Brothers and sisters,

Someone asks Jesus: “Lord, will only a few be saved?”
He does not hand out statistics.
He hands out a warning:
“Strive to enter through the narrow door. Many will try and not be able.”

That is not comfortable, but it is the truth.

Why is the door narrow? Because the door is a Person.
“I am the door,” Jesus says.

Not a philosophy. Not a lifestyle. Not “all religions are equal.”
One door. One name. One Cross.

Every other so-called “door” is a dead end.

The word “strive” comes from agonía. It means wrestle. Fight. Sweat.

Heaven is not for the lazy.
Heaven is not for the casual.
Heaven is for those who fight for faith, who bleed for truth, who refuse to quit.

If your faith costs you nothing, it is worth nothing.

In the Gospel they cry: “We ate and drank with you! You taught in our streets!”
And the Master says: “I do not know you.”

That’s terrifying.
Proximity is not discipleship.
Attendance is not obedience.
Nominal Catholicism is not saving Catholicism.

Knowing about Jesus is not the same as being known by Jesus.

Isaiah saw it long before: “All nations will come to see my glory.”

That is the Catholic Church.
One Eucharist. One altar. One Shepherd. One faith.

Not a human club. Not a social circle.
The Bride of Christ. The Ark of Salvation. The narrow door made visible.

Step in, or you step into the flood.

Hebrews says: “The Lord disciplines the one He loves.”

God is not a sentimental grandfather who winks at sin.
He is a Father. And a Father who never disciplines does not love.

Pain can be grace. Struggle can be proof. Trials are training for glory.

If your life is easy, ask if you are carrying a cross.

Jesus warns: “Some who are first will be last, and some who are last will be first.”

The hidden saint will outrank the celebrity preacher.
The quiet grandmother with her beads will outshine the politician with slogans.
The humble, the faithful, the repentant — these are Heaven’s royalty.

Do not be fooled by appearances. God is not.

Jesus does not say, “Tell it to your feelings.” He says: “Tell it to the Church.”

The Church is not optional.
The sacraments are not accessories.
The Pope is not a decoration.

Reject the Church, and you reject Christ’s authority.
Ignore the sacraments, and you ignore Christ’s grace.

The narrow way is impossible on empty stomachs.
That is why Christ gives Himself as food.

The Eucharist is not a symbol. It is survival.
The Bread of Angels. The strength of martyrs. The food of eternal life.

Saint Tarcisius died protecting it.
Would we even inconvenience ourselves for it?

If Christ is really here, then everything else bows.

Think of the Titanic. People trusted in luxury, size, human pride.
But when it sank, the only thing that mattered was this: Were you in the lifeboat?

The world is the Titanic. The Church is the lifeboat.
The Eucharist is the food for the voyage.

Being near the boat is not enough. You must get in.

Confess — while the priest is still in the box.
Come to Mass — while the doors are still open.
Pray — while your tongue can still move.
Obey — while Christ still speaks through His Church.
Strive — while the door is still unlocked.

One day the door will slam shut.
No appeals. No extensions. No second chances.

Then there will only be two verdicts:
“I do not know you.”
Or: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

The door is narrow — but it is open now.
The way is hard — but it is possible now.
The choice is yours — but it is urgent now.

So, I ask you:

Are you drifting, or striving?
Are you Catholic in name, or Catholic in truth?
Are you standing at the door, or entering it?

Because niceness will not save you. Sincerity will not save you. Sentiment will not save you.

Only Christ saves. Only His Cross saves. Only His Church saves.

The narrow door is here, today, open. But it will not be open forever.

Step in. Strive in. Stay in.
Because when it shuts, the question will not be: “Were you comfortable?” “Did you enjoy the journey?”
He will ask, “Did you remain in My grace?”