I’ll start by saying the same thing I say every year when I return from vacation. I love vacations, but it’s good to be home, even if only to sleep in my own bed.

As you may already know, the Thoma family has been in Florida for the last two weeks. Every year, we rent a home just a little southwest of Orlando. For the most part, we go to the same place every year. And even though we’re about 15 miles from everything “Disney,” we never go to the parks. Perhaps we might, if Disney could only return to what it once was before it bought into the viral delusion. There’s nothing creepier than being greeted at a theme park’s entrance by a bearded Cinderella.

We also don’t do a lot of sightseeing, either. The main point of our getaway is to do just that. To get away. And so, we swim, eat, play games, and shop. That’s pretty much it. Well, add to the list that we spend a day hunting for shark teeth in the Gulf.

We were in Florida on July 4th. With this year being America’s 250th birthday, we decided that rather than going to a local event, we wanted to see a fireworks display worth remembering. Jen looked online and found a list of the must-see opportunities. We chose the display at SeaWorld, and it was by no means disappointing.

For starters, the amphitheater where we planted ourselves was packed. People were shoulder to shoulder, filling every available space. I’m no fan of crowds, especially sweaty ones. However, I’ll admit it was nice to see so many wearing their patriotism so openly. For once, in the strange way a crowd can become one from many—truly “E pluribus unum”—everyone seemed caught up in the same spirit of gratitude and celebration for this great country.

The last time I experienced that kind of national unity was just after the events of September 11. Except then, it wasn’t celebratory. It was something else entirely.

Anyway, SeaWorld’s fireworks display was extraordinary. The sky lit up. The music swelled. Everyone cheered.

I should mention that before the fireworks began, a DJ orchestrated a dance party on the stage at the front. The rest of us—the ones who preferred to stay and protect our seats for the forthcoming fireworks—we all sang along to the familiar tunes. It’s funny how you know the Michiganders in the crowd when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” plays. My daughters were sure to play their part. Of course, being from Illinois, when the line about being born and raised in South Detroit lands, I give my wife a wink before the very next line, which is one that reminds everyone singing he wanted on the next midnight train to anywhere but Michigan.

But then came something I absolutely did not expect.

Near the end of the fireworks, there was an incredibly moving rendition of “God Bless America.” It is no understatement to say I was shocked to hear it. America knows the song. But it seems she’s been more interested in keeping everything the song delivers tucked away quietly.

But there it was. And no one was looking around at others concerned. No one was apologizing for it. People took off their hats. I certainly removed mine. And I sang, even if only quietly. I’m pretty sure the man sitting on the stairs beside me with his daughter and her light-up hat was singing, too.

I don’t know the artist who sang that particular version—a female country singer, I think—but whoever she was, she nearly brought me to tears. My lip certainly quivered a few times.

I’m guessing this happened because in the current climate of our country, where almost anything openly patriotic, let alone Christian, is treated as divisive—and often embarrassing—the familiar song was being offered so openly and received so warmly.

I did see a few folks get up and leave. But for the most part, no one seemed offended. No one actually melted under the weight of the words “God” or “America.” In fact, most appeared moved by them.

But here’s something that came to mind the very next morning while driving my family to church.

It sure seems as though America still knows how to call on God when the fireworks are overhead. But then it seems she readily forgets how to kneel before Him when the show is over.

As I said, this thought came to me the next morning—Sunday—while driving to church. We traveled there using the same roads that had been congested almost every day of our vacation so far. Except that morning, they were, for the most part, bare.

I should add that the church lots we passed on the way, at least ten, told the same story. They were relatively deserted. The church we attended was reasonably attended, and I was grateful for that. Still, the difference between Saturday night’s patriotic celebration and Sunday morning was incredibly hard to miss.

Just the night before, thousands stood together while “God Bless America” filled the air. The next morning, many could not find their way to the God they had just asked to bless and preserve them into the future.

I was nearly moved to tears the night before. I felt the same sensation on Sunday morning, but for an altogether different reason.

Just so you know, I’m not sharing this to bring you down from any patriotic high you may be experiencing because of the gravity of this year’s Fourth of July celebration. But I should at least be honest and admit it’s written from a place of grief.

I learned that most Americans are likely still okay with God. Just not all of Him. Sunday morning reminded me that they prefer He keep to the anthem. I suppose it’s okay for most when He stops by to bless the nation, protect the troops, or sanctify a national holiday. I suppose folks are fine with Him giving moral weight to the things we already love.

I suppose what I mean is this.

Be sure to celebrate, but as you do, keep in mind that God is not a patriotic accessory. He’s far more than a line in the Pledge of Allegiance or “God Bless America.” He’s not limited to your mood at the end of a moving fireworks show.

I had another thought while driving.

If we are prepared to sing “God Bless America,” then we should also be prepared for the harder roads God often uses to deliver those blessings. We should be ready for Him to knock us to our knees. And when He does, we should be ready to repent.

I think that’s the part most prefer to skip.

We want God to stand respectfully behind the American flag and the freedoms it symbolizes, but we don’t want Him standing there in judgment over our pitifully self-centered hearts. We want God to bless us even as we somehow twist the word “liberty” to mean we are free to murder unborn babies. We want his nod of acceptance while we do the same with “the pursuit of happiness,” using it to justify confusing His natural law.

In the end, too many simply want Him to smile and wave at us from a distance—a distance we certify when we avoid time in worship with Him.

All of that said, the God who hears a nation singing “God Bless America” is also the God who looks to those seeking faithfulness to Him when there is no crowd, no spectacle, no music swelling over fireworks, and no patriotic feeling to carry the fast-fleeting moment.

Sunday, July 5th, told me a truth that Saturday night tried to hide.

Again, I was glad “God Bless America” was sung. I was glad people joined in. I was glad that a massive, and typically left-leaning organization like SeaWorld, actually inserted God into the evening rather than erasing Him. Whether or not they did it on purpose, it was a moment for Americans to remember, even imperfectly, that our blessings do not come from ourselves. They don’t even come from the brilliance of our Founding Fathers. They come from God.

People who know that—and actually believe it by faith—are the ones who know that the truest way to sing “God Bless America” on Saturday night is to do so planning to be with Him in His house on Sunday morning.

Everyone else is not really asking God to bless America. He’s just one more guest they’ve invited to the fireworks display. And like all the other invited guests, they expect Him to leave when it’s over.