Let us, then, look at these four characteristics, and note how they all enforce the merciful summons which our Lord is addressing to each of us, as truly as He did to the hearers gathered around Him on the mountain:  ‘Enter ye in at the strait gate.’

I. The gates.

The gate is in view here merely as a means of access to the road, and the metaphor simply comes to this, that it is more difficult to be a Christian man than not to be one, and therefore you ought to be one.

Now, what makes a Christian?  We do not need to go further than this Sermon on the Mount for answer.  The two first of our Lord’s Beatitudes, as they are called, are ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit,’ and ’Blessed are they that mourn.’  These two carry the conditions of entrance on the Christian life.  There must be consciousness of our own emptiness, weakness, and need; there must be penitent recognition of our own ill-desert and lamentation over that.  These two things, the consciousness of emptiness, and the sorrow for sin, make—­I was going to say—­the two door-posts of the narrow gate through which a man has to press.  It is too narrow for any of his dignities or honours.  A camel cannot go through the eye of a needle, not only because of its own bulk, but because of the burdens which flap on either side of it, and catch against the jambs.  All my self-confidence, and reputation, and righteousness, will be rubbed off when I try to press through that narrow aperture.  You may find on a lonely moor low, contracted openings that lead into tortuous passages—­the approaches to some of the ancient ‘Picts’ houses,’ where a feeble folk dwelt, and secured themselves from their enemies.  The only way to get into them is to go down upon your knees; and the only way to get into this road—­the way of righteousness—­is by taking the same attitude.  No man can enter unless—­like that German Emperor whom a Pope kept standing in the snow for three days outside the gate of Canossa—­he is stripped of everything, down to the hair-shirt of penitence.  And that is not easy.  Naaman wanted to be healed as a great man in the court of Damascus.  He had to strip himself of his offices, and dignities, and pride, and to come down to the level of any other leper.  You and I, dear brother, have to go through the same process of stripping ourselves of all the adventitious accretions that have clung to us, and to know ourselves naked and helpless, before we can pass through the gate.

Further, we have to go in one by one.  Two cannot pass the turnstile at the same time.  We have to enter singly, as we shall have to pass through the other ‘dark gates, across the wild which no man knows,’ at the end of life.

Because it is strait, it is a great deal easier to stop outside, as so many of those to whom I speak are doing.  For that, you have nothing to do but to drift and let things drift.  No decision nor effort is needed; no coming out of yourselves.  It is all as easy as it is for a wild animal to enter in between the broadly extending palisades that converge as they come nearer the trap, so that the creature is snared before he knows.  The gate is wide:  that is the sure condemnation of it.  It is always easy to begin bad and unworthy things, of all sorts.  And there is nothing easier than to keep in the negative position which so many of my audience, I fear me, are in, of not being a Christian.