The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all. Amen.
Why are some people saved and others not? How many are going to be saved? Who’s going to be saved? These questions keep coming up again and again throughout all of church history. Questions like “Why are some saved and others not?” — why, theologians have attempted various answers to sort of make it all work with both the biblical testimony and the way in which God goes about his self — if it worked. And unfortunately, a great many theologians over the centuries have gotten the answer to that question wrong.
In the fourth and fifth centuries, the guy that failed the biggest and the earliest was a fellow by the name of Pelagius. He rooted his answer to the question “Why are some people saved and others not?” in the belief that human beings possess a free will, unfettered, and that a person has the ability to choose to believe in Jesus, to follow Jesus, and to obey the law of God or not. But if they aren’t saved, it’s because they themselves didn’t exercise their will properly. Pelagius was rightly condemned as a heretic, having departed from what the Bible clearly teaches.
On the other end of the spectrum, there’s a fellow by the name of John Calvin, and he opted for a doctrine that’s called double predestination. He taught that people are saved eternally or condemned eternally solely and entirely based upon God’s sovereignty. That is, God elects, chooses, predestines those who are going to be saved and enter heaven, as he elects, pre-damns, chooses those who are going to hell, before the foundation of the world was ever made.
There are two problems with the kind of question put to Jesus today, and to this kind of question about who’s saved and who is not: “Why are some people saved and others not?” First, such a question tries to divide the will of God, and the mystery that Lutherans rightly call the doctrine, the teaching, of election. Second, these kinds of questions are often based in the idea, the belief, that somehow in God’s economy, fairness — fairness has to be the key function. God has to be a fair God. And if people are trying to be decent and good people, even apart from faith — why, there ought to be some accounting for something, if in fact God is, quote, fair. That’s the thing. Or in order for God to be fair — why, then, he shouldn’t simply penalize people who haven’t ever had the opportunity to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ.
People want God to be a fair God, but then they don’t quite understand what that really means in regard to themselves and to those that they love. It’s just — is it — it’s just not fair to condemn somebody who hasn’t been given the opportunity to hear the gospel, so the argument and thinking goes. They don’t want people to be penalized, or otherwise, halfway decent people but just simply are disadvantaged in some way regarding the Christian message. Others ask these type of questions as a manifestation of one’s own status. That is, they’re convinced they belong to the saved crowd, and others do not — or others aren’t like them, maybe don’t believe like them, or act like them, or have the same moral code as they do. Thus they’ve earned the status, and others have not.
But all of them have a sort of thing in common: when they approach the Christian faith like this and they don’t get the answer they want, they use it as a justification for disregarding the gospel, the Bible, and the church because of God’s own alleged unfairness. In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus was faced with that kind of question: “How many are going to be saved — just a few, or a bunch?” Jesus was traveling from town to town, teaching and journeying toward Jerusalem. Remember, he set his face toward Jerusalem. He’s getting closer to the holy city and to the cross of Good Friday. On this occasion, somebody asked Jesus, “Lord, will those who are saved be few?” Now, Jesus knows the intent of the questioner better than we do. We can only guess what was going on in his heart and mind. The question, though, doesn’t deal with anybody in particular, not even the questioner in himself. It’s in large part an academic exercise. It’s an academic question, kind of a bit of sophistry going on. That’s exactly, by the way, how Jesus deals with it. Which is why — questioners question why, in fact, the fellow is asking such a generic question — Jesus simply dismisses the question.
It’s been my experience, in the world and in the church, that there’s this small and generally sincere group of people who like to study, talk about, learn about religious, philosophical, and historical doctrines. It’s simply a discipline that they’re interested in. These people are generally smart people. They like to learn church history. They want to understand various theories and doctrines and teachings of this or that theologian or this or that religious church body. They are historical, philosophical, and theological sponges. They soak up as much religious, philosophical, historical knowledge as they can. They are thirsty for it. What they are not, however, is decisive. They don’t commit to believing in and living by a particular set of doctrinal beliefs. Generally speaking, yes, when it comes to the details of specific things about baptism or the Lord’s Supper or the nature of the church, or in this case the doctrine of election — why, they don’t really want to come in; they don’t commit to believe in a particular set of doctrines. For these personality types, religion, history, and philosophy is mostly an intellectually pleasing pursuit.
Think of it this way: some of these people are like people who enjoy the dating experience. They love to date around, but they don’t have any intention of being serious about the relationship, let alone committing their lives to believing in and serving another particular person of flesh and blood. They like the idea; they just don’t like the reality of the thing. They’re always supporting, always interacting, always seeking, but never investing. That might be the kind of person that’s just asked Jesus the question: “Lord, are there just a few who are being saved?”
