Rector’s
Sermon
March 7, 2004
2 Lent
"Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able…Indeed, [to enter] some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last."As a child I well remember how impressed I was with the front door of my church. It was impressive for several reasons. The first is because the interior of the church was a place of mystery and holiness that even at a young age I could appreciate. Candles and incense and music and liturgy all conspired to let that little boy know the presence of God was to be found there, that we were entering into the presence of God through that door.
The second thing that impressed me about the church's door was that I could not open it by myself. It was large and it was heavy, and left to my own devices I would have been shut out.
In today's gospel Jesus is asked about salvation and he answers, "Strive to enter through the narrow door, for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able." Much like the door to the church of my childhood, Jesus portrays this door as leading to the presence of God but also a door through which it is not particularly easy to enter. In fact, Jesus says there are many who will present themselves but will find themselves shut out. Jesus does not specify why that's so-only that they are characterized as "evildoers." He then goes on to say that there are many who believe themselves unfit for the kingdom of God who will in fact be the first to enter, and many others who expect to be first who will be last.
I'm not quite sure what to make of all that-if because I'm a Christian I somehow think I deserve the kingdom of Heaven more than some others, whether if I try to live a good life I am somehow more deserving than others, and conversely if I haven't measured up am I among those for whom the door remains shut? George Smith tackled the "Woe to you who are rich" passage of several weeks ago so reminiscent of another passage of scripture when Jesus says, "It will be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it will be for a rich person to enter the kingdom of Heaven." In these instances and in others we see a kind of Divine economy at work whereby those of us who are well fed, have access to good medical facilities, who live lives of relative comfort have already received our reward and that God's justice will provide those who are not so well blessed with a heavenly reward.
We need to remember the context for this business of striving to go through the narrow door, namely Christ's expectation that he would be rejected in Jerusalem, that he would be killed in Jerusalem. He laments, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you are not willing!" Am I among those rejecting Jesus, am I among those who nail him to the cross? Or will my faithfulness and devotion be the means of entry through the narrow door?
In all of those images, the one thing I come back to is that just like the little boy who can't open the door by himself, you and I are utterly dependent on the grace and mercy of someone who will open the door for us.
Now turn to the painting that I have had reproduced and was given to you with your bulletin. It's a famous painting of the Pre-Raphaelite movement by Holman Hunt. It is called "The Light of the World," of which there are two originals, one in Keble College, Oxford, and one in St. Paul's Cathedral in London. The copy you have before you is obviously without color, but for our purposes this morning that's not important. What is important is that Jesus stands before a door and is knocking for entrance. Although it's not very clear here, the originals do clearly show that there's no way to open the door from the outside in. In that sense, this is the exact opposite of the door that we knock on to get to Jesus. Here is Jesus knocking on the door to get to us.
Holman Hunt intended to portray the door of the human heart. Jesus brings with him two lights. The lantern in his hand represents the light of conscience that reveals human sin. And so again even though this representation is unclear, the original portrays how this door remains shut with nails and rusty hinges. Sin is that which separates us from God whether because of neglect or intentional desire. The light of conscience reveals the weeds entangling the door and an apple, a symbol of Humankind's first sin.
The other light is from Christ's face. That light reveals the hope of salvation because Christ's face is ultimately one of mercy and compassion. It reveals how much Christ yearns for us to open the door of our hearts and to let him in.
Now the truth of the image of the first door we envisioned is that unless God opens it for us we shall not enter the kingdom of Heaven. The truth of that first door is that no one ultimately can of their own devices provide us with what only God can provide, which is our eternal safekeeping. The truth of the second door, however, is that God does not force us to love God, that in fact we've been given the gift of free will by which, ironically, we are able to reject God's love. That rejection can be either very sensational or very subtle but is finally our choice. In one of Susan Howatch's novels Venetia Flaxton recalls the image of a priest friend standing by the cathedral door beckoning to her to come in. She says,
With a new ferocity I continued the all-consuming task of blotting out the pain of alienation, and although occasionally I remembered that image of the outstretched hand by the great closed door, no light pierced the darkness of the wasteland where the Great Pollutant still oozed its filth across my soul.
And so both doors are true images of our search for God and God's search for us and are really not two doors, but one. I am standing at the door and knocking for God to let me in at the same time Jesus is standing on the other side of the door knocking for me to let him in.
Amen.
