger on the country to which sent--unerringly.

When Shultz's old friend and former Senate majority leader Mike Mansfield was appointed ambassador to Japan, even he was put to the test. This time, however, Ambassador Mansfield spun the globe and put his hand on the United States. He said: "That's my country."

On June 27, 1993, Shultz related this to Brian Lamb on C-Span's "Booknotes." Said the secretary: "I've told that story, subsequently, to all the ambassadors going out. 'Never forget you're over there in that country, but your country is the United States. You're there to represent us. Take care of our interests and never forget it, and you're representing the best country in the world.' "