A poetic ode to America’s vibrant tapestry

The purple mountain majesties

and snow-white Mt. Rainier

remind me of what's grand to me and you.

There's Red Rocks Park and Yellowstone.

Mt. Rushmore's hills are black.

And add to that our flag's red, white and blue.

I recently came across this little rhyme that I penned in my journal a decade ago while pondering our nation’s birthday. At the time, it dawned on me that America is not only beautiful. It is also colorful.

To the aforementioned American communities of color, I can add places like Green Lake, Wisconsin; Brownsville, Texas; Silver Spring, Maryland; Goldendale, Washington; and Orange, California. But the colorful names of towns are not the only hues that account for what make our nation a thing of beauty. It’s the people!

Just take a close-up look at who we are. We are a polychromatic portrait of humanity. Our ancestors are from Asia, Africa, Europe, North, Central and South America, the Near East and the Far East. And as such, the face of America is a complexion of complexity. We are a cornucopia of cultures and traditions.

My paternal grandfather came to the U.S.A. from a rural village in Greece. He was perpetually suntanned. Before arriving on Ellis Island, my maternal grandfather hailed from the fjord land of Norway. He was as pale as the white flour used to make his beloved potato lefsa. My Canadian-born wife grew up among darker-skinned schoolmates in Mexico.

When my wife became a U.S. citizen 25 years ago, the swearing-in ceremony was a beautiful thing to behold. It felt like I was in the United Nations General Assembly. Those who stood before the judge to take the oath of citizenship were from all over the globe. The judge, by his own admission, was foreign-born. It was a three-dimensional picture of that phrase inscribed on our money. E Pluribus Unum. Out of many, one.

But that experience in a Chicago courtroom in 2000 was not an isolated one. The congregations I have served over the past half-century were part of a denomination with roots in Sweden but made up of people whose relatives were found in most every continent. Potluck dinners were a potpourri of fascinating taste sensations. Stories of faith journeys shared in our newcomers classes were like individual shards of colored glass in a stained-glass window. I realized how the diversity of our growing church was a picture of the Kingdom of God globally.

There was a song we sang as kids in Sunday school that celebrated the multi-ethnic nature of the community of faith. Maybe you sang it, too. “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red, brown, yellow, black and white. They’re all precious in His sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

At first blush, it wasn’t all that theologically profound. But when you stop and think about it, those lyrics are incredibly significant.

All persons are created in the image of our Creator. As such every human life has worth and is deserving of dignity and respect. Each has a story and a context deserving to be heard and appreciated. Each brings a distinct flavor to Uncle Sam’s birthday picnic that is needed.

This year, as we grill those brats and cut up watermelons, I invite you to savor the beauty of being part of a community and nation that is composed of an ethnic tapestry of colors and cultures that makes us the unique and wonderful corner of the globe we love.

• The Rev. Greg Asimakoupoulos is a former Naperville resident who writes about faith and family.