"Jesus Saves." It's a slogan familiar to many of us from old-time religion; I think of Robert Duvall in the movie "The Apostle," an itinerant pentecostal preacher-man who is better able to show others the way to salvation than to follow that "one-way road to heaven" himself. I think of the Gospel Rescue Mission in Los Angeles, with its enormous red neon sign atop the building, flickering "Jesus Saves" as a beacon of hope to the down and out of the City of Angels.

But what does "Jesus Saves" mean? Like that Jewish student, the phrase is about as meaningful to many as "Moses Invests" or "Mohammed Prefers Mutual Funds." Even to us, who are supposed to know what it means and be able to share that meaning with others, the idea of "salvation" seems somewhat out of place in our postmodern world.

We are forced to ask, first of all, saved from what? Something bad, no doubt. And it is this "something bad" that betrays a certain anxiety behind the anonymous man's question to Jesus in the gospel this morning. Jesus is teaching his way to Jerusalem, going from village to village. "Someone asked him, 'Lord, will only a few be saved?'"

Jesus, true to form, responds to this question not with a direct answer, but with a parable. Through the parable, I think we're able to glimpse a little bit of the ulterior motive behind this anonymous man's question. "Will only a few be saved?" he asks. Jesus says, "Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able."

I don't know about you, but if I were that anonymous man, I'd be pretty annoyed by that beginning. Narrow door? What in tarnation? If this door were literally a narrow door, I'd have nothing to worry about; but as it is, I have no idea what kind of narrowness Jesus is talking about. But wait--this is a door that despite its skinniness people will pass through "from east and west, from north and south." In other words, it's narrow, but it's not exclusive.

Exclusive. That's what I, as the anonymous man, want to know: Lord, who's in and who's out? Will only a few be saved? And if so, am I one of those few, those proud, those spiritual marines? Will I be in the front of the line?

But unfortunately for us, being at the front of the line is not necessarily to our advantage. "Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last." It doesn't matter whether we can tell Jesus "we ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets." It's not about who's in and who's out, for paradoxically, if we're so caught up in questions of "us" and "them," it is we who will be "out" and they who will be "in."

In the parable, the owner of the house says "'I don't know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!'" Jesus comments, "There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth when you see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrown out. Then people will come from east and west, from north and south, and will eat in the kingdom of God."

To a pious first century Jew, as to a pious twenty-first century Christian, these are sobering words. To a first century Jew, to hear that Gentiles, these people "from east and west, from north and south," will be eating in the kingdom of God with their patriarchs and prophets must've boiled their blood. Wait just a minute, Jesus. You're telling us that those who are out will be in, and those who are last will be first, and vice-versa? But why? What evil have we done, that you should say to us "I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!"?

In bringing his hearers, including us, to that point of despair, even panic, at the realization that we might be the ones outside that narrow door, that we might be the last in line, Jesus implies that we've asked the wrong question.

"Lord, will only a few be saved?" Well, as long as we're thinking along those lines, yes, only a few will be saved, and the many who won't be saved might just include you. Not exactly the response you were hoping for now, was it? For in being narrow-minded, you will fail to enter through the narrow door.

Human beings have the tendency to carve out territories for ourselves, for our own little groups, for those of us who look the same, act the same, or think the same. And religious people are some of the worst offenders in this regard. Our own Episcopal Church is certainly not immune to such evildoing. And, yes, it is evildoing. But Jesus saves. Jesus saves us not from those who are different from us, but from our own fears and bigotry. For the mission of the Church, as our own catechism so succinctly states, "is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ." But as long as we think in terms of "us and them" of "I'm right and you're wrong, therefore I'm in and you're out," our narrow-mindedness will keep us from passing through that narrow door.

Strive rather to enter the narrow door of broad-mindedness, the sort of broad-mindedness expressed elsewhere in the gospels when Jesus says to the chief priests and elders "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of heaven ahead of you." Brothers and sisters, pray that that line ahead of us will be long indeed.

Unfortunately, however, many people are praying for a short line into heaven, with everyone else going anywhere but up. Many people behave as if being right with God means having the right answers. But it doesn't. Salvation isn't like winning on "Jeopardy!" or "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?". Salvation isn't a game show. It's not about having the right answers, but about being in the right relationships, "with God and each other in Christ." And certainly, if we're in right relationship, our answers will change. Not that we'll have the right answers all the time, but we'll have the right answers that matter, because we won't be asking the wrong questions.

Those of us who are caught up in being right rather than being in right relationship will never want to be restored to unity with prostitutes and tax collectors. They obviously have the wrong answers, after all, so the only reason I'd want to be associated with them is to give them my right answers. Then they'll be in right relationship with me...but will we be in right relationship with God?

