Crossing borders

In holiday visits to our children in Germany and eastern Canada (via the USA) this summer, my husband I crossed national borders six times.

There’s something unnerving about a border crossing, no matter how little you have to fear. Borders mean barriers, entry restrictions, line-ups, officials in uniform who have the authority (for good cause or for whim) to know exactly what you’re doing, where you’re going, why and for how long, and what you’ve packed in your suitcases. Real or imagined, there’s an aura of danger.

When you stop and think about it, though, borders are almost comically artificial. We crossed at Pembina (Man.) one beautiful August morning and immediately enjoyed in North Dakota the same white cumulus clouds and sunshine, the same plains landscape stretched out before us, that we had experienced in Manitoba moments before. We too were exactly the same people.

And yet, on one side lay “our home and native land” where we were citizens, on the other, a place where we were definitely not citizens.

Borders may be arbitrary, but they enclose histories and experiences and languages that have deeply shaped the people within them. They create differences, even hostility, between people.

I was raised in a place called Canada. Without much conscious thought, I gained an affinity for our culture and history. I grew proud – legitimately I think – of our freedoms, our government structures, our national character. Visiting Expo ’67 in Montreal gave me a huge dose of Canada-love, and subsequent national victories, whether in athletics, literature or other endeavours, continue to nurture it.

But I have grown increasingly aware that nationalism – or patriotism, if you like – is not something I may indulge indiscriminately, or be smug or tight-fisted about. As a Christian, I’ve chosen another citizenship.

And just because my Kingdom-of-God citizenship is spiritual and invisible, doesn’t mean it’s not real or won’t compete with my Canadian one.

The Christian Leader, our MB counterpart magazine in the U.S., carried a powerful article by Martin Lehman in the June 2003 issue entitled, “The Flag and the Cross”. Lehman described the incompatibilities between what is represented by the flag and the cross, and how people often try to link the two or make them serve each other.

“The flag puts national interests first; the cross seeks first the kingdom of God. The flag establishes and preserves boundaries; the cross knows no boundaries,” Lehman wrote. “I pledge allegiance to the cross.”

Great words, we may think, especially for American Christians, who in their generally more effusive patriotism and unmatched global strength seem to get confused about these distinctions sometimes.

But they are no less applicable to Canadian Christians.

Choosing the cross of Christ as our primary loyalty means embracing “The earth is the Lord’s” and “God so loved the world” as higher values than personal patriotism or culture.

It means, I think, refusing to become anti-American or anti-any other person, even if we profoundly disagree with the actions of leaders or certain political philosophies.

It means that while we live out our church mission within a national context, we do so thoughtfully. We seek to understand that context and to remember that our identities as Christian and Canadian are not the same.

It means crossing borders to foster the wider Kingdom community that gathers under the Lordship of the risen Christ.

Perhaps it is unfortunate that Mennonite Brethren re-configured along national lines just before the 9-11 juncture in world events. Then again, it may be that the very awareness of our separate borders will galvanize us to humility and fresh efforts to connect across them. Let’s support, with enthusiasm, global partnerships like the International Committee of Mennonite Brethren (ICOMB), comprised of 17 national MB conferences.

A further example is participation in the Mennonite World Conference, meeting as I write this. (Editor Susan Brandt is attending and the following issue will carry reports.)

It’s not easy to surrender what we feel so deeply. But Kingdom citizenship demands that we tug on earthly loyalties settled in the bone and lift them to the skin. When necessary, we loosen them even further. For Christians, national citizenship is like a garment, which may be worn in our local work but is laid aside for the sake of washing the feet of our brothers and sisters in other places.