Are Only A Few Going To Be Saved?

Do we weep over the lost that will not enter the narrow door?


(opening skit)

The church is darkened. A small, narrow door stands at the front of the church, near the pulpit.

A lone woman enters hesitantly from the rear doors. She is clearly confused and distraught, not exactly knowing what’s going on. As she approaches the front, she is met by another woman. They apparently know each other.

Woman # 1: Oh, I’m so glad to see a familiar face! I can’t figure out what’s going on. The last thing I remember was that I was driving in my car on the way to a football game, I think there may have been something in the road ahead, and next thing you know I’m here, standing before this door. Can you help me? I’m so scared . . .

Woman # 2: Easy now . . . it’s okay. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on, but I think that’s the door into Heaven.

Woman # 1: What? You mean I’m dead? Was I in an accident? Is that what happened?

Woman # 2: I don’t know. I guess so. I think something like that happened to me, too.

Woman # 1: Wow . . . this is crazy! (indicating the congregation) I guess all these people must be dead, too?

Woman # 2: Yeah, I guess so. I think we’re all waiting to get into Heaven.

Woman # 1: Wow . . . who would have guessed that after all those years of being neighbors, we’d end up here together! What church did you go to, anyway?

Woman # 2: I went to Our Saviour. And you?

Woman # 1: Oh, I was a church member, but I never really attended. It just didn’t seem important at the time, you know?

Woman # 2: Uhh . . . no . . . not really.

Woman # 1: Well, it doesn’t matter now, I guess. After all, they say all roads lead to God.

Woman # 2: Who says that?

Woman # 1: Well, you know . . . they. Them. People that say things like that.

Woman # 2: (beginning to feel awkward) Ummm . . . we never really talked about . . . well . . . religion, did we?

Woman # 1: No. No, I guess we didn’t. That’s funny, huh? All those years living next door to each other. We talked about kids, we talked about our husbands, we talked about the price of milk and gas . . . but we never talked about religion.

Woman # 2: I’m so sorry . . . I guess I should have taken the time to talk to you about it.

Woman # 1: Well, don’t worry about it now. Let bygones be bygones, I always say.

(A robed man steps out of the door. He gestures to woman #2 to come and enter.)

Woman # 2: Ummm . . . I guess that’s my cue. I’ll see you around, okay?

Woman # 1: Hey, don’t worry about that. I’ll come with you!

(They both come forward, woman #2 first. The robed man allows her to pass but stops woman #1.)

Woman # 1: What’s going on? Why won’t you let me in?

(a voice is heard, reciting the words of the Scriptures)
Luke 13:22-29 22 Then Jesus went through the towns and villages, teaching as he made his way to Jerusalem. 23 Someone asked him, "Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?" He said to them, 24 "Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to. 25 Once the owner of the house gets up and closes the door, you will stand outside knocking and pleading, 'Sir, open the door for us.' "But he will answer, 'I don't know you or where you come from.' 26 "Then you will say, 'We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.' 27 "But he will reply, 'I don't know you or where you come from. Away from me, all you evildoers!' 28 "There will be weeping there, and gnashing of teeth, when you see Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but you yourselves thrown out. 29 People will come from east and west and north and south, and will take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God.

Woman # 1: What do you mean, “Away from me?” But she gets to go in!

Woman # 2: (clearly distraught) I’m so sorry . . . I should have told you. Only those who believe in Jesus Christ can enter Heaven. I’m so sorry . . .

Woman # 1: You mean I can’t enter the door? Why didn’t you tell me? (the robed man shakes his head, “no” The woman begins to walk slowly back down the aisle, emotion welling up in her) All those years we lived next door to each other . . . Why didn’t you tell me?!!



. . .




