📚 Country: Prophetic Patriotism as Participatory Love

Beyond blind loyalty: how Christians can love country faithfully

May 01, 2025

On April 30, 2020, I stood on a windswept hill in Mount Hope Cemetery—the final resting place of Susan B. Anthony and Frederick Douglass—presiding over a military funeral for a centenarian Army Air Force bombardier who had survived Nazi POW camps. This tie that bound us together as Americans was palpable. Only the grieving family, the color guard, and I were present—a small gathering necessitated by the pandemic. When the Officer in Charge presented the meticulously folded American flag to the veteran's son, his words resonated across the hallowed ground: "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service." As the bugler played Taps, I reflected on what it truly means to love one's country.

That same day, just hours away, a very different expression of American identity unfolded at the Michigan State Capitol. Armed protesters, some carrying Confederate flags alongside American flags, stormed the building to protest COVID restrictions. Legislators donned bulletproof vests as demonstrators with rifles looked down from the gallery above the Senate floor. "Patriots," they called themselves, as they intimidated elected officials and brandished symbols of both American patriotism and its historical enemies.

Both groups claimed to love America. Both would describe themselves as patriots. Yet they embodied fundamentally different relationships to country—one marked by participatory love that honors sacrifice and service, the other by possessive attachment that threatens those with differing views of the common good.

This distinction between prophetic patriotism and disordered nationalism carries profound theological implications. As we've explored throughout this series, how we understand our relationship to country flows directly from how we understand God, freedom, justice, and community. The question before us is not simply whether we love our country but how we participate in that love. Do we love America in ways that enable mutual flourishing and create spaces where all can participate in freedom without domination? Or do we love it in ways that reinforce systems of exclusion and control?

Nationalism as Distorted Participation

Nationalism itself isn't inherently problematic. At its best, nationalism serves as a gift that binds us together as a people of many peoples, creating a sense of mutual obligation and shared destiny across our differences. Like all gifts, however, nationalism can become disordered, transforming from unifying bond into dangerous idol.

My own journey with American identity began in post-Jim Crow Baton Rouge, where the formal segregation signs had been removed but the social geography remained intact. As I wrote in a recent reflection, "Under duress, Jim Crow took down the water fountain signs before Gary and I learned to read. Signs were no longer necessary. The walls they constructed were hidden in plain sight, like landscape features covered by fig leaves that did not impede their function." I absorbed what I now call the "invisible wall liturgy"—where neighborhood boundaries, school districts, and social customs formed my imagination around who belonged and who didn't. These practices weren't merely rules to follow but a form of participatory formation that shaped how I understood both country and self. Only years later did I recognize how this formation had taught me to see some people as full participants in American identity while others remained perpetually marginal, even as I shot hoops with Gary, the son of my mother's maid Marie, on Phil Moser's driveway—games where we were "evenly matched, but we were not equals."

Disordered nationalism distorts healthy patriotism in at least three critical ways that reveal its fundamental incompatibility with participatory freedom:

First, it transforms particular identity into ultimate loyalty. When national belonging becomes one's primary identity—superseding religious commitment, ethical principles, or universal human connection—it crosses into idolatry. This was precisely the temptation Israel faced repeatedly in the Hebrew Scriptures: elevating national identity above covenant with God. Rather than participating in God's universal love, disordered nationalism absolutizes partial belonging.

Scripture consistently resists this temptation. The prophet Jeremiah instructed Israelite exiles to "seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you" while maintaining their distinct identity as God's covenant people (Jeremiah 29:7). The early church navigated similar tensions, with Paul declaring that "our citizenship is in heaven" (Philippians 3:20) while also instructing believers to honor earthly authorities (Romans 13:1-7). These examples suggest not rejection of national identity but its proper subordination to participation in God's universal kingdom.

Second, disordered nationalism defines belonging in exclusive rather than inclusive terms. It creates sharp distinctions between "real Americans" and others, frequently along racial, religious, or ideological lines. This exclusive vision directly contradicts biblical understanding of community, where "there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Galatians 3:28).

