In 1993 the Jesus Seminar released its long touted The Five Gospels: The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus, raising the eyebrows and ire of many conservative Christians. The book unveiled the results of a series of meetings in which scholars -- having done extensive research -- cast their votes on purported sayings of Jesus. This they did by dropping a bead in a box, the color of which reflected the degree of authenticity they felt the words had.

In its final analysis, the Jesus Seminar claimed to have confidence in only 18% of the sayings Scripture attributes to Jesus. All else was deemed unreliable and/or fictitious. A closer look at their results revealed that the study's foundational assumptions denied divine inspiration, making their task simply one of compiling data based on human reasoning and research.

For those of us who view Scripture as the sacred Word of God, the thought of men emasculating it by casting colored beads seems an arrogance of the worst sort. I remember my own distaste when I read of their findings. And yet as I looked further, there was something about the honesty in their approach that bothered me and then brought conviction. I found myself thinking that though I say I believe that every word of Scripture is God-breathed, I too cast my own colored beads simply by ignoring those words of Jesus that don't fit with my way of life. The participants in the Jesus Seminar with their liberal bent toward Scripture, may be more authentic in their disbelief than those of us who profess beliefs that our actions belie.

What are we to do with the hard sayings of Jesus? Do we grapple with His mandate to love Him so fiercely that familial love looks like hate in comparison? Are we wrestling with what He meant when He commanded us not to store up treasures on earth? To give away all our possessions? Would He call us fools for our stock portfolios and houses and retirement plans? Do we love our enemies, give our coat to the one who sues for our shirt, keep our spiritual achievements private, and look for ways to serve others rather than lead them? Will we forgive our brother as often as he sins against us? Is the driving passion of our days to go into all the world and make disciples?

Even as I write these things my heart struggles, for I'm not sure what this kind of life looks like. I tend to assume that people like Hudson Taylor or William Carey or Amy Carmichael were somehow uniquely chosen, saints with a special calling. Could this be how I and others like me have cast our colored beads -- voting yes on Jesus's kind, saving words for ourselves, and assuming those more difficult and demanding apply to someone else? Surely such an approach to the Christian faith dishonors God, for it makes us our own little sovereigns, choosing what and when and how to obey.

When Jesus claimed to be the Door, He spoke soberly of a singular entrance to eternal life. Few will find it, He warned, though many will try. He cautions by way of parable that in the end He will close the Door, leaving untold millions to an eternity of destruction outside His presence. He warns us that many of those left without will be ones who claimed to follow Him, called Him Lord, and even demonstrated powerful works in His name. Is there any more sobering passage in all of Scripture? (Matthew 7:21-23)

So what are we to do? Perhaps we must first seek to understand the nature of the narrow way. Take up your cross, Jesus admonished His hearers over and over again, warning them that every other love, including the self-love that fights to maintain our own sovereignty, must fall to the ground like a grain of wheat and die. To enter the gates of eternity requires nothing less than annihilation of our very self, for to follow Christ is to go through a Door of death, as He did on Golgotha.

This will never happen through mere discipline and duty. It requires something far more than willpower and fleshly zeal. We must be driven by the reality that this Door of death is also a Door of life. There is a joy set before us that makes the dying gain, for in plunging us beneath the fountain of His blood, Jesus raises us to a life of delight we can only begin to fathom in this fallen world. When our hearts are set aflame by the wonder that we've entered into the heart of Christ to partake of His very nature, then perhaps we will find the holy passion to follow hard after Him (2 Peter 1:4).

We are saved and given free access to the very presence of God through the righteousness of Jesus who died that we might live. In taking up our cross we embrace His death in our death and find abundant life. How have you tended to view Jesus's words about your cross? Have they felt heavy, burdensome? If so, ask Him to begin to reveal the glory that is yours, that will make you want to run to Him with reckless abandon.

The reality of redemption is a rare treasure, not to be taken for granted. Jesus is a Door with limited access, and relatively few people ever find the narrow way. Do you live with this awareness? Does it cause you to press into the hard mandates Christ has given? In what ways are you learning to take up your cross for the joy set before you?

We live today in an age of mercy. The door is still open to all that will come. But a time is coming when the door will be shut with a terrifying finality. How do you think this reality should impact your thinking? Your daily life? Do you rejoice continually that you have entered through the gate to find free access to the Living God? Do you also sense a weight in crying out for the hearts of the lost, being ever aware of the sound of that door slamming shut for all time? Reflect on these things and write a prayer of response.