Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 16C
Luke 13:22-30

“Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able.” You know, this doesn’t sound much like good news to me. Honestly, the last time I heard Jesus talking about doors sounded a lot nicer. A few weeks ago in the Episcopal lectionary, we read from the 11th chapter of Luke. There, Jesus says “Knock and it shall be opened to you... for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” Much more comforting assurance, that.

Now, suddenly, two chapters later, we hear that “many... will try to enter and will not be able.” There’s the spectre of being thrown out, of not being recognized by God. Quite honestly, at first blush, it sounds mean. Scary. Spiteful. This doesn't sound like the same Jesus as before, at all.

This makes me uncomfortable, for a couple of reasons. First, because I know I’m far from perfect. I seldom measure up to my own daily goals, my own expectations, let alone approach the ongoing perfection it sounds to me like that “narrow door” requires.

Secondly, it stretches me-- challenges my faith, if you will. Do I believe-- do I even want to believe-- in the kind of God who stands at the door like a security guard for some gated community or country club, checking I.D.’s and denying entry to those who don’t have the proper credentials? Do you?

This is why we need to read the whole Bible, brothers and sisters. I think that belief in a narrow sort of God, and a credentialed Christianity, is only possible if we select bits and pieces of scripture, and don’t consider the broader picture that is portrayed throughout.

There’s the parable of the Good Shepherd, who leaves the flock of ninety-nine, and risks safety and security to find the one sheep that strayed. Or the other story of the king who prepared the wedding banquet; and when his original invited guests did not show, opened the feast to passers by on the street, good and bad alike.

Then think of Jesus’ instructions to his followers about forgiveness, that it is to be offered “seventy times seven,” if need be.

Remember that we are so precious in the eyes of God that the very hairs on our head are numbered.

Too many times, the Word reassures us-- there is no sin that cannot be forgiven, no wrong that cannot be made right, that all are welcome, that no one is beyond the loving reach of God’s care.

So then, how can we reconcile this apparent contradiction? Well, one possibility I’d like to suggest is that maybe, the “narrow door” that the Gospel speaks of is not made smaller or harder to enter by God’s limitations, but by our own. I think it is much harder for us to accept grace, and mercy, and love, from God, when we do not receive it from one another, or offer it to one another.

Remember the stories that came out of Abu Ghraib prison, in Baghdad? When human beings are abused and tortured in the name of freedom, the door narrows.

Or when a doctor is murdered, or a clinic is bombed, in the name of preserving life, the door narrows.

Last summer, several women being attacked in Lincoln Park neighborhood garnered significant media coverage, and calls for stepped-up police protection, and the activation of local counseling and support services. At the same time, a string of sexual assaults in Kenwood, on the south side, went unnoted and unnoticed. No mention in the papers, no additional patrols, no trained counselors came to the hospital. The only reason I know is that I was the chaplain on call for two of them.

When we show preference, or give value, by income, or class, or race, or gender, the door narrows.

On the other hand, we can widen the door, as well.

Even as military personnel were abusing Iraqi prisoners, it was also military personnel who broke the story-- who saw the abuse, and reported it, and investigated, and put a stop to it. When we repent-- apologize, and take responsibility, and try to change-- the door widens.

Instead of threatening harm, there are also those who try to support expectant mothers in caring for themselves and their babies-- or to provide a loving home for a child when parents can’t, or won’t. When we care for the least among as, the door widens.

I learned last summer that a rape victim in the State of Illinois is not, by law, billed for her medical treatment, regardless of income level. The exam, medications, and any followup treatment necessary are all provided free of charge. She will not have feel as though she has to pay for being assaulted, and will not be forced to relive the events when bills and statements come in the mail. When we respect the dignity of each human being as created in the image and likeness of God, and disregard the world’s standards for worth, the door widens.

No it's not an easy thing, trying to walk this road. In an article Tripp sent me last week, the Rev. Brian McClaren says it well.

...If this less-traveled fork in the road is chosen, it is not just to 'safety, certainty and enjoyment' in heaven, but rather to challenge, risk and mission on earth, including suffering and self-discipline... The call is, by grace, to leave the distructive path of the kingdoms of this world (including our individual 'me-ism' kingdoms), and instead, to seek God's kingdom, which is God's will being done on earth as in heaven.

So, here are questions to consider, as we break bread together: how do we find ourselves narrowing that door-- individually, as people, or collectively, as church and society? And how might we as disciples of Jesus Christ widen it, for ourselves, and for those around us?