Why They Are Trying to Seal the Gate – And Why It Won’t Work
When Yeshua told us to “enter through the narrow gate,” He wasn’t giving us something poetic to hang on the wall. He wasn’t trying to sound mysterious or inspirational. He was giving us a warning, a directive, blunt and hard and real. The Greek word for narrow there is stenos. It doesn’t just mean small. It means pressed-in. Tight. Like trying to squeeze your body through a space barely wider than your ribs. The kind of narrow that makes you hold your breath just to make it through. It’s uncomfortable. It slows you down. You can’t drag baggage through it, not sin, not pride, not the world’s approval. It forces you to be intentional. Eyes locked forward. Humble. And brave.
And the word He used for gate? Pulē. It’s not just a gap in the fence. It’s an entry point with weight to it. Like the city gates in ancient Jerusalem, guarded, purposeful, and not open to just anyone who walks up. These weren’t places where you could just stroll through unnoticed. You were either known and permitted, or you were turned away. That’s the kind of gate He was talking about. And the One standing there? Yeshua said, “I am the gate.” Ani ha’delet. He’s not a signpost. He’s the Gatekeeper. The only way in.
Now contrast that with what He said about the wide gate and the broad road, platos and eurys in the Greek. Wide, spacious, easy. The word for way there is hodos, and it doesn’t just mean road. It means a course of life. A way of being. So the broad road isn’t just about sin in the obvious sense, it’s the whole cultural drift. It’s the spiritually lazy path. The path that requires nothing from you but to go with the flow. That road is comfortable, and it leads to destruction. Apōleia, ruin, waste, loss beyond recovery. It’s not just a bad outcome. It’s separation from God Himself.
But this isn’t new. We’ve seen this thread all through Scripture. Back in the Hebrew texts, we find the word derekh, a way, yes, but not just a route. It means a life direction. Your walk. Your pattern of being. Psalm 1 lays it bare: the derekh tzaddikim, the way of the righteous, versus the derekh resha’im, the way of the wicked. The righteous don’t follow the crowd. They meditate on Torah day and night. They stay planted. Firm. Fruitful. Not blown around like chaff.
And the ones who stick to that narrow path? God calls them she’arit, the remnant. The ones left when the shaking comes. The ones who didn’t bow to Baal or follow the crowd to destruction. Isaiah talks about them: “The remnant of Israel… will truly rely on the LORD.” This she’arit isn’t large. It never is. But they are the ones God preserves. The faithful. The few. The ones who follow even when the road is empty and the sky is silent.
Faith is part of that path too, but not just belief. The Greek word is pistis. Faithfulness. Loyalty. Trust when it doesn’t make sense. Obedience when it costs everything. It’s not a feeling. It’s a lifeline. A grip you don’t let go of. You see it in Hebrews 11, not in people who had easy lives, but in those who held the line even when they didn’t see the promise fulfilled in their lifetime. They walked it anyway. They knew what was waiting at the end.
And you can’t walk this path without perseverance, hypomone. That word means to remain when everything’s pressing in. To hold your ground under the weight of suffering and not cave. Paul said it produces character, and character produces hope. But don’t miss this, that’s not poetic. That’s the steel you feel in your bones when you’ve cried out and the answer hasn’t come yet, but you walk anyway. That’s hypomone.
Yeshua wasn’t speaking Greek to the disciples on those dusty roads, He spoke Aramaic. And the word for way there is d’khiltha, a chosen path. A deliberate route. A direction you walk on purpose. When He said “Follow Me,” it was ta’ lekh, a command that called for a response. You either followed or you didn’t. And following meant dying to yourself. It still does.
Why is this way so hard? Because of the yetzer hara, that old, crooked desire inside us for our own way. The world around us, the ‘olam ha-ze, feeds it. Makes it look normal. The narrow path doesn’t. It confronts it. It rejects it. The narrow path isn’t flashy, and it sure isn’t popular. But it’s marked by kedushah, holiness. Set-apartness. Not blending in. Being different in ways that sometimes even other believers don’t understand.
But hear this, God is still faithful. That narrow path? It leads to life. Not just surviving, but zoe, real, vibrant, unkillable life. Life with Him. Yeshua said, “I am the way (hodos), the truth (aletheia), and the life (zoe).” He’s not just showing the way. He is the way.
And if you’re wondering if even creation knows this pattern, it does. Think of DNA, that narrow double helix. Tightly coiled, impossibly ordered. It doesn’t work if it’s wide and sloppy. It works because it’s precise. Think of rivers carving canyons, they don’t do it by spreading out. They cut deep because they are pressed in. The narrow things are often the most powerful.
So if you feel alone on this path, you’re in good company. The Holy Spirit, the Ruach HaKodesh, walks with you. He strengthens your pistis, your trust. He builds your hypomone, your endurance. He whispers truth when all the lies are screaming. And He reminds you: you are not lost. You’re on the right road.
Beloved of God, the narrow path still leads Home. It’s the path of the faithful. The road of the remnant. The derekh of life. So hold fast. Don’t look to the left or the right. Don’t measure your walk by the crowd. The crowd’s not going where you’re going. The way may be tight, but the reward is wide.
Walk it bold. Walk it with joy. Walk it with the fire of the Spirit and your eyes set on the Gate.
Because that Gate… is Him.