Our 250th Suprise Party
Dear Surprised Patriots:
Fifty years ago, the Omaha zoo celebrated the birth of a baby buffalo named Teenial in honor of the nation’s 200th birthday. (Get it? Bison---) It was the kind of playful joke that suggested a national ease with patriotism.
Patriotic imagery seemed to be everywhere. Burger King printed coupons with biographies of Revolutionary heroes. Marcel toilet paper came wrapped in red, white, and blue tissue decorated with pen-and-ink drawings of fife-and-drum soldiers in tricornered hats. There were bicentennial toothbrushes, coffee mugs, candles, dish soap, and even Turtle Wax in a commemorative patriotic tin. It was our nation’s birthday, and we were ready. It was also the 1970s, so kitsch was king.
The other night, while looking for something to watch on TV, I was struck by the complete absence of free patriotic programming. I expected to find a documentary or a stirring American drama without adding another streaming subscription or paying an extra $19.99 to rent a movie through a service I already pay for. Instead, I found nothing.
My friend and I finally settled on the director’s cut of the musical 1776 and clicked the rent for $3.99 button on Prime. As I watched the founders sing and dance their way toward independence, I realized that, along with our sense of humor, we have lost some freedom too. By freedom, I mean the things we once received without charge, like drinking fountains and television programming.
The Bicentennial happened because people planned for it years in advance. It takes time for a national burger chain to arrange the printing of commemorative jelly packets. If we learned nothing else from the fight for independence, we learned that revolutions do not simply happen. They require planning.
The Second Continental Congress met for fourteen months before ratifying the Declaration of Independence. It then took another five years to draft the Articles of Confederation, which were completed on March 1, 1781. The Constitution itself was not drafted until five years after that, following 116 days of deliberation.
Perhaps we are simply getting old. When I was a child, I knew exactly when my birthday would arrive, months in advance. In recent years, though, my birthdays have crept up on me with the stealth of a cat burglar.
Somewhere between 200 and 250 years old, our country seems to have lost track of the calendar. The nation’s 250th birthday appears to have caught everyone by surprise, so the parties were thrown together with the last-minute haste usually reserved for unexpected dinner guests. Somewhere in our channel surfing, we forgot to look at the calendar—and there we were, on the couch in our boxers, when the doorbell rang.
Still seeking life, liberty, and the pursuit of something to watch for free, I remain
With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor