As we prepare next year for milestone anniversaries of our country and archdiocese, the truth of our glory is subtle and powerful
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
In Ephesians 2, St. Paul refers to Jesus as the “capstone” of our faith.
Or … maybe he refers to Jesus as the “cornerstone” of our faith.
The Greek term is unclear. Translators and interpreters aren’t sure which of those two St. Paul means, and a reasonable case can be made for either.
But both can be helpful ways to think of Jesus!
Architecturally, the cornerstone is where a building starts. Everything is measured from it. Christ certainly functions that way in the Church and for our faith.
A capstone, by contrast, is the last piece placed in an arch. Before the capstone is placed, the arch doesn’t hold together; it would collapse! After the capstone is placed, all the parts are fitted together; the arch can bear its own weight. Christ certainly plays that role in the Church and in our faith, too!
I bring this up partly because it’s interesting, but also because one year from now we’ll celebrate the 200th anniversary of the Archdiocese of St. Louis and the 250th anniversary of our country. How we think of the cornerstone and capstone of faith shapes how we live as Christians. Likewise, how we think of the cornerstone and capstone of our national identity shapes how we live as Americans.
We often tell the story of our country in terms of independence. We treat independence as the cornerstone and capstone of what it means to be America and to be American. And that’s certainly part of our story! But it’s not the whole story.
In the founding of our nation, we would never have defeated Great Britain unless we had asked for and obtained the help of France. Asking for help and depending on others is a cornerstone of our history and identity, too.
In the Westward expansion of the nation — which was important to the unfolding of our sense of national identity — the Lewis and Clark expedition played a foundational role. That expedition was certainly full of ingenuity and courage. But it also wouldn’t have succeeded if the Corps of Discovery had not been welcomed by the Mandan and Hidatsa peoples during the first over-wintering in present-day Bismarck. We were never a people who succeeded simply by muscling through hardship; we have always also been a people who were welcomed and helped by others.
I am no fan of the revisionist history project which says that there are no glories in our national story. I think there are glories! But I also think those glories have deeper, more subtle contours than we sometimes admit. Learning those deeper contours helps us to tell our story better. Telling our story better helps us to live our national identity better.
As we think about celebrating our 200th anniversary as a diocese, we know we have to tell our story with both humility and conviction. Why humility? Because we haven’t lived our faith perfectly and will continue to live it imperfectly. Why conviction? Because the Gospel we have shared and will continue to share offers people the greatest gift: eternal life.
As we celebrate July 4th this year and look forward to celebrating the 250th anniversary of the nation next year, let’s ponder a similar lesson. There is a glory to America. And that glory is meant to be a gift to the whole world! But the full truth of that glory is at once more subtle and more powerful than the muscular, individual achievement of independence.