Through my work with immigrants and refugees, I've seen how this exclusionary form of nationalism directly opposes what Sam Wells calls "being with" by creating barriers to participation. Rather than creating conditions where all can participate in freedom without domination, it establishes hierarchies of belonging that contradict both theological truth and American ideals.

Third, disordered nationalism resists critical engagement with history and current reality. It demands celebration of national greatness without acknowledgment of national sin, creating a false narrative that undermines genuine moral formation. By contrast, the biblical narrative consistently combines praise for Israel with unflinching acknowledgment of its failings. The same prophets who proclaimed God's special relationship with Israel most forcefully also criticized its injustices most severely.

This resistance to truth-telling reveals disordered nationalism's fundamental incompatibility with authentic participation. As we've explored in earlier essays, participation requires truthfulness—engagement with reality as it is, not as we wish it to be. When nationalism demands uncritical celebration while suppressing historical reckoning, it prevents the very participation that makes genuine patriotism possible.

The Analogical Collapse in Disordered Nationalism

From an analogical metaphysical perspective, disordered nationalism represents a profound failure to maintain proper distinction between the temporal and the eternal, the contingent and the absolute. As David Bentley Hart has emphasized, authentic theological understanding requires an "analogical interval"—a recognition of both likeness and difference between created realities and their divine source.

Disordered nationalism collapses this interval in two problematic directions. First, it treats national identity as possessing an absoluteness that belongs only to God, transforming a limited, temporal reality into an ultimate concern. Rather than recognizing the nation as a contingent, created good that participates in divine reality while remaining distinct from it, nationalism elevates the nation to quasi-divine status.

Second, this collapse of the analogical interval leads to a univocal understanding of divine and national purpose, where God's will is directly and transparently identified with national interests. Hart would call this a "metaphysical catastrophe"—confusing finite, contingent goods with the infinite, transcendent Good itself. The proper relationship between divine and human realities is neither one of complete separation (which would make patriotism impossible) nor complete identification (which makes nationalism idolatrous), but analogical participation—where the nation at its best can reflect divine qualities while remaining infinitely distant from divine perfection.

This analogical collapse manifests practically in how disordered nationalism treats the nation as an absolute reality requiring unqualified loyalty rather than a penultimate good calling for critical affirmation. The consequences are not merely theoretical but deeply practical—unbounded claims of national security trump human rights, national interest justifies ecological destruction, and national identity overrides universal human dignity.

Prophetic Patriotism as Participatory Love

Against these nationalist distortions, Scripture offers what we might call prophetic patriotism—a love of place and people that remains accountable to participation in higher principles. The Hebrew prophets provide the clearest model of this stance: they are deeply invested in their nation's well-being while fiercely critical of its failings.

Consider Jeremiah, whose love for Israel led him to speak painful truths about its corruption and coming judgment (Jeremiah 7:1-15). Or Isaiah, who combined visions of national restoration with scathing critiques of economic exploitation and religious hypocrisy (Isaiah 58:1-12). These prophets demonstrate that genuine love sometimes requires telling hard truths rather than comforting falsehoods—that authentic participation includes accountability.

Jesus exemplified a similar tension in his relationship with his own people. He wept over Jerusalem, expressing profound love for his nation (Luke 19:41-44), while simultaneously pronouncing judgment on its religious and political establishments (Matthew 23:1-39). His ministry consistently challenged exclusive nationalism while embodying particular love for particular people in a particular place.

This prophetic tradition suggests several principles for faithful citizenship as participatory love:

Truth-telling enables healing. Just as personal transformation requires honest acknowledgment of sin, national renewal demands truthful reckoning with both historical and present injustice. When disordered nationalism demands celebration without confession, it prevents the very healing it claims to seek.

My own journey toward prophetic patriotism required painful examination of my family's history in Louisiana—uncovering ancestors who enslaved people, who fought to maintain white supremacy, who benefited from systems of exploitation and exclusion. This reckoning wasn't self-flagellation but necessary participation in truth that makes genuine love of country possible.