But Jesus isn’t interested in a purely intellectual engagement. He’s not interested in a casual relationship. He’s not interested in any kind of sophistry. He seeks something much greater and much more from his disciples. He’s interested in fostering, creating, and sustaining true Christian faith, based in a right understanding of his words. Right? “If you are truly my disciples, you will keep my words.” That’s what he’s interested in. He’s interested in true faith, the right understanding, and in the struggle and endurance of true Christian faith unto the end. That’s why Jesus turns the question into something very specific and very personal. He tells the questioner and the crowd: “Strive to enter through the narrow door. For I tell you, many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able to.”
He turns the question back on the students, and students: you ask about other people — will they be saved, how many will be saved — but what about you? That’s his way of calling them to pay attention. That is, take heed to repent and to believe, lest they find themselves on the outside of the door, locked out. Correct. That’s the point of the parable that follows Jesus’s initial response: once the head of the household gets up and he shuts the door, and you begin to stand outside, you knock on the door, saying, “Lord, open up to us,” and he will answer and say, “I don’t know where you are from.”
Faith, saving faith, is not sophisticated. It is not simply an intellectual pursuit of data and of its collection and process. It’s not detachment from the challenges, the temptations, the struggles, the circumstances and relationships of everyday ordinary life. Faith is a living and active thing, and it’s living and acting in good times and in bad — especially in bad times. Here Jesus is depicting for us a faith that strives to endure. Striving, by its very definition, is not a passive endeavor. There’s no passive strife. Striving is active. It’s hard.
The word “striving,” of course, was an English translation of a Greek New Testament word, and there’s about a half a dozen or so Greek New Testament words that often get translated into the word striving or struggle or something. But Jesus uses a very unique word here that’s translated “strive.” The Greek word is agonizomai — you hear the English word in there: agonize, or agony. Agonizomai means to strive, to struggle, to exert enormous effort, to obtain. It’s the word Greeks used when they wanted to talk about athletic contexts, particularly wrestling matches. There is, after all, in every athletic endeavor an element of struggle and pain involved in order to finish the contest, to win the race, to win the wrestling match. Agonizomai: strive to enter through the narrow door.
We were told in the epistle lesson, in that first verse we read: “You have not resisted to the point of shedding your blood in your striving against sin” — in your agonizing, your struggle against sin. You see, that’s a part of the Christian life. Jesus isn’t talking about how one is justified; he’s talking about how one who is saved remains saved. That sounds quite different, by the way, from the last couple of Sundays, right? Two Sundays ago: “Do not be afraid, little flock; your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom of heaven.” There Jesus assured us that our Father is kind and gracious toward us, and he gives us ultimately the greatest gift: true Christian faith, salvation, the very kingdom of heaven.
Jesus comforts us again and again in the gospels and in the New Testament when he says things like, “Come unto me, all you who are laden and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” There’s nothing he says there about agonizing nowadays. Or John 14:1: “Don’t let your heart be troubled. Believe in God; also believe in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would not have told you. And I go to prepare a place for you.” Doesn’t sound like a wrestling match to me. Or John 14:27: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. So do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.” Nothing there about exerting a great deal of energy to achieve a goal.
See, the gift of faith is a gift given freely to you, created in the water and the Word, that makes you a saved one. The issue here is, once saved, what happens thereafter? Once possessing the gift of faith, what becomes of us? As Jesus grew closer and closer to Jerusalem and the cross, themes of conflict, hardship, and struggle become more dominant in his preaching. That’s the unpopular part of Jesus’s preaching. We don’t sit around taking comfort in verses that tell us somehow, in some way, we’re involved in a great fight, and we better take up arms ourselves. In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus said, “Do you suppose that I came to grant peace on the earth? I tell you, no, but rather division.” How often do you hear people quote that one? “From now on, five members in one household will be divided against one another.” And trouble doesn’t only come from family and friends in the world out there and people out there. Why, it also comes from within ourselves.
The epistle lesson: “Do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor faint when you are reproved by him; for those whom the Lord loves he disciplines.” That’s sometimes painful. That requires an agony, an agonizing kind of faith. Sometimes God is the source of our trouble, for a specific reason: to strengthen our faith, to test us. That is, to make sure that we have a faith that isn’t lazy and truant.
Between these two truths of the Christian faith — one, that we are given faith, the forgiveness of sins, life, salvation, the kingdom of heaven itself; and two, the second one, that we still must strive, agonize, struggle, in order to obtain that which has been given to us in the end — we do not work for our salvation. We do not earn our place in God’s family. God has made peace with us by his work alone: God and sinner reconciled. Yet while we have peace with God, the sad fact is we’re at odds with the world, with people near us and far from us, with governments and institutions who are at war with the gospel truth and that which is good and right and acceptable in God’s eyes. We are even at war with ourselves.
