For my whole life, I have been taught Canadian pride. My grandparents emigrated here, with nothing but good to say about the nation which had fought in World War II, and which had freed them from Nazi oppression. They were proud of their adopted country. They worked hard to learn the language, to adapt and fit in. They named their born-in-Canada children English names, and Anglicised their Dutch names. They became citizens, and threw themselves into life in the new country.
I was born in that new country. I was told the stories about how the Canadian soldiers had freed Holland. I heard the stories of their move, their struggles to adapt to a new land, their pride in being Canadian. I felt that pride, too. And in so doing, I began to think of Canada as my home. I forgot that I am a stranger and a sojourner wherever I might be on this earth, in whatever land I might happen to live. I thought Canada was home.
No longer.
I forget no longer. I woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the realization that Canada is no longer home. Indeed, it has never been, but I had forgotten that. I had been lulled into a sense that it was home, and that I belonged here. I had forgotten that my citizenship is in heaven.
Oh, I continue to love this country. I cannot help but love it. Canada has been a great country, as far as earthly kingdoms go. I pray for Canada fervently. I pray for its rulers, and for its peace and prosperity, in the same way Jeremiah instructed the exiled Jews to pray for the peace of Babylon, and that Paul bade Timothy to pray for Caesar.
But that doesn't make it my home, any more than Babylon was home for the exiled Jews, or Rome for the persecuted Christians.
I will pay my taxes, as Jesus told his disciples to render to Caesar what belonged to Caesar.
But I cannot feel at home here any more than the Jews felt at home under the rule of Herod and Rome.
I will obey the laws of Canada, and submit to the authority of its leaders, as Paul instructed the Romans to do, so long as those laws do not go against the laws of God.
But I will not forget that Canada is not my home. Scripture tells me I am a stranger and an alien on this earth. Today, I feel that keenly.
I felt bitterly betrayed last night by a country that I thought was my home, but which is systematically attacking some of my most cherished beliefs: belief in protection of the unborn and the elderly; belief in freedom of religion for all, including evangelical Christians; belief in the sanctity of marriage, and the right to hold such a view without being labeled unCanadian and phobic; belief in the equality and rights of women; belief in standing and fighting wholeheartedly against staggering and demonic evil. I felt betrayed, but I was not. Canada has not betrayed me. Betrayal suggests I belong, and I never did. And the kingdom to which I do belong will never betray me. My King is still on the throne, still Faithful and True, and some day, the leaders of every nation on this earth to which I do not belong will bow their knees to my King and proclaim him as Lord.
My citizenship, whatever my passport may say, belongs to the Kingdom of God alone.
To my only leader, Jesus Christ, died and risen, will I pledge my allegiance. (He, too, stood stripped before a crowd, but he was not admired. He was broken, bloodied, despised, rejected. Oh, his precious shattered face.)
For him and for his kingdom, I will give my life, if that is what is required.
His laws before all else I will uphold, even when that puts me in conflict with the leaders and the people of this land.
On him I will fix my eyes and I will remember:
This country is not my home. I am not home until I am home with him.
Oh, Jesus, come.
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