Hello, friend.
Happy Fourth of July!
Today marks 250 years since the adoption of the Declaration of Independence and the founding of our beautiful nation, and I have been pondering the words of that sacred document all morning.
I was ten years old when The Patriot was released in 2000. It became one of my favorite movies then and has remained one throughout the years.
There are plenty of memorable and quotable moments in that film, but the one that has stayed with me most was delivered by Lisa Brenner, who portrayed Anne Howard.
In the scene, she stands and challenges the men gathered inside the church to take up arms and defend the liberties they so passionately claim to believe in.
“Half the men in this church, including you, Father…and you, Reverend, are as ardent patriots as I.
Will you now, when you are needed most, stop at only words? Is that the sort of men you are?
I ask only that you act upon the beliefs of which you have so strongly spoken, and in which you so strongly believe.”
Ardent.
I have never been one to delve too deeply into etymology or lexicology. It is all semantics to me.
Terrible joke, I know.
But there is something about the way she speaks that word, and about the choice of that particular word, that gives the entire passage a deeper and more moving weight. Ardent describes someone who possesses or expresses strong enthusiasm, intense feeling, passion, devotion, and zeal. It implies eager dedication to a person, a cause, or an ideal.
“As ardent patriots as I.” That is beautiful.
Not merely patriotic, but ardent.
The men and women who helped found this country were not perfect people. They were flawed, divided, stubborn, and often contradictory. But many of them were ardent in their belief that liberty was worth risking everything for.
Freedom was only a word. Liberty was only a word. Independence was only a word. But through belief, sacrifice, and action, those words became our reality.
They became our home.
A seed was planted in the hearts of those who came before us. Words watered that seed, stirred a movement, and helped bring a nation into being.
Words declared an intention. Action gave that declaration permanence.
In Congress, July 4, 1776
“The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them…
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”
These were not decorative or superfluous words.
They announced a belief and a willingness to suffer the consequences of declaring it.
To the British Crown, signing that document was an act of treason. Had the Revolution failed, the names we now honor as founders might instead have been remembered as rebels, imprisoned or executed for their defiance of the king.
Their names beneath those words could have cost them their lives.
Another movie my wife and I love is National Treasure.
At one point, Benjamin Gates, played by Nicolas Cage, reads another passage from the Declaration:
“But when a long train of abuses and usurpations…evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government.”
Then he says:
“People don’t talk that way anymore.”
Most of us do not.
Very few of us take the time.
Words are peculiar things, after all.
We have so many from which to choose, and yet we often reach for the quickest or most familiar ones to express the things that matter most.
I do not necessarily believe we should always choose the most difficult word. Some of the most powerful words ever written are remarkably simple.
“All men are created equal.”
“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
“For God so loved the world…”
There is nothing overly complicated about them.
Their power comes from their precision.
Their clarity.
Their weight.
Their intention.
Perhaps the goal should not be to choose the most impressive words, but the truest ones.
The words that most honestly express the passion, conviction, emotion, and devotion we hold so dear.
Two hundred and fifty years later, I sit here with the liberty to write words of my own.
I have the freedom to place them in an order that might capture someone’s attention and provoke them to think, dream, wander, remember, or perhaps feel the first spark of passion for a cause—or the courage to question one.
Most of my chosen words have not carried the depth or consequence of those selected to tell a tyrannical king, in essence:
It’s not me.
It’s you.
I do not risk facing death for speaking out for or against any particular matter.
That is a luxury bought and paid for by the courage and sacrifice of those who laid down their lives for this great nation.
So today, of all days, I find myself reflecting upon those words.
Words carefully considered.
Words weighed, measured, and chosen to stand the test of time.
We are a young country with a remarkable amount of history behind us.
Beautiful.
Flawed.
Persevering.
A country for which so many before us laid down their lives—and for which many continue to serve and sacrifice.
We honor them not only with ceremony, salutes, and remembrance, but by striving to be worthy of what their sacrifice preserved.
Freedom is never merely inherited.
It must be respected, protected, and carried forward.
We have a responsibility to tend to that freedom.
We are a country over which those broad stripes and bright stars still wave.
And perhaps no performance captures the complicated relationship between the flag and the people living beneath it better than Robin Williams portraying the American flag.
To me, it was not merely irreverent comedy.
At its core, it was deeply emotional.
In his unmistakable style, and in only four minutes and some change, he gave the flag a voice and a personality while recalling the history it had witnessed.
He spoke as though the flag itself had seen the whole American story.
It had flown over battlefields and celebrations.
It had been raised in victory and lowered in grief.
It had watched generations argue, sacrifice, protest, serve, mourn, and begin again.
The flag had seen some of our finest moments and some of our worst.
It had been torn, burned, lowered in mourning, and raised again.
Yet it continued to wave.
Political division has always moved through this country in seasons, though some seasons seem to last longer than others.
I believe the message at the heart of his performance was this:
The flag is a symbol.
An important symbol.
A powerful symbol.
A symbol made sacred by the ideals it represents, the sacrifices made beneath it, and the people entrusted with carrying forward the promises laid down by those who came before us.
But the flag cannot live those words for us, no matter how long it waves.
At the end of the day, it is We the People who make this country what it is.
Not merely through labels, speeches, or slogans.
But through belief.
Through sacrifice.
Through carefully chosen words and the courage to act upon them.
Anne Howard’s speech was about refusing to stop at words and finding the courage to act upon conviction.
The Declaration was not merely a collection of grievances arranged into eloquent sentences.
It was an act of defiance.
A statement of principle.
And a willingness to accept the cost of both.
Benjamin Gates was right.
People do not talk that way anymore.
But perhaps we still think that way.
Perhaps we still feel that way.
As Robin Williams said in closing:
“Hey, I’m just a flag, a symbol. But you’re the people. And if I may say so from here…long may you wave.”
Happy Independence Day, friends!
Honor those who served, those who fell, and those who continue to sacrifice for this great American nation.
But also, eat a hot dog, drink a beer, and enjoy your freedom.
We are not perfect by any means, but I love this country, ardently.