“Pastor, how do I know that I’m saved?” Well, you’re asking the question. If you weren’t, you probably wouldn’t be asking the question. You’re struggling; you’re agonizing with your faith. Look to the sacraments, to the Word of Christ. Luther rightly says when you’re struggling with your faith, when you’re wondering if in fact you are among the saved and that your sins are truly forgiven — he says look to the things that come to you from outside your head: that which you hear with your ears — “In the stead and by the command, your sins are forgiven. Amen.” That which you put into your mouth: the body and blood of Christ, for the remission of sin. That which was applied to your head: the water and the Word. Look to all of those things, and that will tell you whether or not you’re saved — not your emotions, not your circumstances, not fleeting thoughts here and there.
We are at war with ourselves. We are a people with two natures: one that will always oppose the will and way of God, one that is captive, one that is carnal, an enemy that does nothing for God, good — and a new nature, this reflects the very image of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. Ephesians 4:22-24: “You are to rid yourselves of the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the deceit of lust, and put on the new self, which is in the likeness of God and has been created in the image of righteousness and holiness of the truth.” Notice there’s a truth claim here, not an emotional claim. A truthful — this dual reality puts us in conflict with ourselves.
“Are only a few saved? Am I saved?” Even that question is a form of agonizomai, right? Of struggling, of wondering what my status is. How can God receive me? Think here of that synagogue official whose son was sick and dying and seeks out Jesus. And Jesus tells him not to be afraid. Don’t worry about yourself, for with God all things are possible. And what does the father say in response to Jesus? “I do believe; help my unbelief.” That, folks, is agonizing the whole life. Okay.
The Christian life is a sanctified life, and the sanctified life is a life of continual struggle. It’s not lazy. If you’re struggling, that’s partly normal. In the Christian heart, a war is going on within you. The Christian life is a life lived by faith, not by sight — that’s a struggle. The Christian life is a life lived by faith, not by emotions — that’s a struggle. It’s a striving. It’s a continual fighting. Jesus is saying here what St. Paul was given to write in First Timothy 6:12: “Fight the good fight of faith and take hold of eternal life, to which you were called.”
There’s a long history of God’s children having to struggle and agonize over their relationship with God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and on their relationship to the world and to their own selves. The gift of faith and salvation — the free gift — God gives it to those whom he calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies. But it brings with it a spiritual life of struggle, of trusting in God’s Word alone. And the Bible is filled with examples of men and women who struggle by faith. In fact, on our end of it, that’s what the Bible’s about: it’s about the struggle of true Christian faith, and the examples of the patriarchs. There was nobody except Enoch in the Old Testament who walked with God and was no more. That is, this man was such a model of faith, he didn’t even die. But everybody else — their bones get buried.
The Bible is filled with examples of saints who struggle: Abraham and Sarah, as they wait for the promise of Isaac and for a homeland to call their own. Jacob, who wrestled, struggled with God all night long — most of the night. His hip was dislocated. As a guy who’s dislocated things from time to time — that hurts. It’s painful. All the patriarchs had to struggle, wrestle, agonize over their sins, their failures, their relationship with God, and their relationship to their neighbors, even their own family members. Think of all the prophets that were rejected and persecuted, who ran out of the city of Jerusalem and went and hid under trees and in caves, because life was difficult and hard and they didn’t know why God was doing what he was doing to them. Think of all the apostles, all of whom were martyred except one, and he lived the rest of his life in exile.
The narrow door is the crucified and the risen Jesus Christ. He himself says, “I’m the way, the truth, and the life, and no one comes to the Father except by me.” That’s a pretty narrow door, at least by the world’s standards. “I’m the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved, and he will go in and go out and find pasture.” Jesus isn’t interested in answering the original question with any specificity at all, except at one point at the end of our reading today. We don’t know how many will be saved. It’s not our department. We’re not supposed to know that. But we will know that they will come from the east and the west, from the north to the south, and will recline at the table in the kingdom of God. They’re going to come from everywhere — which probably, evidently, gets to the heart of the guy’s question.
Instead, he tells us to dig in, to engage in the struggle, to keep the faith once delivered to the saints — that is, the doctrines — and to maintain our own personal trust, that is, faith, in him, Jesus Christ alone. The Christian life is a life of struggle. Those who don’t struggle usually do not survive as Christians in this world. But Jesus himself, in the Holy Spirit, is your champion. He has already delivered to you the victory. You have it all, even if you think and count yourself as a weak-faith Christian who must struggle all the time with the question of whether you’re saved or not. “Saved in First John 5:4: For whoever has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world — our faith.” You won. That doesn’t mean the struggle is done, but you’ve already won the victory, because Christ did it for you and gave it to you. Your sins are forgiven. The kingdom of heaven is yours. You have it all. Amen.
May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.