Homilies

Jesus can feel like the guest who spoils a party—the one who stands in the doorway, notices every flaw, and starts rearranging the seating chart. Many Pharisees saw him that way: not fun, not flattering. But look closer. He is not ruining the celebration; he is teaching us how to finally enjoy it.

Hosting can be exhausting. The menu, the timing, the conversations that must be managed so certain people do not collide. Beneath the lists and the candles burns a deeper pressure: the need to impress. We carry it into our homes, our jobs, our social feeds. Show that life is curated, successful, enviable. Spend more. Prove you belong at the head of the table.

The question sounds religious enough: How many will be saved? Yet it is a poor guide for a disciple. Whether the number is many or few, nothing essential changes—love does not shrink or expand because of a statistic. Counting souls does not convert a single heart. It distracts us from the work right in front of us.

Jesus refuses the headcount and gives us a marching order: “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.” Not a spreadsheet, a path. He redirects curiosity into courage. The image is tight, demanding, almost like a trail that steepens at the end. And the warning is clear: many will try, and strength will fail. So what now?

Ancient Israel wanted soothing voices. If a message promised comfort, they would pay to hear it. Prophets became a profession, and when a profession depends on pleasing customers, the truth gets trimmed to fit the market. Many in that guild learned to say only what people wished to hear. Yet, in the midst of all that noise, a few refused to sell the word. Their sermons were not crowd-pleasers. They spoke of judgment and course correction. And when the kings needed an honest messenger, they searched for the one no one wanted to hire—the one whose words stung.