Picture a small church in 1970s Wisconsin. As the pianist finishes the intro to “Will There Be Any Stars in My Crown?” the 40 or 50 people gathered begin to sing.
You distinctly hear individual voices in the small building. There’s Edna and Hazel on your left. Dorothy sings from just in front of you:
I am thinking today of that beautiful land I shall reach when the sun goeth down. When through wonderful grace by my Savior I stand, will there be any stars in my crown?
The voices grow stronger during the chorus, and a few more men join in:
Will there be any stars, any stars in my crown, when at evening the sun goeth down? When I wake with the blest in the mansions of rest, will there be any stars in my crown?
How well I remember that song. As a teen, the lyrics spoke to me in mostly egocentric and comparative terms. Would I have enough stars in my crown to avoid embarrassment?
Now, with a few more decades under the belt and a greater sense of our wonderful Savior, my crown’s adornment doesn’t matter at all. This year, shall we simply lift Jesus higher? Shall we step aside and let Him shine?
Other lines from that old hymn may reflect a better theology: Oh what joy it will be when His face I behold, living gems at His feet to lay down. Each star, a precious jewel, belongs to Jesus.