Obama's Birth Certificate and Mine

It is finally published—the long form of President Obama’s birth certificate. You can see it most everywhere. It’s on most news clips and on the official White House website.

It was high political drama. The President took to the air to belittle all those who focus on lesser issues at the expense of rescuing the national economy from disaster. One such focuser is Donald Trump, presumed Republican front-runner whom the President characterized by inference as a “carnival barker” Moments later, Trump expressed pleasure that the certificate was public and took credit for accomplishing what no one else had done.

A birth certificate does matter. In this instance, it makes legitimate the Obama presidency. In other ways, it is proof if citizenship for passports, drivers’ licenses, Social Security and the like.

I tilted toward believing the certificate was valid all along and wondered at what crucial political juncture the issue would be resolved, although I did wonder why it was taking so long. So the President was born in Hawaii on August 4th, 1961. Now Donald Trump knows and both he and the President can turn to more vital issues such as averting national bankruptcy.

Actually, everyone should be more interested in a personal birth certificate in Heaven than the President’s filed in Hawaii. Mortal certification is important, but Heaven’s registration is crucial. I discovered the relative importance of both in reverse order.

My heavenly birth certificate was filed above on August 7, 1948 at about 6:30 PM in a church basement on West Colvin Street in Syracuse, New York. I sought out a preacher who had preached John 3:5 & 7 in a camp meeting only days before declaring, “Ye must be born again.” (Actually the original Greek word is “anothen” meaning “from above.”)

At a church supper, I knew he was in the building, and afterwards I requested his counsel. Taking me into the church storeroom among retired Bibles, songbooks, mops and towels, he led me to the Savior. New-birth life surged through my soul. Coming out the door of that obscure room, I was not the same as I went in. Moments later, outside, several other recent converts sang our welcome song: “Ring the bells of Heaven, there is joy today, for a soul returning from the wild. See The Father greets him out upon the way, welcoming His weary, wand’ring child.” My spiritual birth certificate was filed in heaven, an entry in the Lamb’s Book of Life (Rev. 21:7).

Getting my first birth certificate was much more difficult, and in this I can sympathize with the president. Wanting to visit Israel in 1982 meant I needed a “raised seal” birth certificate for passport application. The fine penmanship on the doctor’s copy that was in my family files for years verifying my birth in Baldwinsville, NY was not good enough, although all the vital stats were there. I needed to apply for an official copy in Albany, NY, the state capitol.

After a considerable period, a poor copy of a mangy looking piece of paper arrived. This was long before digital or clear copying machines. All the facts were there on an actual photocopy matching what my delivering doctor had inscribed. It had been in Albany all those years, and I had never seen it. And it had a raised seal meaning my copy was as good as the original. I could now officially proclaim my birth.

So I now know that I was officially born once in the eyes of the state of New York, and, more importantly, God knows I was born again into His eternal heavenly kingdom.

If as much effort is placed into getting the President’s spiritual birth certificate in Heaven as has been expended in the Hawaii matter, he is in the Kingdom of God and will be in Heaven when that sacred second roll call is made. Only he and God know.

I don’t know about the President, but I do know about me. Both of my personal birth certificates are valid. One says I have human life; the other says I have eternal life. We have no choice about our first birth, but we surely do about our second birth.

Dave Virkler