lture or intelligence or
morality, but that in its great cosmopolitanism and universality it
comes to every man; because it treats all as on one level, and requires
from each only what all can bring--knowledge of themselves as sinners,
and humble trust in Jesus Christ as a Saviour. It is narrow because
there is no room for sin or self-righteousness to go in; it is wide as
the world, and, like the capacious portals of some vast cathedral, ample
enough to receive without hustling, and to accommodate without
inconvenience, every soul of man.

II. Notice the contrast of the two roads, which, in like manner, points
the exhortation to choose the better.

The one is broad; the other is narrow. Which, being turned into plain
English, is just this--that the Christian course has limitations which
do not hamper the godless man; and that on the path of godlessness or
Christlessness there is a deceptive appearance of freedom and
independence which attracts many.

'Narrow is the road.' Yes, if you are to be a Christian, you must have
your whole life concentrated on, and consecrated to, one thing; and,
just as the vagrant rays of sunshine have to be collected into a focus
before they burn, so the wandering manifoldnesses of our aims and
purposes have all to be brought to a point, 'This one thing I do,' and
whatsoever we do we have to do it as in God, and for God, and by God,
and with God. Therefore the road is narrow because, being directed to
one aim, it has to exclude great tracts on either side, in which people
that have a less absorbing and lofty purpose wander and expatiate at
will. As on some narrow path in Eastern lands, with high, prickly-pear
hedges on either side, and vineyards stretching beyond them, with
luscious grapes in abundance, a traveller has to keep on the road,
within the prickly fences, dusty though it may be, and though his
thirsty lips may be cracking.

I remember once going to that strange island-fortress off the Normandy
coast, which stands on an isolated rock in the midst of a wide bay. One
narrow causeway leads across the sands. Does a traveller complain of
having to keep it? It is safety and life, for on either side stretches
the tremulous sand, on which, if a foot is planted, the pedestrian is
engulfed. So the narrow way on which we have to journey is a highway
cast up, on which no evil will befall us, while on each hand away out
to the horizon lie the treacherous quicksands. Narrowness is sometimes