Upgraded? Just Say Thanks 7-21-9

Upgraded? Just Say Thanks

I have long believed in the reality of angels, especially parking angels. I don’t know what theology supports the existence of parking angels, after all we live in a world with far more pressing issues than whether I get to park close to my destination and avoid a short walk or not; yet my experience suggests these beings are real. I routinely find empty spaces with time remaining on parking meters in the most unlikely places. I drove to the World Trade Center in Manhattan on a Thursday and found an empty space at the front door and the meter had enough time remaining for me to go inside and do my business. Another time I was driving in London on a Thursday night - cinema night. Anyone who has been to London knows that parking spaces are an exotic rare thing in the city. On Thursdays they were unheard of. I found one in front of the theater I wished to attend. Other equally impressive experiences with my car and vacant pre-paid spans of asphalt over the years have firmed up my faith in these unseen beings.

Perhaps, my faith has brought me to yet another level of experience that travelers will take far greater interest in - seat angels, as in airplane seats. Everyone who has ever been inside of a commercial jet liner knows that the compression of seats in the economy section must violate the Geneva Convention with respect to the humane treatment of prisoners, not to mention fundamental laws of quantum physics. Those of us who travel with any frequency would give anything to have been born into higher economic strata, if for no other reason than to be able to afford to buy our way into a less dense region of the universe. Secretly, ever traveler who has bought a ticket in the back end of an airplane wishes that the universe would prove friendly and just once say, “We would like to give you an upgrade, if that is ok.” I am beginning to have enough experience with this on long haul flights as to suggest refinement of my theology might be overdue.

One time I was flying to Paris, and was told, for logistical reasons that were unclear to me and mattered not, that I was being moved forward into a less compact region of the galaxy. The horrendous time dilatation that happens in coach class on long-haul flights was forgotten. In the forward cabin there was definitely some kind of time compression effect going on and the jaunt to Paris seemed trivial. On another occasion I was flying from London to Charlotte and had been standing in a hideous line in the departures terminal for two hours because two airline pilot strikes had most airports in total chaos. Despairing that I would even make my flight still two hours out, a counter attendant came up to me and asked if I was flying to Charlotte. I answered in the affirmative and she asked me to follow her. Bewildered, I followed her as she bypassed the serpentine lines of frantic people and we went immediately up to another counter person who then advised me that I was going to be put in that wondrous region of the plane up front where time behaves well. I never have figured out why I was singled out from thousands of people frantically trying to get to one of a hundred different places around the world. Miracles don’t often come with explanations.

I was in an internet café last week on Charing Cross Road in London. I had gone there exactly 24 hours and five minutes before British Airways was going to unlock the seat map for my long transatlantic flight the next day. I logged on and was looking at the seat map within seconds of the map being opened. The uninitiated should know that seat assignments don’t happen much in airports anymore. Passengers log onto airline data bases containing seat maps that are opened 24 hours before the published departure time and hope they are the first to arrive on those maps and click and select their prized 22.5 inch by 30 inch piece of real estate. I was pretty close to being first. I clicked on my randomly assigned seat, a bit surprised at how pleasantly low my row number was, and then clicked on one in the first row, just for grins, to see what would happen. The little icon stuck in place. What? Had the seat angel just performed a cyber miracle in the Saber reservation system? Holding my breath, I clicked on my travel companion’s icon and again clicked on the front row. Her icon stuck in place. Something was definitely up. I successfully printed boarding passes for us in the first row. This angelic intervention was now on paper. When we got into the airplane and found our seats I realized we were in the so-called premium cabin with very real floor space in front of us and a wall with tables ahead of us. Sometimes it really is best to not ask questions about gifts. The old adage, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” came to mind. We sat down and enjoyed two fine meals, a couple of movies, free liquids of any kind, fine stereo, and merciful deliverance from the horrid stagnation of time that happens further back down the aisle. Every five minutes a cabin steward was coming by with refreshments. No dehydration or traveler’s thrombosis for us. The journey home seemed like minutes rather than nine and a half hours. Quantum physical dimensions of time had been altered by a benevolent being.

I actually looked in the airline data bases when I got home and determined that having those little icons stick on the first row was worth $1,493. It is not often that one can actually quantify the economic value of an angelic intervention. The intangible benefits are beyond calculation.

I have come to believe that seat angels can for brief periods of time become resident in assorted airline personnel and or airline computers. I have experienced the setting aside of natural economic laws governing seat assignments enough times now to be certain that God can and does make himself known through the trivialities of tourist trip details. For certain the status of the universe or God’s reputation are not in the least dependent on where I sit in airplanes but my sense of God is certainly affected greatly by having an awareness of His interest in the very small affairs of my life. A week later it doesn’t matter where I sat but on Monday at 3:00 PM it mattered a whole lot to me.

It matters far more where I am going to sit for eternity. As nice as it is to have my name written on a piece of paper authorizing me to sit up front, far better is having my name written in the Lamb’s book of Life, authorizing me to sit at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. The Revelation of John describes clearly how those who have found their faith and trust in God alone will have their names recorded in a registry by which they will be granted eternal admission to the Father’s house and a place at the table where the ultimate banquet is to take place. The imagery from John’s Gospel and from his Revelation is perhaps one of the most compelling sources of hope that has ever been reduced to writing. As delicious as it was to have that little icon stick on the British Airways seat map, it is nothing compared to the feeling I am going to have when I am told my name is indeed recorded in the Lamb’s Book of Life.

Am I going to sit in spiritual darkness or in the unending light of the Lord’s glory? The ultimate seat map says that I can have a place in first class forever, a place in the Father’s house. I know this to be true; I already have my boarding pass. Do you have yours?