Flags in the Sanctuary: Protection

 On 11 October 1521 the Bishop of Rome, Pope Leo X, recognized a work published by King Henry VIII entitled "Declaration of the Seven Sacraments Against Martin Luther." For this work, Leo X bestowed on Henry VIII the title "Defender of the Faith." (Anglophiles and Francophiles should continue to debate whether this title is better than the title of "most Christian" that belonged to the king of France.)

Since the mid-fourth century, the Church has recognized the capacity for kings, queens, and parliaments to "defend the faith." In some places, as with Henry VIII, the defence made by monarchs is a defence of orthodoxy: Martin Luther had been declared a heretic and thus Henry's Declaration upheld Catholic doctrine. In some places and times, "defence of the faith" might be interpreted to mean association with or affirmation of Christianity more broadly. The crown or Parliament supports or encourages the beliefs and work of the Church, and backs up that support with arms.

Contemporary Americans live in a democracy, so we do not have a monarch to take the personal title, "Defender of the Faith." And we have a constitution that forbids the establishment of any religion by the state. Instead of upholding one particular religious system, the American system prides itself on defending freedom of religion: folks in the United States are free to believe and practice any religion they choose. So "defender of the faith" changes, for us, into "defender of the right to practice any faith."

I have heard many people give thanks--to God in prayer and to each other--that we live in a country where we are free to practice our faith unmolested. I am also thankful that we are not imprisoned for our faith, or otherwise persecuted for what we believe or how we practice our religion. I think that giving thanks to God for these blessings, as with all blessings, is good. Any freedom we have is a gift from God and ought to be recognized as such.

I think, however, that we sometimes cleave to a mirror-image understanding of our freedom of religion. Such an understanding shows up on t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other paraphernalia in the phrase, "Land of the free because of the brave." While this phrase speaks truth in a materialistic sense, it fails to recognize that victory only comes to the brave if God wills it; and it may come to pass that no bravery will bring about what God does not will. If we say that freedom of religion results only from national effort, we can then go one more step and assert that the Church owes something to the nation because it is the nation that provides opportunity for Christians to practice their faith.

I wonder if the placement of the flag in Christian sanctuaries doesn't, for some of us, signify an understanding that it is only because we are Americans that we are practicing Christians. Take away the protection of the American system of government (and military, etc), and the Church would fall to ruin. So Christian faith, for its survival, needs to recognize the flag.

I see two problems with this perspective. First, having the fullness of life for the Church depend on something other than God would seem to make that other thing sovereign and God less than sovereign. Which means Jesus isn't lord of all--he's lord of everything that America gives him to lord over. Second, it belies the experience of so many Christians around the world whose faith flourishes without legal freedom of religion. In fact, there may be cases in which the faith and community of the Church are stronger because protection from the forces of the world is not guaranteed.

It is a strong faith that gives thanks to God for every blessing we experience. It is a weaker faith that cannot survive without material protection.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Maybe Not About Nationalism?

To begin thinking about this issue, I asked Perplexity (an AI search engine) to find online articles discussing American flags in Christian sanctuaries. Most offered some history of flags in the sanctuary; many raised points of concern about the placement of national flags in worship space.

One site stood clearly on the supportive side of placing flags in sanctuaries. It is an article by Professor Miles Smith in First Things, a publication of The Institute on Religion and Public Life. Its argument includes three observations: 1) other countries fly their national flags in churches; 2) pre-flag western societies included their symbols in worship space; and 3) the flag in worship space displays the proper relationship between Church and state.

Professor Smith cites quotations from pastors outside of the United States, arguing that according to their testimony that "the presence of the national standard in their churches [is not] inherently idolatrous or even particularly nationalistic." We should expect that no Christian pastor will ever see something in his congregation's sanctuary as idolatrous. This is a frequent problem with idols: We don't see them. As for being "particularly nationalistic": Smith's citations include one pastor saying that "We want to honor our national identity." Another says they post the flag to "show our loyalty as citizens to the country." These are expressly nationalistic reasons for flying the flag. Being a national symbol, the flag's presentation is always nationalistic. Smith's assertion here contradicts the evidence he cites.

Before churches had flags to fly, Smith writes, they put heraldric symbols and shields in the sanctuaries "symbolizing a nobleman's protection of the church or denoted his support of the building's construction." We will return to the matter of protection of the Church later (put a pin in that one); for now I go on to Smith's next words: "These shields signified medieval Christians' belief that the glory of the church reflected the glory of the state." That is an interesting phrasing. It seems to indicate that glory originates with the state, and is then reflected in, passed on to, the Church. This directionality of glory is, to me, precisely backwards.

