Independence Day (transferred)

Sermon by Father Alistair So-Schoos

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, AND OF THE SON, AND OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. AMEN.

On September 11, 2012, at a naturalization ceremony held at the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services office in Baltimore, I stood in a room with dozens of other immigrants from around the world. Family, friends, and parishioners had gathered to witness the occasion. After eighteen years of studying, working, building a life, and serving in ministry in this country, I raised my right hand and took the Oath of Allegiance. At that moment, I officially became a citizen of the United States of America.

For me, it was the fulfillment of a long journey that had begun years earlier in Hong Kong during the final years of British rule. Like many immigrants, I came here with hopes and dreams. Over time, America became not simply the place where I lived, but my home.

I still remember the emotions of that day. There was joy. There was gratitude. There was relief. There was also a profound sense of belonging. I was no longer merely a resident. I had become a citizen—one who shared not only in the rights and privileges of this nation, but also in its responsibilities.

The oath itself is remarkably solemn. In part it says:

“I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty… that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America… and that I take this obligation freely… so help me God.”

If you were born in this country, you have probably never had to say those words aloud. They were, in a sense, assumed. But for those of us who become citizens by choice, the oath reminds us that citizenship is not merely about possessing a passport. It is about accepting responsibilities. It is about pledging ourselves to the common good.

Now, on Independence Day weekend, it is worth remembering that citizenship carries duties as well as rights. Our nation depends not only on the freedoms guaranteed by its Constitution, but also on citizens who seek justice, obey the law, care for their neighbors, participate in civic life, and contribute to the welfare of society.

At this point, however, some Christians may wonder what any of this has to do with the Church.

It is a fair question.

The Episcopal Church does not subscribe to Christian nationalism. We do not confuse the Kingdom of God with the United States of America or with any earthly nation. We do not imagine that God has entered into a unique covenant with America comparable to the covenant he made with Israel in the Old Testament. Nor do we place the Cross beneath any national flag.

Yet neither do we imagine that our faith requires us to withdraw from civic life. Christians are not called to abandon society. We are called to serve within it.

As our Lord himself prayed, we are in the world, though not of the world.

The New Testament consistently teaches that Christians are to be faithful citizens. We pray for those in authority. We seek the welfare of our communities. We honor lawful government. We pursue justice, mercy, and peace. Good citizenship is one expression of our love for our neighbors.

But our earthly citizenship is never our highest identity.

The writer to the Hebrews reminds us this morning that Abraham “set out, not knowing where he was going.” He lived as “a stranger and foreigner on the earth.” Why? Because “he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.”

Those words remind us that every Christian lives with dual citizenship.

We belong to our nation.

But we also belong to the Kingdom of Heaven.

One citizenship is temporary.

The other is eternal.

One began with our birth—or perhaps, as in my case, with an oath taken in a government office.

The other began at the font, when through Holy Baptism we were incorporated into Christ’s Body, the Church.

There, too, promises were made.

Perhaps that is one of the interesting parallels.

When I became an American citizen, I made solemn promises.

When we are baptized—or when sponsors make those promises on our behalf—we renounce evil. We renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness. We renounce sinful desires that draw us from the love of God. We turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as Lord and Savior.

Every time we renew the Baptismal Covenant, we reaffirm those promises. We promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers. We promise to persevere in resisting evil. We promise to proclaim Christ by word and example. We promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons and to strive for justice and peace while respecting the dignity of every human being.

Those are not casual promises.

They are the oath of Christian citizenship.

And unlike any earthly citizenship, this one embraces people from every nation, tribe, language, and people. Around this altar, national borders disappear. All who come forth in faith are brothers and sisters in Christ.

The Church is the one society where our deepest unity is not found in nationality but in baptism.

That truth also shapes how we hear today’s Gospel.

Jesus says,

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

Those are difficult words.

In every generation there are people with whom we profoundly disagree. Our public life often seems defined by division, suspicion, and hostility. Political opponents are treated as enemies. Social media rewards outrage. We increasingly assume the worst about those who think differently from ourselves.

Jesus calls us to something far more demanding.

He does not tell us to abandon our convictions.

He does not tell us that evil should be ignored or injustice tolerated.

But he insists that even those with whom we disagree remain persons made in the image of God.

To love one’s enemies does not mean approving of everything they do. It means refusing to let hatred govern our hearts. It means praying for them. It means seeking reconciliation where possible. It means remembering that Christ died for them as surely as he died for us.

Our Lord grounds this command in the very character of God himself.

“For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.”

God’s generosity extends even to those who reject him.

If we are to be children of our heavenly Father, then our lives must reflect that same generosity of spirit.

The lesson from Deuteronomy points in the same direction.

“The Lord your God… is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

They remind us that hospitality is not merely a social virtue; it is a divine command. God’s people are to remember what it means to be strangers and therefore to welcome the stranger among them. Whatever our views on public policy or immigration law—and faithful Christians may disagree about such matters—we are never permitted to forget the dignity of the human person.

The God who loves the stranger calls his people to do likewise.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts Christians can offer our nation.

Not simply louder opinions.

Not greater political victories.

But communities shaped by charity, humility, forgiveness, hospitality, and truth.

Communities where enemies are prayed for.

Communities where strangers are welcomed.

Communities where justice and mercy meet.

Communities that remind the world that our hope does not finally rest in governments, elections, economies, or military strength, important though all those things may be.

Our hope rests in Jesus Christ.

This weekend we rightly give thanks for the freedoms we enjoy as Americans. We pray for our nation. We give thanks for those who have sacrificed to preserve those freedoms. We pray for our elected leaders, for those who serve in our armed forces, for first responders, judges, teachers, and all who labor for the common good.

But we do so knowing that every earthly nation, however great, belongs to history.

The Kingdom of God alone endures forever.

As Christians, we are called to be faithful citizens of both realms: responsible citizens of our country and faithful citizens of heaven. The first calls us to serve our nation with integrity. The second teaches us how to do so—with humility, with charity, with justice, with mercy, and above all with the self-giving love revealed in Jesus Christ.

May God continue to bless the United States of America.

And may he make us worthy citizens of that better country, the heavenly one, whose architect and builder is God.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

July 5, 2026