It was the first week of seventh grade and a janitor had wheeled in the metal flag stand early that morning. The stars and stripes hung there, motionless, caught in the stale air of Branson Middle School gymnasium. We stood on the green taped line, hands slapped to our chests.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag…”
Every morning, without fail, we said it. And when we were done, we prayed. Yes, prayed. To Jesus. Right there under the hum of the fluorescent lights and the squeak of rubber soles. Our teacher would bow her head, and we’d follow suit. For our parents, our nation, our school, our futures.
That was the air I breathed growing up. Patriotism and Christianity, braided together like rope.
Our Cold War fears wrapped around verses from Proverbs and speeches from Reagan. I watched the Miracle on Ice from a shag carpet floor, eyes wide, the TV flickering red, white, and blue. I saw our hostages come home from Iran. I studied the Bill of Rights in the same semester.
So I’ll be honest.
When I see that flag go up in flames, even on a shaky video in a news feed, something in me clenches. I want someone to stop it. To arrest the hand. To extinguish the fire. I want justice.
And yet…
I open my Bible to Romans 13, and I have to stop short. Because it’s not just about feelings. Not even just about patriotism. It’s about who holds authority. And more than that, who doesn’t.
Let every soul be subject to the higher powers. That’s how Paul opens.
Every soul. Why? Because there is no power except from God. The ones that exist were placed there, appointed. Not just elected. Appointed by Him.
That means Nero. That means Babylon. That means Cyrus, the pagan king. And yes, that means Washington D.C.
This is not the warm, sentimental version of God we like to hold up at parades. This is the sovereign King who raises up empires and brings them down like sandcastles in a tide. God ordains authority, but He does not hand over His throne.
The state is His servant. A delegated power. A tool.
So what does that mean when a president signs an executive order calling for jail time if someone burns a flag?
It means this: you must think deeper than your gut. You must pray before you post. You must check the badge of the state against the crown of Christ.
The flag is a symbol. A powerful one. I’ve stood at gravesites where it was folded and handed to weeping daughters. I’ve watched it raised at dawn in silence, only the rustle of nylon in the wind.
But it is not sacred. It is not eternal. It is not holy.
Symbols are important but they are not untouchable. That space belongs only to God.
The moment we confuse honoring a flag with defending the gospel, we have walked into the golden calf’s shadow. We have taken the cloth of a nation and sewn it over the throne of heaven.
And yet we’re surprised when the fire comes.
Here’s where Romans 13 turns the knife: the state has a sword. It bears it not in vain. It is a terror to the evildoer. It punishes crimes. It praises good conduct.
But it only governs actions, not hearts.
It can regulate taxes, speed limits, building codes. It can prosecute theft, fraud, assault. But it cannot dictate worship. It cannot command reverence. It cannot police the soul.
So when the state says, “Burning a flag is a crime,” we must ask: Is this about preserving order? Or enforcing allegiance?
That’s the razor’s edge. That’s the tension Romans 13 demands we feel.
You can punish arson. You can punish violence. But can you imprison a man for protest? For offense? The First Amendment says no. And Scripture reminds us, conscience belongs to God alone.
I understand the backlash. I do.
People are tired of seeing America mocked. Tired of the disrespect. Tired of the lies and the looting and the flippant rage. They want order. They want honor. They want the country they remember.
But nostalgia is not righteousness. And the gospel does not advance through handcuffs.
Jesus walked through a world that mocked every holy thing. He was spat on, flogged, and falsely accused. He stood silent before Pilate and let them hoist Him on a Roman cross, a foreign government’s death sentence.
And yet He never once demanded legal protection for His image, His message, or His flag. He came to save the souls of men, not to preserve national symbols.
Let me say it clearly: I do not condone the burning of the flag. I find it childish and vile. But I will not trade eternal truth for symbolic safety. I will not give Caesar the power to define what is sacred.
Only Christ does that.
If the state uses its sword to punish evil, we obey. If it uses its sword to silence dissent or demand spiritual allegiance, we stand like Shadrach in the furnace.
There are lines. And we must know where they are.
We obey the law. We pay our taxes. We live honorably. We stop at the red light. We tell the truth on our forms. Holiness touches everything, even the mundane. Even the civic.
But we do not worship symbols. We do not imprison conscience. We do not forget that our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, not a political resolution.
One day, every flag will fall. Every constitution will crumble. Every empire will be dust. But Christ will reign.
And in that kingdom, there will be no executive orders. No elections. No law books. Only the King, the scars in His hands, and the countless voices of the redeemed singing what no flag could ever contain:
Worthy is the Lamb.
So let the nation tremble and the headlines swell.
Let courts debate and tempers flare.
We will stay rooted.
We will preach the gospel, not the symbol.
And we will follow the King whose rule does not flicker with the wind.
We will carry the gospel, not the flag, into the fire.
And we will trust the King whose banner is love.
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