America is turning 250 years old, and it doesn’t feel like a party. It feels like a country that is exhausted. We’re worn down by outrage, hollowed out by cynicism and unsure of what we even agree on anymore. Somewhere between the noise and the accusations, we have lost the thread of who we are supposed to be.

For those of us who are Christians, that loss runs deep. We are Americans, yes. We have the right to our opinions, our votes, and our voices. Those freedoms are real and they are worth honoring. But somewhere along the way, we have confused our rights with our calling. We have let the noise of the culture drown out the voice of the One who actually calls us by name, and in doing so, we have lost something far more essential than an election or an argument.

God has not called us to win. He has called us to be faithful, to love mercy, to walk humbly, and to reflect the image of the One who made us. That is our first and truest identity. Not our party, our nationality, or our ideology. Over time, we have drifted far from this.

Abundance made us soft and convenience made us restless. Prosperity made us so impatient that we came to believe every problem should be solved immediately, every discomfort removed instantly, and every disagreement turned into an enemy.

So, we grumble. 

We grumble against our leaders, against one another, and against our institutions. Outrage has become our national liturgy, and cynicism has become our public language. We have traded perseverance for reaction, conviction for contempt. Long obedience that builds something lasting has been replaced with quick victory that leaves nothing behind. We have forgotten how to worship, how to be still, how to fear something larger than ourselves, and perhaps most dangerous of all, we have forgotten mercy.

This is what it looks like when a people lose touch with who God created them to be. It is exactly what we should repent of.

That is why the old prayer still matters: “America, America, God shed His grace on thee.” Not because we are uniquely righteous or beyond reproach but because grace remains our deepest need. The good news is that God has not stopped being compassionate with us.

So, the call on this 250th anniversary of our country is not to panic about the future of the nation. It is to return to become the kind of people God created us to be and to endure faithfully as we do.

That means being willing to be wrong and being a person who stands firm under pressure. People who refuse grumbling and resentment as a way of life. People who trust that not every crisis requires their loudest voice, and who rest in what is near and good rather than living in fear. People who know that self-sufficiency has not saved us and never will.

The most faithfully active citizens in this nation’s history prayed before they marched, planted before they harvested and built institutions they would never fully benefit from. They understood something we have largely forgotten: the future belongs not to those with the loudest voices, but to those who are faithful as they wait. Endurance is not resignation. It is the most demanding thing God asks of us. And it is exactly what this moment requires.

With great pride and with great longing, I find myself praying for this nation not out of patriotism alone, but out of faith. Praying that grace would fall on us in the midst of the hatred and disarray. That we would be given what we cannot manufacture for ourselves. That what is steadfast and merciful and good would hold us together when we cannot hold ourselves.

Two hundred and fifty years ago, something began here that is not finished. The question for the next 250 is whether we have the patience, the humility, and the character to see it through together, and with open hands.

Dr. Richard Kannwischer is the pastor of Peachtree Church in Atlanta and holds degrees from Princeton Theological Seminary and Fuller Theological Seminary.