Loyalty requires critique. Genuine love for country, like love for family or church, includes willingness to challenge behaviors that contradict its highest values. Blind affirmation isn't patriotism but enabling. As theologian Reinhold Niebuhr observed, "The preservation of a democratic civilization requires the wisdom of the serpent and the harmlessness of the dove. The children of light must be armed with the wisdom of the children of darkness but remain free from their malice."

During my naval service, I learned that true loyalty to the Constitution sometimes required questioning orders that seemed to contradict its principles. This wasn't disloyalty but deeper fidelity—participation in the values that give military service its meaning rather than mere compliance with command.

Inclusion strengthens rather than weakens national identity. Contrary to the claims of disordered nationalism that diversity threatens cohesion, prophetic patriotism recognizes how expanded participation enriches rather than dilutes national community. The biblical vision culminates not in uniform homogeneity but diverse unity—"a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language" (Revelation 7:9).

My perspective was forever changed after visiting migrant farmworker camps with the Episcopal Farmworker Ministry in North Carolina. The contrast was jarring—joyful Sunday worship with smiling faces and guitar music, followed by visits to hovels where families lived in conditions no European American would tolerate. These encounters taught me that our treatment of immigrant neighbors reveals whether we truly understand our constitutional values. As I've written elsewhere, the resident aliens among us are "blessings God intends them to be," whose presence invites us into what I call "relational receptivity"—the practice of actively receiving others as unique and different from ourselves, creating space where they can flourish. Their participation doesn't weaken American identity but deepens it by embodying the peace that is our true calling.

Particular commitment enables universal concern. Rather than seeing love of country as opposed to global responsibility, prophetic patriotism understands how particular attachments can nurture broader moral concern. Just as loving particular neighbors teaches us how to love neighbors universally, loving particular places can expand rather than contract our capacity for universal care.

My love for specific Louisiana landscapes—the cypress swamps and coastal marshes where I first encountered God's presence in creation—doesn't diminish concern for ecosystems elsewhere but grounds that concern in tangible experience. Similarly, love for America at its best enables rather than prevents participation in global flourishing.

A Theology of Citizenship as Participation

The Christian tradition offers rich resources for navigating the tensions of dual citizenship—belonging simultaneously to earthly and heavenly kingdoms. Augustine's "City of God" describes Christians as resident aliens, living in but not ultimately belonging to earthly cities. Martin Luther's "two kingdoms" doctrine distinguishes between spiritual and temporal authority without completely separating them.

These traditions suggest neither withdrawal from political engagement nor uncritical embrace of national identity, but rather a distinct posture of engaged detachment—fully invested in our nation's wellbeing while maintaining critical distance from its self-justifying narratives. This isn't detachment from participation but participation with perspective—the ability to see our nation as it is rather than as disordered nationalist mythology portrays it.

As I explained in my Monday essay this week, we've inherited two competing visions of freedom—one based on absence of interference and another on freedom from domination. Prophetic patriotism embraces the latter, understanding citizenship not as a transaction (what we get or what we owe) but as a relationship of mutual participation. It's about how we work together to create conditions where everyone can flourish without being dominated. This shifts our focus from individual rights and duties to our shared responsibility for building communities where all can thrive.

The Book of Hebrews describes the patriarchs as "strangers and exiles on the earth" who were "seeking a homeland" (Hebrews 11:13-16). This dual awareness—belonging to particular places while ultimately seeking a homeland beyond them—creates space for patriotism without idolatry, for particular loyalty without universal disregard. It enables what Luke Bretherton calls "hospitable particularity"—love for specific places and peoples that remains open to encounter with others.

The American Experiment as Participatory Promise

America's founding documents express principles that align remarkably with this participatory understanding. The Declaration of Independence grounds human equality and inalienable rights in our creation by God—a theological claim with profound political implications. The Constitution establishes institutional checks against concentrations of power, reflecting theological realism about human corruption and the need to prevent domination.