No. The owner of the house will say "I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!" You can be right, or you can be in relationship. The choice is up to you. Don't let your narrow-mindedness keep you from passing through that narrow door. Strive rather to enter the narrow door of broad-mindedness.

Now I'll admit, I'm still striving to enter through that narrow door myself. But I suspect that once we're through that narrow door of broad-mindedness, we will find the mind of Christ. We will "have the same mind in" us "as was in Christ Jesus,...who humbled himself" so that eating with prostitutes and tax collectors was an honor and a joy. His humility kept him free of that narrow-mindedness that keeps us from passing through that narrow door. In fact, Christ himself is that narrow door. Through sharing in his humility we will strive rather to enter the narrow door of broad-mindedness; we will share in the mind of Christ.

I am aware, however, of at least one lingering question. Namely, what about those people to whom the door is shut, who are "thrown out?" Is it forever?

Well, let's review the ground I've covered this morning:
The people who ask questions like "Will only a few be saved" are concerned mainly with questions of who's in and who's out--specifically, they want to be reassured that they are in and everybody else is out.

But Jesus paradoxically turns their question on its head. He says, in essence, that as long as you think in terms of in and out, you won't be able to get through that "narrow door." Instead, all sorts of people, "from east and west, from north and south" will enter to "eat in the kingdom of God" with the patriarchs and prophets.

When those who thought they were in see that they are actually out, and those who thought they were first find that they are actually last, they will weep and gnash their teeth, and bang on that narrow door. But the owner of the house will say "I do not know where you come from; go away, all you evildoers," even after they say "We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets."

Jesus isn't concerned with whether they have the right answers, or were in the right place at the right time. Jesus cares about whether we are in right relationship with God. He has come to offer that right relationship to those "from east and west, from north and south," that is, to everyone, even, as we find elsewhere, to prostitutes and tax collectors. Jesus saves.

In this parable, then, we may detect an ironic conclusion: those who are most concerned about being on the inside are the most likely to find themselves on the outside. Which brings us back to that nagging question: is there hope for them? Don't we now just have an inverted version of the "us" and "them" mentality?

If we left things there, the answer would be yes. And Jesus, I believe, intentionally leaves the question open-ended. We are left with the satisfaction of poetic justice, but also the sinking suspicion that we may very well be on the receiving end of that poetic justice.

But I'll also admit to you in closing that I am something of an optimist. I want to believe that with a change of heart, the asking of the right questions, and the seeking of right relationships, those in danger of having the narrow door closed on them won't be left out in the cold forever. I'm inclined to take Jesus' pronouncement more as a rhetorical device than as an oracular edict--it's a parable, after all, and we have to be careful not to be too literal in our interpretation. Still, I think we are to take it as a warning not to be complacent. Of course, once we're roused from our complacency, we're in less danger of being shut out. We will begin rather to question the demarcation lines we take for granted in the church and in society.

It is a hard thing to question our assumptions about each other. I imagine many of us put the people we meet into our own categories of "in" and "out" without even giving much, if any, thought to it. But one of the things that makes Christianity dangerous is that when we begin to take seriously the fact that Jesus is radically accepting of who we are, that God loves us warts and all, it compels us to accept and love others warts and all. I often think we expect more from each other and ourselves than God expects of us. For God knows whereof we are made; God knows our weaknesses-- and still loves us.

It would be easy to be misled by this morning's gospel into believing that striving to enter through that narrow door means that we have to be more perfectionistic. But I don't think that's what it means at all. For if the narrow door really is Christ, then the gospel is a call to greater reliance upon God's grace than upon our own strength. As Martin Luther wrote in his great hymn, "A Mighty Fortress is our God,"

Did we in our own strength confide,
Our striving would be losing.
Were not the right man on our side, The man of God's own choosing.

"For many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able." Why? Because in confiding in their own strength, in placidly assuming that they were on the inside, their striving lacks something so incredibly important that it is often overlooked in the spiritual life: humble reliance upon God's grace, and an attitude towards others that is embodied when we love others without judging them as either in or out, but simply as fellow children of an infinitely loving God.

If we could but for one minute glimpse the incredible, passionate love of God for each one of us, our own compassion towards each other and toward those outside of our own narrow communities would broaden beyond all horizons. Then the only possible response to God's love for us would be to share that love with others. For now, most of us are content to keep our love and acceptance constricted within the narrow confines of our own circle of intimates, of those on the "inside." But if we could begin to love those different from us just a little bit more, by God's grace, then we would truly begin to strive to enter through that narrow door. "Then people will come from east and west, from north and south, and will eat in the kingdom of God." Come, let us prepare a place for them at the table. In doing so, God will prepare a place for us. Amen.