21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

 Is 66:18-2; Heb 12:5-7, 11-13; Lk 13:22-30.

In the heart of the medieval city of Constantinople stood mighty walls, strong enough to repel invaders for centuries. The main gates were wide and bustling — merchants entered with carts full of goods, soldiers marched in proud columns, and travelers poured in from distant lands. Yet there was one gate unlike the rest: a small, low passageway known as The Eye of the Needle. This was not a gate for proud parades or loaded caravans. It was narrow — so narrow that a camel could only pass if its burdens were unloaded and it was led through on its knees.

At night, for the safety of the city, the great gates were shut. Any latecomer had one choice: the little gate. But it came with a price — strip off the load, stoop low, and pass humbly. Many travelers, after long journeys, stood outside in frustration. They could see the lights of the city, hear the laughter and smell the food inside, but the great gates were closed. They had to decide: hold on to their baggage and remain outside or leave it behind and enter through the narrow door.

Jesus’ words in Luke 13 carry this same image. A narrow door is open now, but it will not be open forever. And when it shuts, no amount of knocking, pleading, or past acquaintance will open it again.

As Jesus journeyed toward Jerusalem, fully aware that He was walking toward the cross, someone in the crowd asked Him, “Lord, are only a few going to be saved?” It was a curious question. It was not about how to be saved, but how many would be. But Jesus refuses to satisfy mere curiosity. Instead, He turns the question inward and says, “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to.”

The idea of a decisive and limited entrance runs deep through the Bible. In the days of Noah, the ark stood open as he preached righteousness for many years. People could have entered, but when the animals were inside and Noah’s family stepped through the door, Genesis 7:16 says, “Then the Lord shut him in.” The rains began, and the time for deciding was over. No matter how they pounded on the wood, the door would not open.

In Exodus 12, on the night of the first Passover, the blood-marked door was the line between life and death. Inside, there was safety under the covenant promise; outside, there was judgment. The difference was not how religious you felt, but whether you were inside the marked door when the destroyer passed through the land.

The psalmist also sang of the temple gates, asking in Psalm 24:3–4, “Who may ascend the hill of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place?” The answer came: “He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to an idol.” Not everyone walks through God’s holy gate. The entry is narrow, not because God delights in shutting people out, but because it requires preparation of heart and life.

History too tells us that once certain gates close, the moment is gone forever. The city of Troy ignored the warnings about the wooden horse. Once it was inside, the enemy poured out and the city fell in a night. Babylon, in the days of Daniel, feasted in arrogance while the armies of the Medes and Persians surrounded them. That very night, according to Daniel 5, Cyrus diverted the Euphrates River, marched under the gates, and took the city before the revelers even knew what had happened.

The Roman city of Pompeii offers another haunting example. In A.D. 79, Mount Vesuvius erupted without warning. Ash and fire fell so fast that some fled, but many lingered, confident they had time. The chance to escape ended in moments, and the city was buried. Whether in Scripture or history, the truth remains — a window of safety does not remain open forever.

In Jesus’ parable, those left outside knock and plead, “Sir, open the door for us.” The answer comes back, “I don’t know you or where you come from.” In desperation, they protest, “We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.” They had been in proximity to Jesus. They had heard His voice, perhaps even shared a meal. But the sobering reality is that being near Jesus physically is not the same as belonging to Him spiritually. Judas walked with Him for three years and yet betrayed Him. The five foolish virgins in Matthew 25 were part of the wedding party but were unprepared when the bridegroom came.

Jesus’ words in Matthew 7:21–23 are among the most sobering in all of Scripture: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven… Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name…?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’” The key question is not whether we know about Jesus, but whether He knows us.

Then comes the shocking turn in the story. Jesus declares that people will come from east and west, north and south, to take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God. Those His audience would have assumed to be last — foreigners, Gentiles, the outcasts — would find themselves honored guests. Meanwhile, some who considered themselves first, by heritage or religious privilege, would be shut out.

This “great reversal” runs throughout Scripture. Jacob, the younger son, receives the blessing over Esau. David, the overlooked shepherd boy, is chosen over his older brothers to be king. In Luke 18, a tax collector goes home justified, while a Pharisee leaves condemned. In Revelation 7:9, John sees a multitude no one can count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, gathered before the throne. The narrow door may be hard to enter, but it is open to the entire world.

We have our own parables of missed opportunity today. In the year 2000, Netflix, then a struggling DVD-by-mail business, offered to sell itself to Blockbuster for $50 million. Blockbuster laughed off the offer. Two decades later, Netflix is worth billions, and Blockbuster has one store left in the entire world. The window of opportunity closed, never to reopen.

On a far more personal level, think of the man who kept intending to reconcile with his estranged brother. Days became weeks, weeks became years. He always thought there would be time, but one day the call came — his brother was gone. The door to reconciliation had closed forever. Whether in business, relationships, or the eternal destiny of our souls, the truth is the same: the open door is not open forever.

So how do we enter? Like the camel at the city’s narrow gate, we must strip off the load. Pride, greed, self-sufficiency, secret sin — all must be laid down. Hebrews 12:1 urges us to “throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles” so we can run with perseverance the race marked out for us. The narrow door demands humility, surrender, and repentance.

Finally, we must be known by Christ. Salvation is not a ritual, a membership, or a spiritual résumé. It is a living relationship. In John 10:14, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me.” On the last day, the difference between those inside and those outside will not be whether we have heard His teaching, but whether He can say, “I know you.”

One day, the great feast will begin. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, the prophets, saints from every nation and century will gather at the table of the Kingdom. Light, joy, music, and the presence of God will fill the hall. Laughter will mingle with songs of praise, and the redeemed will rejoice in the presence of their King.

But outside, there will be darkness and silence, broken only by weeping and gnashing of teeth. The sound of celebration will be faint, unreachable, a reminder of what was once offered and refused.

Satish