God and Country

I recently had a "discussion" with a friend regarding the place (or, in my mind, the lack thereof) of American nationalism in the Church. 

This all came up as I stated my general frustration with having to sit through a rousing piano interlude of America the Beautiful at a local Baptist church, complete with stirring imagery of flags and people saluting, etc.  This viscerally offends me.  It is the reason I will probably never return to said church.  And now, as I have always been better equipped at defining my thoughts in written form, I will attempt to explain myself. 

God doesn't say much about Country in the Bible, not about loving it at least.  We are directed in Paul's Letter to Titus that we should obey authorities and the rule of law.  Jesus states in Mark, "Render to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's." And this is Caesar we're talking about.  Jesus directs his followers to respect the authority of a dictator.  And I don't think this should cause anyone any extreme heartburn.  The Bible often provides guidance that is, largely, practical in its significance.  Christ's message was one of Grace and Eternity, getting hung up on whether you had to pay Caesar's taxes had to have been at least mildly exasperating (although, Jesus was perfect and therefore patient...but still...that question deserved exasperation).  Regardless of whether we voted for our leader, we're supposed to respect his authority above us.  We don't have to like it, we don't have to agree with it, but respecting it is not too much to ask.  And as it was a direction from Christ, maybe we should refrain from discarding that direction just because we don't like who's in office.

God does not tell us to love our Country.  Nope. He tells us to love our Neighbor.  Period.  He tells us to go out into the world and share the Gospel with the world.  And the world is not limited to the 50 states of America. Nationalism bothers me in the spiritual context because it builds fences around the Great Commission.  It makes us feel that our salvation, our pains, are somehow worth more to God than those of every other child of His on this planet.  It's self-serving, it's prideful, and it's sinful.  I don't think there's anything wrong with loving one's country, both my grandfathers risked their lives for it and they also happen to be two of the most Godly men I've been blessed to know.  But I take issue when love of country becomes akin to worship.  I think it dances very close to idolatry and in God's house (and anywhere), God is the only authority we should ever worship.

To bring Country into Church simply lessens God, and that should offend every Christian.  It makes God small, makes God compete for the stirrings of our heart.  Our hearts should be directed to His glory, spreading His glory, loving His children (every. single. one. of. them.), and pursuing a life that makes His grace apparent in our lives. 

America is beautiful.  And that's a lovely song and a lovely sentiment.  But there is nothing, absolutely nothing, eternal about our country.  The Church would do well to answer the Great Commission with an anthem that provides no lines of demarcation, no territories, no barriers beyond belief.  Amazing Grace would do nicely.

The Lake Floor

Despite living in the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes for over four years (longer than I have ever lived in one place since I was a teenager), I have never actually taken a swim in any of said lakes.  Until today.

I made the quasi-ridiculous decision earlier this spring to sign up for a sprint distance triathalon (.25 mile swim, 17 mile bike, 3.1 mile run).  While I keep thinking to myself, "oh, I have plenty of time...," the truth is, I no longer have "plenty," but border closer to "not enough" time for training purposes.  My bike is juiced up and finally ride-worthy, and I've marked Tuesday as The Day I Shall Ride My Bike To Work.  But the swimming factor has loomed over me for weeks.

Unlike most Fridays, I have no plans tonight.  I had a couple options creep in near the end of the week but the closer I got to Friday, the more I wanted to be alone.  I busy myself with so many things, I forget to just be by myself on occasion.  With the sunshine promising to hold, and the heat of the early week promising that Calhoun would be bathtub-warm, I figured now was as good a day as any to take my maiden voyage in the wholly unattractive but fully functional new swimming suit.

Lake swimming is my favorite, honestly. I love the ocean, love the waves, but they're foreign to me, more excitement than relaxation. A good lake plus a good breeze, that's perfection to me.

 I grew up spending summers at Lake Nixon in Arkansas, getting stung by horseflies the size of your fist and catching crawdads with leftover hot dogs. For the life of me, my camp counselors could never teach me to dive but I jumped off the dock with the gusto of a champion.  We'd race each other to the lake floor, where it was always colder and the run-ins with fish more likely, grabbing a handful of dirt to bring to the surface as proof that we swam all the way.  I remember seeing one of the Jaws movies during this time period and feeling especially creeped out by what I could only imagine was a freshwater version of the great white lurking beneath the farthest dock.

As I swam into Calhoun, I didn't really think of Lake Nixon until I got to the edge of the swimming area.  Just by the buoys, the water at my feet turned chilly, a marked contrast to the warmth of the upper water, and the mix of chill and the occasional bump of toe against lake sand, made me remember those childhood dives to the deep, dark floor of what seemed to me to be an abyss full of child-devouring lake creatures.

It was a happy end to a long week.  Sunshine on shoulders, the comfort of childhood memories, and the grown-up sensibility to reassure myself that Jaws was just a movie and sharks do not live in Lake Calhoun.

Tempted by the Fruit of Another

I'm a loyal girl.  While I like to think of myself as of the adventurous sort, I leave room within my penchant for experimentation for vehement(borderline obsessive?) commitment.  Case in point: my decades-long affiliation with the Asics running shoe.  Asics saw me through my first 5K, the loss of 80 lbs, my first 10K, my first half-marathon, and my first marathon.  It has been a noble, dependable shoe.

Unfortunately, it has also been butt ugly and boring. 

Therefore, after years of Asics attachment, my desire for a sexy, sassy, show-stopping shoe has finally defeated my guilt-laden loyalty to my former brand of choice.

The shoe above is called the Nike Lunarglide 3.  Huzzah! Doesn't that just SOUND fast?! And exciting?! And capable-of-getting-my-lazy-ass-out-bed-at-5am-on-a-Tuesday-even-though-I-don't-wanna inspiration?!  That's the plan, at least.  While I've stuck to my marathon training plan like clockwork thus far, my legs have been feeling heavy and I've decided that is because my shoes are both 1) old and 2) boooooring.  Thus, midnight black dynamos with hot pink soles and an electric blue tongue! That'll wake up these legs!  That'll inspire me to conquer 16 miles this coming Saturday!

Right?

Right!