If Smith is trying simply to say that flags are OK in sanctuaries because people have been doing something similar for a long time, then I am unconvinced. Long-established erroneous practice is still erroneous practice--perhaps more grievous for its endurance.

On his third major point Professor Smith raises the issue of the relationship between the Church and the state. "[D]isplaying the national flag in a church is a sign that we expect our government to fulfill its duty to protect our religious freedom." Here is a fascinating and redemptive possibility. Has the flag come to the altar of God in order to receive its marching orders? Is the flag bowing to the cross, just as Christians individually come to bow their hearts before Christ in worship?

I agree with the assertion that Christians, as they go out and participate in the political world, act in obedience to the voice of Christ. And I agree that all people of all nations are subject to the sovereignty of God; by implication the existence of nations and their destinies are subject to God's will and decree.

However, flags don't bow. As I observed in an earlier piece about flags and loyalty: Flags stand and fly as a commanding presence, not a subservient one. They must be the highest standard in the room--even a room where the cross takes the highest place. They own the place. Thus to put the cross and the flag in the same space creates a conflict of power and loyalty. So I am not convinced by Professor Smith's argument about the meaning of the flag in a worship space.

But more on that Church-state relationship next time. Thanks for taking symbolism, meaning, and practice seriously.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Loyalty

 My dad did not spend much time in front of a television screen. (That's what they were called back then: "Televisions.") When so much of American society at the time learned to collect VHS tapes and DVDs, our living room had a blessedly minimal number of recorded films. But he did have a boxed set of Humphrey Bogart films.

One of the few times we took an evening to watch a film at home with Dad we watched Casablanca. This classic WWII film (produced in 1942) focused on Rick's Café Américain, a "gin-joint" in Morocco where Nazi officers and Resistance leaders end up dining in the same room. In one famous scene, German officers stand and begin singing their national anthem, "Die Wacht am Rhein." A leader of the Resistance goes to the band and directs them to play the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise." All the non-Germans in Rick's Café stand and drown out the song of the German officers.

(If you would enjoy a deep dive into this scene with some excellent commentary, check this out.)

The songs are just songs, right? Just like "The Star Spangled Banner" is just a bunch of words strung together and laid over a bunch of musical notes strung together, right?

Who sings which song in Casablanca, and how loudly, displays the loyalty of the characters in the film. Morocco is contested territory in a war. All wars are about loyalty and who will give their lives for one nation or another, one cause or another, one flag or another. Since flags usually represent nations, flags represent an entity in whose importance we believe so strongly that we would die for it.

Conversely, flags command responses to two questions: Will you die for this? Are you loyal to this? For many people--especially those who have risked their lives in uniforms bearing the American flag, or have lost beloved family or friends in uniform--these questions are two sides of the same coin. To be loyal to something or someone, really loyal, means being willing to risk one's life to defend that thing or person. A flag, therefore, represents a question of ultimate loyalty.

This question is not new. Quite pertinent to Christians was the need for subjects of the Roman empire to show their allegiance to the emperor. In much of imperial history, this display of allegiance took the form of sacrifices made to the imperial cult, which viewed emperors as divine. As far as we know, sacrificing to the emperor didn't change life very much; but if one did not show that loyalty to the empire, one was suspect. If nothing else, the emperor commanded loyalty.

And Christians did not show that loyalty. They would pray for the emperor, conform to imperial laws (as long as it did not violate their conscience), and treat the emperor with honor. But they would not perform the signs of ultimate loyalty to the emperor or empire. They confessed that they had loyalty to only one: Jesus Christ.

[A linguistic aside: I have heard folks attempt to make a distinction between loyalty or allegiance (which I might have for my nation) and trust/faith/belief (which I only have for God). The bible makes no distinction in its language for these things. Faith/belief/trust/loyalty/allegiance are of a piece; and each/all belong to God alone. In making a distinction without a difference we may be trying to evade a problem.]

When we gather in worship, we do so specifically to declare our complete loyalty and allegiance to God in Jesus Christ, the author of life who is also the only one to conquer death and offer eternal life. We do so in explicit defiance of all the powers in the world who would claim our loyalty, command our obedience, and divide our hearts.

