(RNS) — A faded cloth banner framed in a wood-paneled restaurant stopped me in my tracks recently. Against a deep navy background, the golden words “WELCOME HOME” arched over the proud Great Seal of the United States. The eagle clutched arrows and an olive branch. The motto, E pluribus unum — out of many, one — floated across a ribbon in its beak. It wasn’t a marketing sign or a Fourth of July decoration. It was an artifact of national gratitude. A real WWII-era banner that once hung in a train station or town hall, awaiting the arrival of soldiers coming home.
You can picture the scene: the clatter of boots on wooden platforms, tanks leaving war-torn cities, the embrace of families, and a nation attempting to stitch itself back together. The welcome was not only ceremonial — it was a moral recognition. A civic ritual that said, “You belong. Your service matters. We did this together.”
That banner is more than a nostalgic decoration. It’s a reminder, at a moment when we seem to be fraying at the seams, of what’s possible when Americans rally around shared values for the common good.
This June 14th marks two moments that should stir our national conscience: Flag Day, which commemorates the adoption of the Stars and Stripes, and the 250th birthday of the U.S. Army, which has defended that flag and the principles for which it stands since 1775. Together, they invite us to consider not just the symbols of our democracy, but its soul.
And we would do well to remember, especially in this year of high conflict and disruption, that patriotism is not possession. It’s participation.
In the months ahead, we will be tested — as we have already in the streets of Los Angeles, New York and Chicago — in school board meetings, on sidewalks, in houses of worship and, yes, around dinner tables. The stakes are high. The forces of division are loud. But the fabric of this country, like that banner, is more resilient than it looks.
President Harry Truman once said: “America was not built on fear. America was built on courage, on imagination and an unbeatable determination to do the job at hand.” The job at hand now is less visible than a war overseas against fascism and authoritarianism, but no less critical: to hold fast to neighborliness, to empathy, to that deep-rooted American belief that our diversity is not a liability, but our strength.
We live in a moment when “welcome” itself has become a contested word. Whether we are talking about immigrants and asylum-seekers, about political dissenters, about neighbors who pray differently, love differently or vote differently, we must resist the impulse to retreat into suspicion and tribalism. A “welcome home” that only applies to some is not worthy of the republic we claim to cherish.
As we head into our semi-quincentennial year next summer, when we celebrate America’s 250th birthday, we would do well as a nation to review and remind ourselves of the first principles upon which the nation was founded and for which the U.S. Army was constituted to defend — first freedoms like religion, speech, assembly, petition and the press. We have an invitation to remember and put back together again what truly makes America great — the ability to build a home together, neighbor to neighbor, welcoming even the strangers in our midst.
We need a new kind of civic homecoming. One where we greet each other not with fear or fury, but with humility, humor and a recognition that we’re all still learning how to live together. One where we teach our kids that decency is not weakness, that compromise is not betrayal and that being American means caring not just about your freedom, but about ours.
Ronald Reagan, in his farewell address, reminded us that America is “a shining city upon a hill,” but he warned that “freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction.” If we want to be worthy of that light, we must tend it — not with slogans or cynicism, but with sacrifice, patience and courage.
So, here’s my plea this June: Let’s recommit to the work of being a people. Let’s raise a flag, sure — but also raise our expectations of ourselves and each other. Let’s find new ways to say “welcome” to those we don’t yet understand. Let’s remind our veterans, our neighbors and even our critics that there’s still a home for them in this great democratic experiment.
That WWII banner still speaks. And its voice is quiet but firm: Welcome Home. Now, let’s act like we mean it.
(Adam Nicholas Phillips is CEO of Interfaith America. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)