According to a 2002 poll taken by the Pew Research Council, over 82% of Americans consider themselves Christian. Eighty . . . two . . . percent. By and large, that number reflect my own experiences with the people of Hudson. As I’ve been around town—maybe at the youth soccer league or even perhaps at the store—when I meet someone inevitably the question comes up, “What do you do for a living?” And while I’m always a bit hesitant to say what I do (it always seems to change the conversation somewhat), in the end I end up telling them, “Well, I’m a pastor over at the Lutheran church.” And almost without fail, someone will say, “Oh, that’s good. I’m a member at such-and-such church.”
I assume that’s your general experience, as well. Mostly everybody you know in the Hudson area claims some sort of affiliation with an area church. And maybe you’ve been content to leave it at that. After all, it seems a bit rude to press the issue. When a person says they attend church, we ought to give them the benefit of the doubt, right?
Yet it makes me wonder . . . if all these people are church members, then why aren’t all our Hudson churches full? Hudson has a population of what? Around 2500 people or so? But yet in my talks with the area pastors, I can account for only about three to four hundred people in church on any given Sunday morning. Three to four hundred. And that’s even a fairly generous estimate, in my opinion.
But that’s just the people in Hudson itself. It doesn’t take into account the number of people that live within just fifteen short miles of Hudson. According to the US Census, by 2011 there will be over fifty-eight THOUSAND people living within fifteen miles of Our Saviour Lutheran Church. Fifty-eight THOUSAND. 82% of that number claims to be Christian. Why in the world aren’t all of our churches full?
The only conclusion that I can come up with, and the only conclusion that I think is valid, is that while many people claim to be Christian, they do not follow Jesus Christ. They are not His disciples. They may claim to believe, they may even be a church member somewhere, but since our churches are not full to overflowing, I can only assume that although many people claim Jesus Christ, they do not walk with Him as His followers.
These are people we know! These are our neighbors . . . our friends . . . our family. They claim Jesus Christ, but do not seem to follow Him. An apparently they believe that that makes them safe. But let’s ask ourselves: what will happen to these people—our friends, our neighbors—if they continue along that path?
There were apparently some followers of Jesus who were wondering the same thing. He was traveling around, preaching and teaching on the Kingdom of God. And apparently His words must have touched a nerve in one person, because that one person got up and asked him, “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?”
“Are only a few people going to be saved?” Well, that gets to the heart of the question, doesn’t it? And it seems like we’d expect the God of mercy and grace to say, “No, of course not! My grace is big enough to cover everybody! I want everybody to be saved, and so it doesn’t matter what a person says or does, or even what they believe in, because in the end all paths lead to me. No, no . . . don’t worry. I’ll make sure everyone gets in the door of Heaven when the time comes.”
One of the cleverest lies of the Enemy, of Satan, has been to convince as many people as possible that the way to eternity with God is wide and broad. That it’s easy. That a loving God would never turn anyone away from the doorway into Heaven.
But Jesus doesn’t say that. Instead, what He says ought to shake us up a bit. Heck, it ought to frighten us. What He says is, “The door is narrow.” The door is narrow, and that puts the brakes to the lie that everyone gets in in the end.
Jesus says the door is narrow, and that many will try to enter, only to have it shut in their face. And while others are admitted in, the people who thought that the door would always be open will be on the outside, pounding on the door: “Sir! Open the door for us!” “Why would I open the door? I don’t even know you.” “But Lord . . . we ate with you. We drank with you! You taught in our streets! Didn’t we talk about you while we walked around town? Didn’t we chat about you while we had breakfast at Karen’s Café? Didn’t we laugh with your followers while we filled up at the gas station? Didn’t we live right next door to your people?”
And Jesus will say, “Away from me, you evildoers.” And there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Weeping . . . because of opportunities lost. Because of a door—a precious, precious door—closed in their face for all eternity. And gnashing of teeth over eternal separation from the beauty and truth of God and condemnation to the torment and eternal regret of Hell.
Who will weep? Our friends will weep. They’ll realize—all too late—that Christ was real, that His forgiveness was absolute, but that they never truly became His disciples and instead preferred the false comfort over being a “church member” to the true comfort of being a devoted, active disciple of Jesus Christ. Our neighbors . . . our friends . . . our family . . . will weep.
They will weep, but will we? What if the final words we heard as we entered into eternity with Jesus Christ weren’t, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant”, but “Why didn’t you tell me?” What if we entered into eternity with the accusation ringing in our ears that we knew the truth but hadn’t cared enough to go the extra mile, to make sure that our neighbors had every opportunity we could possibly find to hear and believe in the Gospel, but that we hadn’t shared it with them? Would we weep then? No . . . I understand that we won’t weep in Heaven . . . but does the thought of those who will not be allowed through that narrow door make you weep now?
God’s people are no stranger to sorrow over the lost. In Psalm 119:136 the Psalmist weeps streams of tears over the fact that God’s Law is not obeyed. In Jeremiah 9:1, the weeping prophet longs that his head were a spring of water and his eyes a fountain of tears . . . he would weep day and night for his people that are lost. And the Apostle Paul weeps aloud in Romans 9:2, crying out, “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. 3 For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race.” Paul is willing to suffer eternity in Hell if only his people could live forever in Heaven. His heart is broken for the lost!
But not just God’s people, not just His prophets, not just His Apostles, but God Himself weeps over the lost. As He prepared to enter Jerusalem for the final time, the time having come for Him to offer His life on the cross for the redemption of the sins of the world, Jesus Christ looked into eternity and saw how even then people would reject Him. He saw how they’d reject His free offer of eternal life, how they’d turn away and instead decide to follow their own path, and He wept. He wept because they did not recognize the time of God’s coming to them . . . for them.
God’s people and God Himself weep over the lost because of the utter futility of the tragedy! They weep because they know that they don’t need to! No one needs to weep over the lost, because Christ worked to make sure that there didn’t need to be any lost! He came to earth as a little baby, becoming human just like you and me. In our place He lived the perfect, sinless life that you or I couldn’t live. And on the cross He died the death that you and I deserved. His work was done for all, for everybody, and all that someone who is lost must do to receive the benefits of Christ’s work is to believe upon Him, to trust in the salvation that Christ offers, to believe and to be baptized. His work is completed, and it stands completed for all, for everybody, if only they would just believe upon His promises.

