A Faithful Vision of Just and Inclusive Patriotism

Patriotism isn’t about who can wave the biggest flag or shout the loudest. It isn’t found in slogans or bumper stickers. True patriotism is love — not the sentimental kind that avoids hard truths, but the kind that speaks the truth because it loves. The kind of love that’s willing to wrestle with history, to take responsibility, to say, “We can be better — because we are meant for more.”

This kind of love is not new. It runs deep in our nation’s story — in the footsteps of those who marched, who served, who spoke out and knelt down and stood firm so that freedom might grow wider, deeper, and more real for everyone.

As Episcopalians, we know something about covenant. At every baptism, we promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being. These aren’t just poetic words in the Prayer Book. They are the heart of our faith. They guide how we pray, how we vote, how we lead, how we speak, how we live.

And we need them now more than ever.

Our country’s story is beautiful and broken. We’ve proclaimed liberty while enslaving others. We’ve declared equality while excluding women, Indigenous peoples, and immigrants. And yet, even in our deepest failings, God has never stopped calling us back.

Back through the voices of prophets and peacemakers — Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., and so many unnamed saints. People who called this nation to look in the mirror and remember its soul.

Abraham Lincoln once said we must act “with malice toward none, with charity for all.” That’s not weakness. That’s courage. The courage to love your country enough to tell it the truth. The courage to love your neighbor enough to speak when it would be easier to stay silent. The courage to believe that grace still belongs in public life.

Jesus said, “The truth will set you free” (John 8:32). And he taught that greatness doesn’t come from power or prestige, but from service (Mark 9:35). He gave us a commandment that sums up everything else: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31).

But love is not passive. It takes risks. It gets involved. It pays attention.

And right now, we are in a dangerous place.

When truth is twisted, when lies are normalized, when leaders choose self-interest over the common good — that is not patriotism. That is idolatry.

When immigrants are blamed for our problems — though our own ancestors once arrived here with nothing but hope — that is not patriotism. That is betrayal.

When LGBTQ+ people, people of color, people of other faiths or no faith at all are scapegoated or erased — that is not patriotism. That is sin.

And here is the most sobering truth of all: what no foreign enemy has ever done to us, we are doing to ourselves. No outside force can destroy us like we can — by turning neighbor against neighbor, by giving up on truth, by abandoning the vulnerable.

Jesus warned us: “Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every household divided against itself will not stand” (Matthew 12:25). And right now, our house is trembling.

We also need to name what’s happening in our politics — the demonization of anyone who dares to disagree. We've stopped seeing each other as fellow citizens and started seeing enemies. We've replaced conversation with contempt.

But the Episcopal Church teaches another way — the via media, the “middle way.” Not a shallow compromise, but a courageous commitment to relationship, to listening, to honoring the image of God in every person. Even those we disagree with. Especially those we disagree with.

True patriotism isn’t about picking a side. It’s about standing in the breach. It’s about building something better, not burning bridges behind us. It’s about protecting the sacred worth of every person God has made.

Dr. King once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” But that arc doesn’t bend on its own. It bends because people of faith put their hands on it. It bends because people are willing to stand up and speak out — not in hate, but in hope.

True patriots don’t let their nation decay from the inside. They don’t stand by when injustice flourishes. They don’t retreat into comfort when others are suffering. They don’t hoard power while others go unheard.

Instead, they defend the widow, the orphan, the refugee. They refuse to dehumanize. They refuse to give up. They choose the kind of love that does the hard work.

Because America’s strength lies not in fear, but in freedom. Not in sameness, but in sacred diversity. Not in domination, but in dignity.

This is a moment of decision.

Will we love this country enough to tell it the truth? Will we love our neighbors enough to stand beside them — especially when it costs us? Will we love God enough to let that love shape not just our private prayers, but our public lives?

As Episcopalians, we believe faith doesn’t end at the church door. It begins there. We believe the Eucharist is not a hiding place — it’s fuel for the work ahead. Every time we share the bread and the wine, we’re sent back out into the world: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” That peace is not passive. That love is not safe. That service is not small.

This is what it means to be a Christian.

This is what it means to be an Episcopalian.

This is what it means to be an American.

And this — this is the kind of patriotism our nation needs today.

Footnotes

1. Abraham Lincoln, Second Inaugural Address, March 4, 1865.
2. Martin Luther King Jr., Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution, March 31, 1968.
3. The Book of Common Prayer, The Baptismal Covenant, pp. 304–305.
4. The Book of Common Prayer, The Holy Eucharist: Rite II, pp. 355–366.