Lincoln articulated this theological-political vision most clearly at Gettysburg, describing a nation "conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." This framing presents America not primarily as achievement but as proposition—an ongoing participatory project requiring continual reaffirmation through both word and deed.

This understanding offers a powerful alternative to both disordered nationalism and cynical dismissal. It allows us to honor America's democratic experiment while acknowledging its profound contradictions—declaring universal equality while maintaining chattel slavery, promising liberty and justice for all while systematically excluding many from participation.

Frederick Douglass embodied this prophetic patriotism in his famous speech "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" Refusing both uncritical celebration and complete rejection, he claimed American founding principles while forcefully condemning American practices that contradicted them. His patriotism manifested not in blind loyalty but in holding America accountable to its highest aspirations—demanding fuller participation in the freedom promised by founding principles.

Military Service as Participatory Patriotism

Military service, understood rightly, exemplifies this prophetic patriotism. Those who have served in uniform take an oath not to a person or party but to the Constitution—a commitment to participate in principles that transcend particular administrations or policies.

This oath creates space for both loyal service and moral critique. The Uniform Code of Military Justice requires obedience only to lawful orders, recognizing that true loyalty sometimes requires refusing commands that violate constitutional principles. Military personnel swear to defend the Constitution "against all enemies, foreign and domestic," acknowledging that threats can come from within as well as without.

My own naval service taught me that patriotism manifests not in unconditional support for whatever the nation does but in participation in the principles we swore to defend. When faced with orders that seemed ethically questionable during my submarine duty, I learned to distinguish between necessary command structure and blind obedience—to participate in the higher principles that gave those commands legitimate authority.

Throughout American history, veterans have embodied this balanced patriotism. George Washington established civilian control of the military and voluntarily relinquished power after two terms, subordinating personal authority to participation in constitutional principles. Dwight Eisenhower warned against the military-industrial complex's threat to democracy, demonstrating how military service can inform responsible critique. The veterans of the civil rights movement used their status to challenge the contradiction between America's professed values and its racial practices.

These examples remind us that those who have risked their lives for the country have earned the right to critique it—not despite their service but because of it. Their patriotism manifests not in unquestioning support for whatever the nation does but in holding it accountable to the principles they swore to defend. This isn't detachment from love of country but deeper participation in what makes the country worthy of love.

Practicing Prophetic Patriotism as Participation

How might we embody prophetic patriotism in our current polarized environment? Four practices of participation seem particularly important:

Reclaim symbols through inclusive participation. When movements claiming to be nationalist appropriate flags, anthems, and other national symbols, they privatize what should remain public. Prophetic patriots refuse this appropriation, demonstrating how these symbols belong to all citizens regardless of political affiliation, religious identity, or national origin.

At a parish Independence Day celebration I will never forget, we deliberately created space for both recent immigrants and indigenous community members to share their perspectives on American identity. This wasn't token inclusion but genuine participation that transformed how all present understood the symbols we shared. The flag gained deeper meaning by representing a more complex and inclusive story.

Build communities that practice democratic virtues. Disordered nationalism thrives on abstraction, speaking of "the people" while avoiding actual engagement with diverse neighbors. Prophetic patriotism manifests in concrete communities—neighborhoods, congregations, civic associations—where people practice the difficult work of what Sam Wells calls "being with" across differences of race, class, religion, and political belief.

Through community organizing efforts in western New York, I've participated in creating civic spaces where unlikely allies—conservative religious leaders and progressive activists, business owners and labor organizers—practice democratic deliberation around shared concerns like affordable housing, food, and mental health services. These communities of practice form participants in habits of citizenship that transcend partisan division.

Speak truth by acknowledging both achievements and failures. Prophetic patriots reject both uncritical celebration and wholesale condemnation, offering instead nuanced historical understanding that acknowledges both democratic achievements and systematic failures. This truthful narration creates the foundation for genuine progress rather than either complacent satisfaction or despairing cynicism.

