After worship on a recent Sunday morning in June, a gentleman approached me and noted the absence of an American flag in Anderson Auditorium. Didn’t there used to be one? What happened to it?
The questions raised are worthy of a deeper dive. Once upon a time, the presence of American flags in U.S. sanctuaries was trending upward. The practice increased during the middle part of the 20th century following two world wars as recognition of the sacrifice of national service. Over time, many Presbyterians came to see the flag as an expression of thanksgiving for the blessings of liberty and freedom – including the religious freedom to worship openly and pursue ministry.
Use of the flag in the sanctuary, however, was never universal, and the practice was reconsidered by many during the Vietnam era, as warnings increased that civil regard for our country must not rival our devotion to Christ.
From a Reformed perspective, theological questions about whether the display of a flag – of any nationality – belongs in a church sanctuary tilt heavily toward a strong “no.” For starters, it’s pointed out, Presbyterians believe that the church transcends any one nation to encompass, as Revelation says, “every tribe and language and people and nation.”
Second, worship is ordered around the conviction that God alone is worthy of our highest allegiance and that the church belongs to Jesus Christ alone. Accordingly, a church sanctuary is a space set apart, where every symbol, word, and action should direct our attention to God’s rule rather than to any earthly authority. The stricter the interpretation of Reformed theology, the more likely one is to conclude that national symbols like the flag, however meaningful, are best reserved for civic settings rather than the worshiping life of the church.
To some, the distinction may seem abstract and unnecessary, but it matters. History repeatedly reminds us that when the church blurs the line between Christian identity and national identity, we blur the character of God’s purposes and significance. The Reformed tradition has long recognized this danger, insisting that the church must retain sufficient theological distance from earthly power, to speak words of gratitude when it is deserved, and words of prophetic challenge otherwise.
For these reasons, there is no American flag in Anderson Auditorium during the conference center’s Summer Worship Series.
Truth is, though, there are rare instances when an American flag in a worship service can prompt in me a reflexive, even emotional appreciation.
Each Memorial Day weekend, for example, Anderson Auditorium is the setting for a “Kirkin’ of the Tartan” service hosted by the Montreat Scottish Society. In the order of worship, military veterans are honored and remembered. A necrology is read of members of our community who have died during the previous year. Overall, the tone of the service is solemn and respectful.
An American flag is displayed throughout, and its presence has never bothered me. Instead, I’ve looked upon the flag in that worship service as an expression of thanksgiving rather than as an argument that America is sacred. Also, in the preaching and liturgy I find the intention and effort to remind us that patriotism remains subordinate to our loyalty to Christ. Yes, history matters, but context and tone matter, too.
I recognize that there are other dimensions to the “flag question” and that faithful Christians reach different conclusions. Some hold those convictions deeply; for others, it’s not worth an argument. For all of us, however, the conversation is critical.
My conversation partner has been my father. On a shelf in a corner of my family’s Montreat home sit two medals – a purple heart and an air medal with three oakleaf clusters – both commemorating the military service of an uncle I never knew. Webb DuBose was my father’s oldest brother, a U.S. Army pilot who was shot down and killed over Kavieng, New Ireland in the South Pacific in 1944. My dad is 97 years old. He can remember the day he learned of Webb’s death as if it happened last week.
Dad agrees without hesitation that, generally speaking, a sanctuary is no place for an American flag. And yet, like me, the flag on the stage at the Kirkin’ service does not perturb him. He makes a special effort to attend each year, and when members of the congregation with family connections to U.S. military service are recognized, he stands for his brother.
In that moment, I like to think that Dad is expressing both his love of country and his love for Webb. I like to think that he’s passing the experience of that love along to me. Above all, however, I feel from him the faith that Webb belongs, and has always belonged, not to country but to God.
In this era of increasing national, ethnic, and religious division, may that be the truth that shapes us all – not only in worship, but in every part of our lives.
Richard DuBose
President, Montreat Conference Center