Narrow Minded

A Reflection on the Gospel for August 25th, 2019:
Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

​Luke 13.22-30

Jesus went through one town and village after another, teaching as he made his way to Jerusalem. Someone asked him, “Lord, will only a few be saved?” 

Jesus said to them, “Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able. 

“When once the owner of the house has got up and shut the door, and you begin to stand outside and to knock at the door, saying, ‘Lord, open to us,’ then in reply he will say to you, ‘I do not know where you come from.’ 

“Then you will begin to say, ‘We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.’ But the Lord will say, ‘I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!’ 

“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. Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.”

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​Jesus walked. The distance he journeyed from Galilee to Jerusalem was, as the crow flies, 127kms—a three to five day journey. Last week, I walked 105kms. I don’t do that very often—walking. I find it a bit boring, actually, and time consuming. Why walk for an hour when you can run for 25 minutes and be done with it? The reasons why, as it turns out, are many. Not the least of which includes squeezing through the “narrow door”.

Our merciful Lord and Saviour hits us square in the nose with this Sunday’s Gospel. Not everyone will be saved. “Oh, man”, I thought, “What must I do, Lord? What must I do to be with You in eternity?” The answer floating up from my heart was, “It’s less about the ‘doing’ and more about the ‘being’”.

“It’s less about the ‘doing’ and more about the ‘being’”.

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The walk I walked last week was one I didn’t want to do. I was pretty ambivalent about it, actually, and I felt guilty because of my ambivalence. Everyone else seemed super pumped, making all the prayerful preparations and sharing messages of anticipation. I, on the other hand, was dubious. Would this be a waste of time? Would my vacation be better spent on fixing up my house? Is it gonna hurt? I had to go, though, because it was very clear that God had intended for me to be there for this particular pilgrimage. So, I practiced obedience, and I walked.

 ‘I do not know where you come from.’

Initially, I did not know where I was coming from. Was I coming from a place of good because I was obeying what I believed to be God’s will? Was I coming from a place of darkness, because my will didn’t line up with my Father’s? I only knew that I was called there, so I placed one foot in front of the other, and I walked. One companion on the journey explained that a pilgrimage can be like this: the first third of the journey, physical; the second third, psychological; the final third, spiritual. I found this to be precisely my experience.

So much of my life is spent at a pace that leaves my heart feeling like it is banging into closed doors at every turn. Sometimes I even blame God for the doors that have been slammed in my face. But as I walked this pilgrimage, I saw the crack in the door opening. Initially, I walked quickly, worrying that if I were to stop, my body would seize and continuing on would be even more difficult. Then I slowed a bit, distracting myself with conversation, song, and photography in an effort to ignore my pain. On day four, though, I walked alone, or seemingly so at the outset. I began to pray a Rosary, begging Mama Mary to beg her Son for mercy on my behalf. As I finished the third decade, I saw the crack in the door. A bridge. As I climbed down the embankment, dropped my pack, and crawled onto a rock peeking up out of the water, I wept with the joy of Him within and surrounding me. He was waiting all along for me to strive to enter into Him. 


Lori MacDonald

Photo credit: Rob Elford

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