In the wake of the September 11 events, I began to wonder about my identity as an American. How it feels. How it is expressed. As the nation reeled in shock and grief, I found it difficult to explain, even to myself, my conflicted feelings of anguish and anger on the one hand, and my desire for understanding and reconciliation on the other.

Might it be possible, I asked myself, to join other Americans in expressions of solidarity in this case – even using the flag to symbolize my sense of grief and loss, to express compassion and care? Not to do so seemed to concede the symbol of the flag to those who advocate violence and bigotry. In these circumstances, my aversion to this national symbol feels like a lost opportunity, and perhaps even a failure of responsibility.

My family has lived in this country for many generations. I anticipate that my children and descendants will continue to live here. I don’t want them to be fully assimilated into the values of this culture. I don’t want them to find their primary identity in being American. I want them to feel like citizens of the world. But there are values here that I hope they continue to affirm – freedom of conscience, separation of church and state, the rule of law and the efficiency of representational government.

These are not exclusively American values, nor are they particularly “biblical.” But they have been realized in this country, I think, in a unique way; a way that should be affirmed; a way from which I and generations of my family have benefited; a way which millions of people around the world envy; a way that could and should be guaranteed to all people.

So, I put an American flag on my office door here at Goshen College. Actually it is a small picture of a flag. I realized there was a risk in using this symbol. Perhaps it is irredeemable for Anabaptist-Mennonite Christians. But before I was willing to concede that, I thought it was incumbent upon me to try to use it in a different way.

After the bombing of Afghanistan started, I took the flag off my door. I did not want to be identified in any way with this violent retaliation. The incessant invoking of God’s blessing on the nation by political and religious leaders now seemed blasphemous. I was sure that the bombing would only perpetuate the cycle of violence in our world. No matter what its outcome in the short term, it will not restore our lost sense of security. It will not bring about peace based on justice. I hoped to wash my hands of the guilt of shed blood.

But recently I put it up again, reluctantly, along with a written explanation. I know that now more than ever the American flag symbolizes repression and military muscle to many people around the world. My display of the flag is intended partly as an admission that I share responsibility for that. I cannot hide my complicity behind an attitude of political detachment and moral superiority. My taxes help pay for it (even when I practice war tax resistance and the money is taken from me involuntarily).

I will display the flag, at least for now, and try to exhibit an alternative patriotism, one that combines love of country with love for all God’s children; one that admits and even celebrates the greatness of this land with a conscience pricked by the evils it does in my name; one informed by the Hebrew prophets who witnessed to their nation and its leaders, while expressing loving care and concern for the well-being of its people.

From Where Was God on September 11? edited by Donald B. Kraybill and Linda Gehman Peachey. Copyright 2002 by Herald Press, Scottdale, PA 15683. Used by permission.