I do find it strange, then, that we place a symbol in our sanctuaries for another entity which commands loyalty and sacrifice unto death. If it calls for something less than ultimate faith, why does it adorn a space dedicated to heaven and eternal life? And if it calls for complete loyalty, is it not in competition with the Lord of All?

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Next time: A first argument for flags in sanctuaries.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: Symbolism

I remember visiting a church whose interior decor contained only images connected to Egypt. River scenes with papyrus plants filled the stained glass windows. Twin cobras showed up frequently in the space. And the central symbol was the winged disk of Amun-Ra. Are these symbols proper to Christian worship space?

To get at a robust answer to this question, I propose four smaller-scale and interrelated questions.

1. Whom or what do these symbols stand for? Does that person or thing connect directly with the faith of the Christian Church?

2. Whose story is behind these symbols? Does that body identify with the Christian Church?

Take the twin cobras. According to an article written about the history of the church I visited, twin cobras in Egyptian mythology stand for wisdom. Wisdom certainly is a virtue in the faith of the Christian Church. And the serpent is described in the Christian scriptures as wise. I don't know the story behind twin cobras coming to represent wisdom--which begins to provide an answer to the second question: My story is not behind this particular symbol. And I suspect that the people who pass on the story of the cobra and wisdom are not identical to the Christian Church.

What about Amun-Ra's disk? According to the same article, the disk represents eternity. And in the name of the disk itself is the name of an Egyptian god. Eternity as a concept connects with our faith; but the person of Amun-Ra does not. Whose story is there? Presumably there are stories in Egyptian mythology about Amun-Ra and his relationship to eternity. I do not know if there still exists a religious group that worships the ancient Egyptian gods. The story of Amun-Ra would be theirs. And Christians generally--especially given the specific rejection of Egyptian gods in the book of Exodus--would not use that story to shape their corporate identity.

If these symbols direct us neither to the deity of Christianity nor to the identifying stories of Christianity, then we would have a good argument for excluding them from Christian worship space.

This example from a unique scenario gives us some pattern that we might apply to the discussion of other symbols, like the American flag.

What does the American flag stand for?

I have heard several answers to this question. A nation. Democratic values. Fraternity (red), equality (white), and liberty (blue)--if we want to borrow from the French. Valor, blood, sacrifice, bravery, integrity, vigilance, perseverance, justice--if we take a few other suggestions about the three colors. Honorable military service. Freedom. Military protection--the flag begins as a banner of war. Patriotism (from the root "patrios" for fathers/ancestors and by extension "family").

How do these things connect to the faith of the Christian Church? For most of the Church's history, there was no such thing as a "nation" as we understand it today. Democracy is not addressed directly in the scriptures and core creeds of the faith. Freedom, equality, sacrifice, courage, and justice can all be found in the Christian faith. While the scriptural story recounts a great deal of military action--some of it directed by God--the teachings of Jesus and the experience of the early Church have an ambiguous or fraught relationship to military power.

What about the people whose story is behind the American flag?

If we date the independent identity of the United States of America to 1776, then the story of the nation is 250 years old. The story of Christianity--about 2,000 years old--is about 8 times the chronological length of the American story. If we say that American citizens are the ones who carry the story of America, then that story connects with about 340 million people presently; that's about 4.3% of the world population. Why do these numbers matter?

The faith claims of Christianity are claims upon the whole world and all of history. The broadest symbols of faith--the cross, the altar, the shepherd's crook, the bread and the cup--connect with every Christian 2,000 years back and forever forward, all around the world. They are common symbols of a spiritual unity in the Church which, though certainly obscured by human tribalism and sin, nonetheless is a goal of the Spirit of Christ and aspiration of the Church. They unite humanity under the umbrella of Christ's self-giving love.

The American flag is a symbol attached to the story of a small sliver of humanity bound to a particular time and a particular place. It is, by definition, a symbol whose provenance does not overlap with, say, the Nigerian flag, or the flag of the People's Republic of China, or the Argentinian flag. So by its symbolic power it divides humanity. It signifies a subset of humanity that cannot, on its own terms, be reconciled with other groups.

A congregation that wants to examine the propriety of a national flag (any national flag) in a Christian sanctuary must reckon with the contrast between the universal claims of Jesus Christ and the time- and location-bound claims of a national flag. What is the effect on a community that simultaneously observes a symbol of divine life with boundless mercy and grace for the whole world and a symbol of a human organization that divides and requires some level of violence to maintain its existence?

