I don’t know why it feels like an awesome responsibility. That sharing of a birthday.
It’s not like he’s here to steal some cake.
To the disconnected from the cosmic togetherness, the idea of sharing a birthday with anyone is meaningless. Coincidences are like that. Life has no meaning. We’re just so reasonable.
For those who find themselves knocking on wood just in case, dabbling in astrology because why not? the potential for meaning is obvious.
And to the rest, it has a what does it matter? vibe.
But this has always been meaningful to me.
In horoscopes, it would list who else shares your birthday. And I’d see the name Franklin Delano Roosevelt and I would puff with pride. This is someone I want to be like.
That’s the thing. Why I’ve cared so much about this. It’s because there’s a connection–the slimmest of connections to one of the most important people of the 20th Century. A human being of such consequence that I’ve often paled in his shadow. I’ve wanted his approval. And I’ve looked to him as a patron saint.
He isn’t perfect. Not by any means. His record on race and Japanese internment are deplorable. And the overreach of political power is not something I want presidents to emulate.
But in the sea of anxiety and fear, he appealed to our goodness.
He had the government put people to work rather than exclusively rely on private businesses to do their part.
He played the long game with short game vigor. And his valor in the midst of the greatest economic disaster in our country’s history has rarely been emulated. Far more frequently the opposite has been the norm.
This feels weighty.
But so does a different anniversary for the same day.
Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated January 30, 1948
If the weight of sharing a natal anniversary with FDR feels heavy, the weight of sharing it with such an act of cruelty and dishonor breaks me.
The moral courage to side with the people shouldn’t be so hard to imagine. It really shouldn’t. I mean, how hard is it to sit with the majority?
But it is.
Particularly when the majority has no power. No influence. When the people are occupied by a foreign government. And the majority are oppressed.
From Egypt and Jerusalem to South Africa and Palestine. People have sought freedom from the jackboot of another.
And gaining that freedom is hard.
As I preached on Sunday:
Standing up for what’s right is often dangerous.
Standing up for Shalom is always dangerous.
A lesson so necessary for our now, for our moment, and for our future.
The weight feels heavy. That doesn’t mean it is.
Others cast it off. Live their lives. Maybe you don’t really look for meaning in the world as I do. That’s cool.
And maybe you don’t feel the need to connect with others–from your past, your family, or your tradition.
But chances are you do. Somewhere. Somehow. There’s someone you look up to. There’s someone you feel connected to and want to please. Maybe it’s your parents (alive or dead), your partner, or your God. Maybe it’s your kids or friends. Someone you don’t want to let down.
And maybe you don’t look at past presidents or world leaders to serve that role for you. You keep it close. That’s cool too.
Does the weight always feel heavy? Are you always worried? Of course not.
But the question is where does this lead you? To what end do you see the value of this work? This work of loving and redeeming and helping and growing and sharing and laughing and living this great big life of ours!
Where is your joy? Your hope? Where is your great sense of thankfulness that you can look your loved one in the eyes and say thank God I have you and you are safe with me!
And you turn and see that not everyone can say that. And you want that truth to change.
You want other mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and children and grandparents and lovers to look at another and see themselves, to see the innate good of creation and say Yes! You should have this too!
That sense is the beginning of weight not too heavy to bear.
The weight of living and building a just community.