Seeing Through Heaven’s Eyes: A July 4th Reflection

A Spiritual Reflection by Michael Cunningham OFS

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This July 4th morning, I was sitting in our chapel at San Damiano listening to the homily of Fr. Bill on Independence Day: What does God see when He looks down on America today, July 4th, 2025? What is his Point of View?

It’s a curious question, isn’t it? We humans have our perspectives—our memories of barbecues and fireworks, our pride in freedoms we’ve inherited, our concerns about the direction of our country. But what does the Creator of all nations see when 330 million Americans pause to celebrate their independence?

I imagine God’s view might be quite different from ours.

The View from Above

Francis of Assisi had a remarkable gift for seeing things from what we might call “God’s point of view.” When he looked at lepers, he didn’t see outcasts—he saw beloved children of the Most High. When he encountered the Sultan during the Crusades, he didn’t see an enemy—he saw a brother created in the divine image. Francis had learned to see with the eyes of the Gospel, to apply what we Franciscans call “Gospel to Life, Life to Gospel.”

So what might Jesus see as He looks upon our Independence Day celebrations?

I think He might see something beautiful and something that calls for deeper reflection.

What Might Bring Joy to Heaven’s Heart

First, the beautiful. I imagine God delighting in the pure joy of children waving sparklers, their faces lit with wonder at the magic of light dancing in the darkness. There’s something profoundly Gospel-like about that innocence, that capacity for awe that Jesus said we must become like to enter the kingdom.

I think He might smile at families gathering from great distances, sharing meals and stories, reconnecting across the miles that separate them. The Gospel tells us that love of family, that drawing together of scattered members, reflects something of the divine nature itself.

And surely there’s joy in heaven when people pause to express gratitude—for freedoms we often take for granted, for opportunities that have shaped generations, for the sacrifices of those who came before us. Gratitude, after all, is the foundation of all prayer.

I imagine God seeing the best impulses of the founders’ vision—that revolutionary idea that all people are “created equal,” that they are “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.” Even if imperfectly lived out, even if it took centuries to extend these truths more fully, there’s something deeply Gospel-like about insisting on the inherent dignity of every human person.

What Might Call for Deeper Reflection

But I also wonder what might cause concern in the divine heart as God looks upon our celebrations.

Francis taught that the Gospel always calls us to examine our relationship with possessions, with power, with those society considers “other.” So perhaps God notices the uncomfortable contrasts that exist alongside our celebrations—the abundance on some tables while others go hungry, the freedom some experience while others feel marginalized or forgotten.

Jesus consistently showed special concern for the stranger, the refugee, the one seeking sanctuary. I wonder what He thinks as He sees a nation built by immigrants now struggling with how to welcome the immigrant. Francis embraced “Lady Poverty” not from a hatred of material things, but from a recognition that our relationship with possessions can either bind us or free us to love more fully.

The Gospel teaches that true greatness comes through service, not dominance. So perhaps God’s heart aches a little when He sees a powerful nation more focused on being served than on serving, more concerned with being respected than with being respectful.

The Franciscan Way Forward

Francis lived by a simple principle: when in doubt, ask what Jesus would do. Not Jesus the abstract theological concept, but Jesus the carpenter’s son who walked dusty roads, who ate with tax collectors and sinners, who washed his disciples’ feet.

This Jesus consistently chose the way of humility over the way of power, the way of service over the way of being served, the way of peace over the way of violence. He called blessed those who hunger and thirst for justice, who are merciful, who are peacemakers.

So how might we celebrate our independence in a way that reflects these Gospel values?

Gospel to Life, Life to Gospel

Perhaps it begins with gratitude that moves beyond nostalgia toward responsibility. Yes, we give thanks for the freedoms we’ve inherited. But we also ask: How can we use these freedoms to serve the common good? How can our liberty become a means of liberation for others?

Francis taught that everything is gift. Our freedoms, our opportunities, our resources—all gifts to be shared, not hoarded. The founders spoke of being endowed by the Creator with rights. If God is indeed the source of our blessings, then our response should be shaped by Gospel values of justice, mercy, and peace.

I think of Francis’s famous prayer: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” What if we approached our civic life with that same intention? Not asking what our country can do for us, but how we can be instruments of peace, justice, and healing in our communities?

The Long View of Love

There’s a phrase I love from Thomas Merton: “We are not just Americans, we are not just Christians—we are humans, made in the image of God.” This July 4th, perhaps God invites us to hold our patriotism within the larger context of our common humanity.

We can love our country deeply while recognizing that God’s love extends beyond our borders. We can celebrate our unique history and values while remembering that every nation, every people, every individual carries the divine spark within them.

Francis found Christ in the leper, in the Sultan, in the poorest of the poor. Perhaps our celebration becomes more Gospel-centered when we remember that the God who blessed America also created every person seeking a better life, every refugee fleeing violence, every child born in poverty anywhere in the world.

A Different Kind of Fireworks

As the fireworks light up the sky tonight, I’ll be thinking about a different kind of illumination—the light that Francis saw when he recognized Christ in all creation, the light that the founders glimpsed when they wrote of the equality and dignity of all people, the light that still calls us toward a more perfect union, not just politically, but spiritually.

What if our independence celebration became a moment of recommitment to the Gospel values that transcend any single nation or era? What if our gratitude for freedom led us to work for the freedom of others? What if our pride in American ideals motivated us to live those ideals more fully in our daily lives?

I imagine that would bring joy to the heart of God—a people grateful for their blessings, committed to sharing those blessings, willing to be instruments of peace and justice in a world that desperately needs both.

Because in the end, the truest independence isn’t freedom from something, but freedom for something—freedom to love without limit, to serve without counting the cost, to be the people God created us to be.

That’s a celebration worthy of both heaven and earth.

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Pax et bonum—Peace and all good.

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Copyright Michael J. Cunningham OFS