A Tale of Two Symbols
Ed Guthero July/August 2026Look what I brought back from the New York trip,” my associate in the adjacent office announced, popping his head around the corner. He was clearly excited to talk about the recent excursion he had taken with some company executives to the Big Apple. We were artists at a large publishing company, and our offices reflected the eccentricities of our craft. In my office I displayed a delightful wind-up toucan bird that bopped around a track loop on the top of my file cabinet. My colleague had a floating three-dimensional Michelangelo-style winged cherub suspended from the ceiling in his. I put down a felt marker near my sketch pad and ventured into his office to see what was up.
“This is an actual flag from the Staten Island Ferry!’ he exclaimed, while unfolding a large, weathered ensign.
It certainly appeared to be the case. Faded fabric and threadbare edges bore testimony of exposure to nature’s elements during multiple crossings between lower Manhattan and the northern end of Staten Island. The fine embroidery and the bold black letters “Property of New York City” near the bottom of the weatherworn banner spoke volumes.
On typical weekdays, five double-decked ferry boats make more than 100 trips, transporting 45,000 commuters and tourists through New York Harbor. They pass the sprawling New York City skyline and the iconic Ellis Island under the watchful gaze of the towering Statue of Liberty, her symbolic torch of freedom held high.
“How did you get it?” I asked my colleague. It had been the final run of the day, and the ferry had returned to dock in Manhattan. As my friend walked with his companions from the ferry’s second deck toward the exit, he had noticed a large, neatly folded American flag sitting on a bench along the wall, carefully arranged in the official tricornered protocol style.
“Wouldn’t this make a great souvenir!” he’d exclaimed as he picked up the flag. Suddenly the ferry’s chief steward appeared around the corner and stared at the empty bench as if to ask, “Where did that flag go?” And there was my artist friend standing nearby holding the missing flag. An uneasy situation to find oneself in. To his credit, my friend is a quick thinker as well as a joker.
“You’re probably looking for this,” he said, handing the flag back to the steward. There was a slight pause, and the steward replied, “You wouldn’t want that flag. It’s starting to get tattered.”
“It really would make an awesome souvenir,” said my friend, hopefully.
The steward paused again and then suddenly handed the flag back. “Here, go ahead and take it. We’re going to replace it anyway.”
My friend got more than an unexpected souvenir that day. For as long as we worked at the publishing company, that glorious, weathered flag was draped proudly in his office. I coveted that flag and offered to buy it, but it wasn’t for sale. For my friend, its symbolism was too strong and personal.
That flag never ceased to impress me. It was reminiscent of the classic Johnny Cash album Ragged Old Flag, depicting a denim-clad Cash pointing to a tattered stars and stripes looming large in the background.
My fellow artist must have sensed how much I admired that flag, because the following Christmas he and his wife gave me an unexpected gift. Opening the lid of a large box, I was overjoyed to find the largest, highest quality American flag I had ever seen.
“It was meant to fly above a fort,” my friend told me.
The material was incredible, the colors rich and vibrant. Each red stripe and each individual white star was individually sewn. It demanded respect by its sheer quality and size. Betsy Ross herself, the famed Revolutionary-era flagmaker, would have been proud of that workmanship.
The Stars and Stripes of Democracy
The design of the U.S. flag is striking, but the name of its designer remains a mystery. In an 1870 address to the Philadelphia Historical Society, Betsy Ross’s grandson stated that his grandmother had told him she had designed the flag following a meeting with George Washington and his associates.
Ross, an upholsterer in Philadelphia, produced flags for clients such as the Pennsylvania Navy, but whether the design for America’s flag originated with her can’t be confirmed. Other evidence comes in the form of an invoice submitted to Congress by New Jersey’s Francis Hopkinson, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Hopkinson’s bill requested a quarter cask of public wine for his design. But no sketches have been found, and Congress never paid Hopkinson, maintaining there was more than one person involved in the design.
Though the design of early flags varied, and later ones as well, the dominant elements are clear, with 13 stripes (seven red, alternating with six white) representing the original 13 colonies. The stripe pattern reflects the influence of the Sons of Liberty ensign. The deep-blue rectangle decorated with 13 stars reflects George Washington’s personal command standard. Washington’s flag was entirely blue, accented by white stars. In 1777 Congress adapted this as a key feature of the evolving American flag.
Today, in our hyper-commercial society, it is all too common to see mass-produced flags made with cheap materials. Yet, to hold a carefully sewn, high-quality flag up close gives one a fresh perspective on what this flag has come to mean. It is a symbol of unity for a nation of diverse landscapes and people. Urban and rural, sprawling farmland and majestic mountain ranges, people of many different backgrounds, religions, and perspectives. And holding together this grand mosaic is a shared belief in democracy and the values of our republic.
