Where were you on Saturday for the 250th? Where were you (if you even existed!) on the 200th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1976? I was a summer intern at the Indian Trail United Methodist Church, and the pastor assigned me the responsibility of ringing the church bell (which wasn’t up in a tower, but just affixed to a little brick frame shorter than I am) at precisely 2pm – as all churches across America would do the same thing at the same hour.
Four words capture the feel of 2pm, July 4, 1976 in Indian Trail, NC: “torrential downpour, violent thunderstorm.” Quite bravely (I thought) I clanged the bell, getting soaked, realizing nobody could hear the little bell in the thick of that storm.
I love the way special days get marked locally. Not the big TV production, but in one little town, in one neighborhood. We find our peculiar way to celebrate. It’s the smallness, the “Here’s what we do” that makes it special and unites us all.
As a grownup, I married into a family with an ancestor who signed the Declaration – one Richard Stockton. A few months after he signed, his estate (Morven – still standing in Princeton, New Jersey) was raided by the British and he was imprisoned in New York. So our family had this special stake in momentous event of July 4, 1776.
All of us, Lisa’s parents, their kids and grandkids, were always present for the July 4 festivities at Lake Junaluska. Lisa’s mom spared no effort: the house decorated, red white and blue dinnerware, t-shirts, and patriotic folding chairs for watching the fireworks. We’d decorate our cars with bunting to be in the parade. Local family traditions, and so much fun!
Even though I was only an in-law, and not blood kin, I thought I’d establish an additional family tradition: I decided to address the family about our ancestor Richard, and then read aloud the Declaration of Independence mid-afternoon, and hopefully every year. The adults were mildly curious; the little kids were impatient for ice cream. And it’s longer than you think it is, taking about 10 minutes to read.
Year 2, I announced that I would read. Children moaned. Adults were polite. On year 3, I waited to see if I had any requests for reading. And I waited… I kept this up for quite a few years, determined that by sheer repetition we’d all become prouder and more diligent Americans. Maybe it mattered. Some of the little ones who are now big act like they remember it – and how much they loved it! Alas.
Nowadays there’s an older guy who wears a blue frock coat and a pirate hat, pinned over a wig, who reads the Declaration aloud for a couple of dozen people who are either uber-patriotic or don’t have much else to do. Very dramatic.
I envy our ancestors who had longer attention spans, who lacked TV or internet – and so to hear a crucial document read to them was not entertainment, but meaning and hope. Those who heard the Declaration first read aloud in towns and hamlets across the colonies. They probably didn’t want it to end. And at every complaint in it filed against hapless King George, and at every bold assertion of freedom, they’d have shouted their Huzzahs!!!
All this also makes me envy the earliest Christians, who were almost all illiterate and couldn’t afford books anyhow. They heard Paul’s letter to the Romans, or the Gospel of Mark read aloud. Much longer than 10 minutes! Old traditions, local traditions, about what is old that still matters: sounds like the way to run a country, just as it’s the way to run Christianity.