By Jeff Long

Our house is sporting patriotic bunting for the first time in our lives this year. My wife and I have talked in the past about festooning our porch to announce Independence Day weekend, but somehow we've always forgotten to do it. This year, we didn't.

Bunting in our country is based on the American flag, a unique symbol unlike any other national emblem in the world.

The Union Jack of the United Kingdom is roughly akin visually to the Stars and Stripes, but ours stands out with its field of 50 stars and its 13 stripes. So many national flags seem to be tri-colored horizontal bars, one on top of the other.

Fourteen years ago, we were on a summer sabbatical in western Europe. We'd gotten in late to a bed-and-breakfast in the Cotswolds of England, Winston Churchill's home territory -- so late it was already quite dark.

When we arose the next morning and drew the drapes looking out into the B&B's courtyard, the proprietor -- in honor of his latest guests (us) -- had hoisted the U.S. flag.

Because of our traveling schedule, we'd not seen Betsy Ross' creation for three weeks. Viewing our country's symbol fluttering in the morning breeze literally brought tears to our eyes. We appreciated the flag so much more by its absence.

The comedian Chris Rock made a silly comedic film a few years back in which he poked fun at the political system ("Head of State," 2003).

In the movie, a xenophobic candidate for high public office, suspicious of all foreign nationals, ended all of his speeches by amending the politician's standard benediction: "God bless America." The candidate would say before walking off the stage: "God bless America -- and no place else."

That ultranationalistic phrase -- "and no place else" -- was absent from Irving Berlin's thinking when he wrote the tune "God Bless America" in 1918.

Berlin, a Jewish immigrant from Russia, changed his lyrics as the drumbeat to world war intensified over Europe in the late 1930s.

What is forgotten is that Berlin intended the words "God bless America" to be a solemn invocation to Almighty God. Note Berlin's revised lyrics, some of which usually are left out at ballparks during the seventh-inning stretch:

"While the storm clouds gather,

far across the sea,

let us swear allegiance,

to a land that's free.

Let us all be grateful,

for a land so fair,

as we raise our voices

in a common prayer:

God bless America,

land that I love,

stand beside her

and guide her

through the night

with the light from above.

From the mountains,

to the prairies,

to the oceans,

white with foam!

God bless America,

my home sweet home!"

Berlin was keenly aware of divine providence in his lyricism. In the congregation I am pleased to serve, we plan to sing a different hymn today. This one is thankful to God for our country, although the United States is not specifically named. The lyrics, penned in 1934, also recognize that we Americans are not the only people that God loves on this planet. To wit:

"This is my song,

O God of all the nations,

a song of peace

for lands afar and mine.

This is my home,

the country where my heart is,

here are my hopes, my dreams

my holy shrine.

But other hearts

In other lands are beating

with hopes and dreams

as true and high as mine."

In this period of our national life, when fear of the other is as high as I can recall, lyricism can help to reorient us.

Yes, we are grateful for America. Absolutely. But we are also part of the family of nations. As Chris Rock shouted back as a retort in his comedic motion picture: "God bless America -- and every place else!"