That’s the promise that you stand upon: the promise that you are forgiven in Jesus Christ. You won’t we weeping with regret on that day, because the narrow door will be open to you. But since that is true, it is also true that until that day you are to weep over the lost. You weep because you bear the responsibility of exposing as many people as possible to the true, saving Gospel of Jesus Christ.
There’s a story told about a man of faith—a believer in Jesus Christ—who worked in a decidedly un­-Christian workplace. And day after day his righteous soul was vexed by the sinful lifestyles he saw exhibited every day. And day after day he cried out to God, complaining that he was the only Christian in his department. He complained to God day after day, “God, it’s so hard working with all these people! I’m tired of hearing about their wild weekend flings! Not one person in my department follows you!”
And then . . . one day . . . God answered him. God said to him, “You are right . . . you are the only person your entire department that follows me. Isn’t it amazing, then, that I have entrusted the task of reaching all of them to you?”

There was one time, not all that long ago, when a young girl came to the font of Christ’s baptism. This was a young girl that our family had befriended; who had found a place in our church home and there was taught of how Jesus Christ had offered His life as a ransom for hers. In this church, she learned of how to be cleansed from her sins. She learned not just how to become a church member, not just how to claim to be a Christian, but to live a life that followed in Christ’s footsteps. And as she came to this font . . . this very font . . . I wept. I wept because my heart could not contain the joy over the fact that Christ had claimed her as one of His own. Because of what He had done, her name was written in the Book of Life. She would, one day, enter through the narrow door. And in my tears were the applause of all of Heaven over one sinner who had repented.
Can we make an effort to weep like that more often? Not to weep with regret over those lost, but over those found? To weep with joy, knowing that God has used us—each and every one of us—as His instrument in proclaiming His Gospel, in inviting our neighbors and friends to church to experience His Gospel, in ensuring that the people of our community that we know and love will one day enter through the narrow door.