There is not an easy, pat answer to this question. Lest we think that the whole matter is contained in the placement of the flag in sanctuaries, be reminded that since the fourth century Christians have struggled with the relationship between the Church and the State. The present question simply serves to push this struggle front and center in a visible way. As both Christians and citizens who value our participation in secular society, however, it is good to wrestle with the matter.

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To move the matter forward, I observe that both Christian symbols and national flags do more than represent ideas and stories. They also demand loyalty. On that idea, more soon.

~ emrys

Flags in the Sanctuary: History

The significance and propriety of the American flag in Christian worship brings up such deep currents of sentiment that I think it best to wade into the matter by the shores of history. Allow me to lay out some of the background to flags appearing in American Christian sanctuaries.

The United States didn't seem to have a strong attachment to a flag until Francis Scott Key's composition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" in the War of 1812. Then the American Civil War seems to have caused a good number of flags to appear in Church sanctuaries. But the real expansiveness of this practice, according to the documentation I found, took hold in the beginning of the 20th century.

During World War I, the placing of the flag in the sanctuary became a signal that the American Church was on the right side. While never mandated by law, the cultural tide flowed with great power. German immigrant churches may have felt it most strongly; there were incidents of pastors of those churches being required to genuflect before and kiss the flag. Painful consequences befell pastors who would not fly a sanctuary flag. In wartime, it seems that American society wanted a clear symbolic recognition that American Christians were all loyal patriots.

The practice seems to have continued into and through World War II--another moment in which American citizens were expected to show unanimous support for the United States. A similar surge in flag presentation by the Church happened during the Korean War. And after that time, folks began to forget why the flag was placed there. In my own experience of talking with Church leaders, almost everyone assumed that "the flag was always there."

Absent any secular law or denominational instruction to display the national flag in the sanctuary, we are left to infer the purpose of doing so. Wars--moments when the survival of the nation is at stake--seem to inspire the flag's display. I think there is an important clue here.

What congregations place in their sanctuaries announces something about their core values or core identity. Congregations don't (typically) put portraits of their past pastors or priests on the sanctuary walls. The identity of those persons does not matter to the ongoing identity of the congregation. I have not yet seen a state flag in a church sanctuary, perhaps for the same reason. Baptismal fonts, altars, and tables do get central positioning in the sanctuary: baptism is a God-given mark of membership in the kingdom, Jesus' death is central to our faith, and the sacramental table is a core symbol of how the Spirit unites Christians. And of course we have the cross, a nearly-ubiquitous symbol in Christian worship space. (Though, it's worth noting here, not present in every sanctuary.)

Thus to some degree congregations have revealed that either the support for or survival of the United States connects to their core identity. When that identity is threatened or when a singular national effort requires the broadest level of support--as in wartime--it seems natural that we will press toward center stage the symbol of that core identity. So we did with the flag.

So much for some broad history. In laying out this sequence I have thrown about the word "symbol." It is to that strange idea that we will turn next.

Thanks for thinking intentionally with me about things that matter. Some places from which I garnered useful information are cited below.

~ emrys

https://concordiahistoricalinstitute.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/HF62_2_American_Flag_LCMS_Churches.pdf

https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/evangelical-history/the-church-and-the-american-flag/

https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/articles/the-american-flag-in-methodist-worship-a-historical-look-at-practice

https://progressivechristianity.org/resource/american-flags-in-the-sanctuary/

The Flag in the Sanctuary

Most of the congregations in which I have served have an American flag in the sanctuary. (Most of them have at least one other flag, too.) And in all of those congregations a question has always been raised about the presence of that flag. Sometimes it's a more neutral query: "Why do we have an American flag in the sanctuary?" Sometimes it's more pointed and critical: "Should we really have an American flag in the sanctuary?"

I think this question is an important one, not just because I happen to have a strong opinion on the matter but also because it addresses symbolic power in sacred space. Most worshiping Christians have some beliefs about symbolic power--whether we have articulated them or not--and about sacred space. And for most of us who worship an invisible deity symbols serve as an essential means by which we access the presence of that deity.

Thus symbols are of critical importance.

One symptom of that importance may be your visceral reaction when you read a question like, "Should we really have an American flag in the sanctuary?" If the appearance of that question--not the "answer," but just the asking--makes you feel righteous, defensive, offended, troubled, proud, or fearful then we have evidence of the power of symbols in our lives.

I have been thinking about the power of this symbol in the Christian worship space for some time. And now I have been asked the question again about the American flag's propriety there. So I plan to take some time to dive into the circumstances that give rise to this question. If you join me, perhaps we'll be equipped to think well about our responses.

