There was strong Jewish community in a town in Eastern Europe some centuries ago. The community was very independent and had all services necessary for its people to live somewhat comfortably, and in peace. The community had one shoemaker, a poor and simple man with a loving wife and children. This shoemaker was responsible to craft and to repair all the shoes among the people.
Of course, there was a rabbi, and there were a banker and a baker, farmers and merchants, a butcher, a bookseller, and a beggar… Some were wealthy, others had enough to get by. A handful of men had the resources and availability of time to join the rabbi every morning for prayer at the synagogue.
The shoemaker went to work very early and stayed late six days a week. On the Sabbath the shoemaker and his family enjoyed resting and remembering God’s faithfulness and goodness to their people. The shoemaker savored the Sabbath with time to relax and to feel God close to him and to his family.
But every other morning of the week, as the “important” men of the community went to synagogue, the shoemaker would look out the window from his bench, think of God, and sigh from the depths of his heart and soul – wishing he could join them in prayer. After many years of toil, his children having grown and started families of their own in nearby towns, the shoemaker died at his workbench.
The shoemaker went straight to heaven, and there was summoned by the One Who Alone Truly Is to come near to an honored place. The shoemaker, a bit confused and not understanding at all what was happening dared to ask, “My Lord, is there some mistake? I have only lived the simplest of lives, with almost no time to even think of you.” God answered gently, “My son, six mornings a week you sighed your desire to be close to me with your whole being. Welcome.”
This story was given to me many years ago. It’s a favorite.