In teaching American Christian history to confirmation classes, I've found that adolescents respond powerfully to a balanced approach that neither whitewashes history nor presents America as irredeemably flawed. When we examine Lincoln's journey from moderate opposition to slavery to the Emancipation Proclamation, we see both human limitation and moral growth—a pattern that offers hope for our own participation in ongoing national development.

Call America to participation in its highest aspirations. Like the Hebrew prophets who called Israel back to covenant faithfulness, prophetic patriots appeal to America's highest aspirations rather than its basest instincts. They remind us of founding principles not to glorify the past but to guide the future, holding the nation accountable to its own professed values.

In my preaching and teaching about American identity, I've found it most effective to ground critique not in external standards but in America's own foundational commitments. When challenging policies that restrict voting access, for instance, I appeal to the principle that legitimate government derives from consent of the governed—a principle Americans already accept that calls us to fuller participation in democratic practice.

The Hope of Participatory Patriotism

Prophetic patriotism offers hope precisely because it refuses both disordered nationalist fantasy and cynical despair. It acknowledges the reality of American failures while maintaining faith in American possibilities. It criticizes not to condemn but to redeem, speaking truth not to destroy but to heal.

This balanced perspective becomes increasingly crucial as movements promoting disordered nationalism gain strength worldwide. The alternative to ethno-religious nationalism isn't borderless cosmopolitanism but patriotism properly understood—particular love for particular places that remains accountable to participation in shared principles.

For Christians, this prophetic stance flows directly from our primary citizenship in God's kingdom. Because we participate first in God's universal love, we can love our country without making it an idol. We can balance particular attachments with universal concern because we worship a God who is both universal creator and particular incarnation.

My own journey from uncritical acceptance of American exceptionalism to a more nuanced prophetic patriotism parallels my theological journey from understanding freedom as mere non-interference to seeing it as participation in communities without domination. Just as true freedom emerges not from the absence of constraint but from the presence of conditions that enable all to flourish, true patriotism emerges not from the absence of critique but from the presence of participatory love that holds the nation accountable to its highest values.

As we face increasing pressure to choose between uncritical nationalism and complete rejection of national identity, prophetic patriotism offers a faithful third way—loving our country enough to tell it the truth, honoring its achievements without obscuring its failures, working for its renewal while maintaining perspective on its place in God's larger purposes.

This balanced patriotism serves not only our nation but our witness. In a political environment increasingly shaped by competing tribalisms, Christians who embody prophetic patriotism demonstrate a different way of being in the world—one where love of country enhances rather than diminishes love of God and neighbor. In this way, faithful citizenship becomes not just political duty but spiritual discipline, forming us as people whose participation in God's universal love transforms rather than negates our temporal attachments.

From Country to Freedom

Having explored how we relate to country, we now turn to a concept at the very heart of American identity: freedom. For ultimately, our relationship to country is deeply connected to how we understand liberty itself—not merely as individual right but as capacity for participation in communities where all can flourish. We value our nation's commitment to freedom, but that very commitment requires ongoing examination of what freedom truly means.

In our next essay, we'll explore how authentic freedom emerges not from absence of obligation but from participation in communities characterized by mutual recognition rather than domination. For as we'll discover, genuine liberty depends not on isolation from others but on the quality of our relationships—relationships that allow each person to develop their capacity for love without arbitrary interference. This understanding of freedom as capacity for love within community offers a crucial corrective to both progressive and conservative distortions of liberty in our contemporary discourse.

Key Terms

Prophetic Patriotism: Love of country that remains accountable to higher principles through truthful engagement with both achievements and failures. Full entry →

Disordered Nationalism: Elevation of national identity to ultimate concern, creating exclusive belonging that contradicts Christian universality. Full entry →

Participatory Freedom: Freedom understood as the capacity to love and flourish in community without domination rather than mere absence of constraint. Full entry →

Analogical Interval: The theological understanding that created realities participate in divine goodness while remaining infinitely distant from divine perfection. Full entry →