And maybe we will better fulfill our calling to love God and our neighbor.

~ emrys

The Three Musketeers, the Constitution, and Jesus (part deux)

What about Jesus?

You may have noted the conspicuous absence of Jesus in my previous post, though the ancient Galilean’s name appeared in the title. It’s time.

Our common political life in the United States is founded precisely on the absence of a monarch, substituting in a democracy (“rule by the people”) and a republic (“thing of the people”).

In the Christian faith we have a weird thing. We have a library of ancient documents (the “bible”) that in some way or another we consider authoritative for faith and ethics. But these documents also point Christians toward a monarch, Jesus the Christ, whose person forms the essential object of faith and life.

Most Christian congregations would not say that someone’s life with God depends on their confessing faith in the bible. They would say that faith in Jesus Christ confirms one’s life with God. But just as many would say that the bible is somehow essential to the Christian faith: that it is impossible to know or follow Christ as king without the bible.

In many discussions I listen to regarding the outworking of faith, I see a clear parallel between Americans working out how to interpret and follow the Constitution and Christians working out how to interpret and follow the bible. Folks want rules, and those rules must be based on some agreed-upon words. But agreeing on the words does not predict agreement on how those words will be interpreted.

When we claim the lordship of Jesus, though, we are going beyond the written words to a person. Discerning the relationship between the person of Christ (the second person of the Trinity) and the written words of the bible gives rise to the expansive literature we have on the inspiration and authority of the bible. We live in a tension between constitutionalism and monarchy.

It is interesting to me that many Americans in their political life are embracing a similar tension, perhaps for the first time in their lives. We love the Constitution, but we really want it to point us toward a single person who can fulfill our political dreams—someone who “alone can save you.” Texts do a great job of telling us what to do, but they don’t get anything done for us.

I really crave a snappy and proverbial ending to this thought. But I don’t have one. The cultural and political moment feels unfinished and uncertain, which may rob me of pithiness. Perhaps I am only called to issue a challenge to pay attention and see if these tensions are a reality for you. And if they are, test the spirits to see which are from God.

~ emrys

The Three Musketeers, the Constitution, and Jesus

 I just finished reading the last book in Alexandre Dumas’ series that begins with The Three Musketeers and ends with The Man in the Iron Mask. Though American films focus on the swashbuckling and daring-do exploits of Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan, the first and last novels about these four heroes spend very little time on “action scenes.” The books are about political intrigue, shifting alliances, and obscure courtly conversations.

 What keeps the plots churning in Dumas’ work? Loyalty. Who is really loyal to the king? Who will gain the king’s favor by loyalty, and who might have his fierce loyalty undercut by deception? In courts, countries, and economies overseen by royals, loyalty is the sole currency that matters. The Man in the Iron Mask ends with nobility of extreme wealth falling into disgrace by a single word from the king, and another of little means gaining glory by dedication to the same king.

 For someone like me, who grew up living in a nation governed by a Constitution and written laws, the world of Dumas’ novels seems like a fantasy. We don’t need to worry about our accounts getting drained by our state Senator because the political winds have shifted. We know the rules, and we know that there are layers of courts and judges to interpret those rules. This makes the country I live in a relatively reliable and predictable place because we have a system of governance based on a written document.

 There is a problem, of course. Working under a constitution means that change is slow. Committees, boards, or congresses of elected officials make interpretive decisions, which means adaptation comes only after long argument and compromise. If we want change fast, it is easier to allow someone to rule by fiat. When one person runs the whole system, things get done. We are in a political moment now in which Americans want things done faster at the higher levels—even if the system is not designed to allow them that kind of power.

 What comes hand-in-hand with this kind of leadership is the power of loyalty. Like Dumas’ King Louis XIII and XIV, rule by fiat also allows destruction of opponents. When we accept people in power who “get things done,” we invite the possibility that we shall be done away with.

 There is a trade-off inherent in these two political systems. If we invest our political capital in a document that describes a system of laws, then our political process will be one of continuing debate in which everyone is welcome. And change will be slow. If we invest that capital in leaders, changes will come fast and dissenting voices will be removed or destroyed.

 Because we tend to believe strongly that we’re right, our politics inevitably moves toward having a king, a monarch, an executive director. Keeping a deliberative system of government that embraces both majority rule and minority voice takes constant effort. Will we put in that effort?