Red and white

Red and white. Flags flying on porches. Fireworks crackling across prairie skies.

Canada Day evokes complex emotions these days. Some raise their flags with quiet gratitude, thankful for a country that—despite its flaws—offered them safety, dignity, and peace after fleeing war or oppression. Others stay home, choosing not to celebrate a nation still reckoning with its history: the pain of residential schools, the weight of colonialism, the injustices that still linger. And then there are voices—like the one I came across on Facebook—once proudly Canadian, now calling for Alberta to separate.

It’s easy to understand the impulse. We live in fractured times. Trust in systems is crumbling. Some feel ignored or betrayed. The temptation to break away, to go it alone, can masquerade as strength. But I want to offer another word. A gospel word.

Unity.

Not forced agreement. Not erasure of difference. But the kind of unity Jesus prayed for in John 17: “That they may all be one.” Not sameness, but shared purpose. Shared love. Shared hope.

A century ago, in the heat of a Toronto summer, more than 8,000 people gathered—not for hockey, but for hope. The United Church of Canada was born from a bold act of unity, as Methodist, Congregationalist, and many Presbyterian churches came together not because it was easy, but because they believed we are stronger together.

That unity was rooted in a theology called the Social Gospel—faith not just for Sunday mornings, but for everyday life. It meant fair wages, decent housing, education, healthcare—because the gospel, they believed, should be lived out in real time, in real communities.

In the harshness of the Depression and the rise of global fascism, the church didn’t retreat—it stepped forward. Basements became food banks, pulpits became platforms for justice, and Canadian ministers looked to thinkers like Barth and Bonhoeffer, who reminded us: faith should never serve empire—it must challenge it.

That spirit of unity, courage, and compassion is still calling to us. And it still matters.

That legacy still calls to us.

So when I hear calls for separation—for dividing what has been stitched together in struggle and grace, I feel a deep ache. Because unity is not weakness; it is witness.

Canada is not perfect. And yet—I love this country. Not blindly, but boldly. Because I’ve seen the good it can be, I’ve watched newcomers find home here. I’ve seen communities rally in crisis. I’ve witnessed compassion shape policies, and churches stand with the most vulnerable. We still have work to do. But that work is possible when we do it together.

A recent article reminded me: most Canadians are still proud of our country, but that pride now carries the weight of honesty. And maybe that’s the kind of pride that matters most. Not the loud kind, but the listening kind. Not the flag-waving kind, but the bridge-building kind.

Jesus didn’t say, “Be right.”
He said, “Be one… so that the world may believe.”

I am proud to be Canadian, not in nostalgia, but in faith.
Faith that love is still stronger than fear.
Faith that unity still matters.
Faith that we are still becoming.

Amen.

 

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