By David G. Bonagura, Jr.
Recently I discovered All Creatures Great and Small, a British comedic drama set in the 1930s that narrates the experiences of a trio of veterinarians working in rural Yorkshire. In the last episode I watched, Great Britain declares war on Nazi Germany and recruitment begins. The characters, who remembered all too well the horrors of World War I, automatically resumed old practices: advising the younger ones on enlistment procedures and rationing food.
This last part caught my attention a lot. For the veterinarians and their families, Mrs. Hall baked Good Friday buns (hot cross buns) as she had done twenty years earlier, using a less than ideal substitute for sugar, which was being rationed. The result: a conspiratorial laugh at the poorly tasting sweets that were to come.
The United States practiced rationing for the last time during World War II. What would happen today if, for any serious reason, our political leaders asked us to ration? I think we all know it. We, citizens of the most prosperous nation the world has ever known, blessed with food and drink in quantities and quality that the “Greatest Generation” could not have imagined eighty years ago, would erupt in open rebellion.
Sacrifice? That is no longer a virtue. Personal fulfillment is the name of the contemporary game. And our incredible abundance of material goods, which has completely spoiled us, exists to serve this end. We only ask what our country can do for us; surely, we owe it nothing.
But it’s not just our country that we reject these days. Collectively, as Catholics, we largely do not sacrifice for God either. The Lenten fasting imposed by the Church has been reduced to a minimum of two days; self-imposed fasts—what we “offer”—usually consist of a single luxury item. We are also not very inclined to place a decent offering in the parish basket each week, and many flatly refuse to contribute to diocesan collections. Care for the poor, help for the sick, health care for retired priests and religious, formation for seminarians? No thanks, we tell ourselves; we know better where to direct our money.
“For God and country” was once a proud motto for Americans. We can find the phrase, sometimes in English and sometimes in Latin, inscribed in the cornerstone of churches and even public buildings. Its ubiquity implies a widespread acceptance of the need to sacrifice for these two great entities that are greater than us. We should serve them, and most believed before that it was worth serving them.
What is surprising today is not the widespread individualism that long ago replaced this service mentality. It is that the main institutions of God and Country—the Church and the State—have unwittingly contributed to our selfishness instead of calling us out of it.
Many Protestant denominations have abandoned the Ten Commandments for a substitute morality of “love is love.” In 1966, the U.S. bishops ended mandatory Friday abstinence in favor of a penance of each one’s choice (an exhortation that almost no one knows, but I digress).
Some holy days of obligation have been gradually eliminated or transferred. Most pastors pale at the suggestion of requiring Mass attendance for children seeking the sacraments. There seems to be a persistent fear that if too much is asked of the faithful, they won’t return. So they are largely left to do as they please.
As the influence of religion has diminished, the State has tried to fill the power vacuum. Now almost all aspects of human life are subordinated to it. After absorbing the functions of community and local governments, the State fans the flames of selfishness with laws that pit individuals against families and local institutions, as well as with programs, like health care and welfare benefits, that are administered directly from the government to individuals. From 2001 to 2006, the U.S. Army tried to harness the individualistic mentality with its “An Army of One” recruitment campaign.
Can Americans rediscover love for God and country along with the willingness to serve them above oneself? Without a public Christian presence and with every aspect of public life torn by political partisanship, a short-term resurrection is highly unlikely.
What is needed, ironically, are individuals—millions of them—who find a higher purpose than themselves and step forward to make things happen in their communities and churches.
The withdrawn woman whose new motherhood emboldens her to join the parents’ association. The new father who gives up his video games to coach his son’s teams. The estranged couple who start going to church when the children are born. The schoolchildren who do so much service work that they practice it as an ingrained habit throughout their lives. The pastor who is so on fire with faith that he inspires and teaches his parishioners to love Jesus Christ more deeply.
We pray that the passion of each of these examples inspires others to elevate God and country above themselves.
Multiple cultures in history have adopted a “for God and country” lifestyle. A Christian culture, shaped by faith in Jesus Christ, who gave his life in service to all, should be the model for this kind of life. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (Jn 15:13).
But the “I” and its insatiable desires, as every sincere believer knows, will not be mastered without struggle. And we must struggle. The degree to which the “I” can learn to serve rather than be served is an adequate measure of the health of our faith and our nation.
About the author
David G. Bonagura, Jr. is the author, most recently, of 100 Tough Questions for Catholics: Common Obstacles to Faith Today, and translator of Jerome’s Tears: Letters to Friends in Mourning. Adjunct professor at St. Joseph Seminary and Catholic International University, he serves as religion editor of The University Bookman, a book review magazine founded in 1960 by Russell Kirk. His personal website is here.