I pledge engagement

An alternative pledge to America on her 250th birthday

I’ve stopped saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Functionally, I think most of us stop saying it once we’re out of grade school. But at my job with the legislature, we’re asked to corporately recite it at the beginning of every floor session and sometimes in committee meetings. This means I’ve had to grapple with the question of whether I, as an adult, really do pledge my allegiance to a flag and the republic for which it stands.

National Geographic

As a starting point, allegiance implies at least a degree of obedience. I’m not comfortable pledging absolute obedience to a nation that wreaks, and has always wrought, so much harm domestically and in the world. In the Presbyterian Church, we confess: “We believe that, in obedience to Jesus Christ, its only head, the church is called to confess and to do all these things, even though the authorities and human laws might forbid them and punishment and suffering be the consequence. Jesus is Lord.” (Confession of Belhar, 10.9) It is to be expected that discipleship will run afoul of civil authorities; in such times, the church is to act in obedience to Christ.

That said, I’ll concede that our pledge includes some pretty gracious wiggle room. The republic “for which it stands” can arguably be an ideal rather than a reality. “With liberty and justice for all” is most certainly an ideal rather than a reality… one that has never been realized for many on this land. To pledge allegiance to an ideal does not necessarily require obedience to a government that fails to actualize it. That may be sufficient comfort for some.

What it boils down to for me, though, is that, as a Christian, my allegiance is to the Triune God alone. I simply can’t reconcile a pledge of allegiance to any nation state with that principle. As the Gospel of Matthew says, you can’t serve two masters. (6:24) While that pericope pertains explicitly to wealth, I think it’s also true of nation states, which inherently involve exclusionary borders, pursuit of power, and the (sometimes-only-attempted) monopoly on violence. You can’t serve both.

And so I don’t say it. I stand respectfully as others do, or, more often than not, am strategically late such that I miss the whole ordeal of opening ceremonies. But I don’t say it.

I feel convicted in this, but I’m left wondering what it is that I do owe my country. It’s easy enough to grow cynical and escapist, as I’ve written about often on this platform. See, e.g.:

Hurt and Hardened Hearts

I really can’t say I’ve felt too patriotic on this 250th anniversary, in light of that cynicism, recent events, and, well, history. I think a lot of people are feeling that way. And yet, I believe we are called to care about the world as it is and the structures that order it. I believe we are called to do this from the context in which we are embedded. I am routinely challenged by James Baldwin’s words: “I love America more than any other country in the world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”

So I wonder if what I might pledge to this country and the people in it is not allegiance but engagement. I can pledge to resist the cynicism, withdrawal, and nihilism to instead stay engaged in doing the work of building a better society, here in this country. I can criticize her in the interest of making her more just instead of simply to wallow in a self-indulgent despair.

To that end, I took a stab at reworking the pledge into something I can say in my heart as I stand alongside those reciting the Pledge. I offer this, pledge of engagement:

I pledge engagement, under the flag of the United States of America and with the Republic for which it stands: with the community comprising this nation; with an honest accounting of its history; with the institutions that order this society; and, in hope, with the principles to which this Republic aspires, of liberty and justice for all.