The Symbol of the Cross
A few years ago I awoke lying in a hospital room, an intravenous needle with plastic tubing in my arm, a hastily shaved head lined with multiple staples in a wide horseshoe arc, and a skull pieced back together with hinges. The preceding 48 hours had been a montage of images: smashing impact, large blotches of blood, swinging ambulance doors, a surgeon whose face I didn’t see telling me, “You’ve got a large blood clot on your brain—we have to go right now!” Silent prayer, hallways, the emergency operating room, the intensive-care ward. And now this quiet hospital room.
It was obvious I wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. But I was thankful to be anywhere at all. The reality of the moment sank in. On the wall hung a modern-style wooden crucifix —Jesus Christ nailed to a cross. Though of modest size, in the sparsely furnished hospital room, my eyes focused on it. Seeing it was comforting. My mind drifted to youthful days in Canada where my mother worked as a respiratory tech in the St. Boniface Catholic Hospital of a French Canadian community. There were crucifixes there as well, and it was a place of healing.
I’m not of the Catholic faith, but I believe in the cross and what it represents. The crucifixes displayed throughout these hospitals always brought a sense of calm, comfort, assurance, and reflection. A reminder of Christ’s suffering for humanity; a reminder of grace, hope, and restoration. Whether a contemporary stylized crucifix or a simple cross-only design, the cross is a prominent symbol of the Christian faith to followers of Jesus, regardless of denominational lines. It represents God’s love, compassion, and—to believers—new beginnings and the power of God to change hearts and minds.
Weaponized Symbols
Fast-forward to 2021 and the jarring scene of a rioter repeatedly beating a Capitol Hill police officer with a pole bearing the Stars and Stripes; beating a fellow American with the symbol of American unity. Nearby, as rioters storm the Capitol, a young police officer’s head is caught between doors. He cries out in pain as rioters press the doors inward, trapping him. In the chaos, 140 police officers are injured and many more traumatized. Windows are smashed, a battering ram pounds against a Capitol door, people swarm into the halls as members of Congress are evacuated.
Recently I went back and reviewed the abundant online video of the January 6 insurrection. This was no casual tourist walk. As I rewatch the images, I see brutal confrontations. I see a gallows erected as people chant, calling for the U.S. vice president to hang.
In the chaotic mix, some people carry crosses, hold Bibles, and brandish American flags desecrated by Q’Anon symbols. Some flags carry the words “Jesus Is My Savior and Trump Is My President.” It is a crowd brought to a fever pitch by conspiracy theories, a cult of personality, and election fraud lies. The resulting mayhem is neither Christian nor patriotic.
Have we forgotten the violence of that day? Have we distanced ourselves from the reality of these images?
The Stars and Stripes and the cross of Christ are not props to be desecrated in the service of extremist ideology—whether political or religious.
Separate Symbols
Many Christians immediately spoke out about the disturbing misuse of Christian imagery seen on January 6, and they continue to warn their fellow believers about the destructive power of Christian nationalism and the dangers of eroding church-state separation.
Jesus said: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). This verse is often depicted as Christ knocking on the door of the heart. It’s our choice to open the door. He doesn’t kick it in.
The Great Commission that Christ gave His disciples, recorded in Matthew 28, is not a command to seize civil authority, or to work for cultural and political dominion. It is a message of personal redemption, an invitation to the individual human heart, for all nations.
The wooden cross on a hospital wall or printed on paper is a symbol of Christ’s gift of grace to every person. That is the power and message of the cross.
A weathered American flag flying above the Staten Island Ferry, as it navigates the waters of New York Harbor under the gaze of the Statue of Liberty, also carries a vital message. Partisans or extremists may alter the flag—cover its classic colors with slogans—but ultimately the flag is a symbol of unity. It is a symbol of the democratic values and freedoms that hold together the rich tapestry that is America; a nation where people of vastly different backgrounds, political views, and faith commitments can still dialogue and work together.
The flag and the cross. When we attempt to bind them together, or to bind them to our own political agendas, we destroy their meaning. These two powerful and separate symbols can still call us to something higher—but only when we refuse to treat them as instruments of power.
Article Author: Ed Guthero
Ed Guthero has had a critically applauded career as a book and periodical designer, artist, and photographer, and a legacy ensured by years as a university lecturer. Here he shows another skill as an author. He writes from Boise, Idaho.