My wife attended a play recently, Camelot.  She is something of an Anglophile and a King Arthur fan.  Further, she very much enjoys watching the acting abilities of Michael York.  I am not so much a fan of the theatre or Arthur, and opted not to go with her.

She was surprised to discover that she had claimed the last of the “cheap” matinee seats (the only price ticket that genuinely fit within our limited budget).  It was third tier balcony, the view obstructed by a metal railing bar.  High above the performance, my wife sat and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle, crying as Arthur (Michael York) yelled for the young man to go spread the message at the end of the story.

No need to feel badly for my wife.  She so loves the theatre and the theme of this particular play that she felt privileged to see it live and witness the practiced strains of the orchestra.  Third tier balcony seat, behind a railing, notwithstanding.  She came home bubbling over with her tales of the drama, enthusiastically comparing this production to her favored memories of musicals past.  She was happy and counted herself blessed to have been a part of the action.

And that I think is my personal picture of heaven.  I have no grand illusions about myself.  I am an obscure servant of the Lord who has done nothing great.  I sin daily and feel wretchedly for it.  There are no teeming masses waiting to thank me in heaven for leading them to the Lord.  I have not taken the gospel into unreached regions.  I am just an ordinary and obscure Christian who will watch at a distance the genuinely great accept their crowns.

Yet, I will be in heaven.  Though I will not be numbered among the giants of the faith, the martyrs, or the widows who gave their last penny to the Lord, I will be there.  Sitting in the third tier balcony, peering through the rail that partially obscures my view, I will be there praising God and counting myself blessed that He has saved me and allowed me to be part of the action.  And at the end of the “day,” when I retire from worship to my sleeping cubicle (the real meaning of the word “mansion”), I will smile, bubbling over with fresh memories and enthusiasm at having been in the presence of the King of Kings.