We’re in the afterglow of America’s 250th Fourth of July. Fireworks, parades, hamburgers and hot dogs.
And I’ll admit it, I kind of love all that.
I don’t mind the phrase “healthy patriotism” one bit. If patriotism means loving the land and the people, the freedoms, the best parts of our history, then count me in. Richard Mouw, the former president of Fuller Seminary, wrote a whole book with a title that says it all: How to Be a Patriotic Christian: Love of Country as Love of Neighbor.
Love of country as love of neighbor. Yes.
Here’s how I think about it. I live in San Diego, and I love it. I love the ocean. I love the landscape. I love the hiking trails. I love the laid-back vibe. And most of all, I love the people. That’s what loving a place actually means. It’s affection for what’s here, and especially for who’s here.
Loving my city doesn’t require me to trash Los Angeles or Phoenix. That would be silly. I can love where I live without deciding everywhere else is the enemy.
And that’s exactly where patriotism can go wrong.
When Love of Country Goes Sideways
There’s a line between patriotism and nationalism, and it’s easy to cross without noticing.
Patriotism says, “I love the people and places of my country,” and it stays free to love what’s beyond its borders too. Nationalism says, “I love my country, and therefore I’m against everybody else.”
There’s another difference. Patriotism can love its own country while genuinely working for the flourishing of all people, everywhere. Nationalism wants to dominate other people for our own advantage. One seeks the good of the whole world. The other just wants to win.
And let’s be honest about the moment we’re in. So many voices today, including our current administration, treat love of country as though it requires hostility toward everyone else. Other nations become rivals to beat. Immigrants become threats to repel. The stranger becomes a danger instead of a neighbor. We’re told that to be truly loyal, we have to see the rest of the world as antagonists.
But that’s not patriotism. That’s actually fear dressed up as love.
And when love of country starts crowding out love of God and neighbor, y’know what that is? It’s idolatry.
So What Do We Do With All This Love?
Here’s what I’ve come to believe. Love of country is a real gift. But it’s meant to go somewhere. It’s meant to become love of neighbor, and not only the neighbor who shares our flag.
Think about the exiles in Babylon. These were people who loved their homeland fiercely. They ached for Jerusalem. They hung up their harps and wept when someone asked them to sing a song of home. They never stopped longing to return. And yet, through Jeremiah, God told them to “seek the shalom of the city where I have sent you” (Jeremiah 29:7). Seek the flourishing of Babylon. The enemy. The very empire that had dragged them from home.
Notice what God does not ask. He doesn’t ask them to stop loving Jerusalem. He doesn’t ask them to trade one loyalty for another. He asks them to love their own nation and work for the flourishing of another one at the same time.
Here’s the difference, exactly. Patriotism can love its own country while genuinely seeking the good of people everywhere, even people who feel like rivals. Nationalism can’t. It simply doesn’t have the room. Its love only ever points inward, so anyone outside its borders becomes a rival to beat rather than a neighbor to bless. And here God plants that wider love right in the middle of a people who had every reason to hate the country they were living in.
So this is what it means to pray for our country. Not “God, make us number one.” Rather, “God, let this place, and everyone in it, flourish,” and, “let the nations beyond our borders flourish too.” That’s the prayer of a patriot who loves like Jesus.
Listen, that prayer has hands and feet. It prays for those in authority and holds them accountable. It insists that a good government “cares for the well-being of all its citizens,” with, as Mouw says, “special attention to the needy.” It’s honest about our nation’s sins instead of pretending we don’t have any.
And it never forgets where our deepest loyalty lies. Paul told a very proud Roman city, “our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). That doesn’t shrink our love for home. It just keeps it in the right order.
The fireworks are over now. The parades are done. The BBQs have been cleaned. And that’s exactly when the real work begins.
So let me ask you something. Now that the celebrating is done, whose flourishing are you actually seeking? Just the people who look like you, vote like you, pray like you? Or also the stranger, the immigrant, the neighbor across the street and across the border?
Seek their shalom. Love your country by loving them. That’s the most patriotic thing a follower of Jesus can do.
