The Constricted Path and the Open Road: A Theology of the Two Ways

The Exclusivity of the Entrance

Jesus begins with an imperative: “Enter.” This command presupposes that the natural position of humanity is outside the gate of life. The Greek adjective used here for narrow is stenos, meaning narrow or strict, often referring to a standing place where there is no room to move or turn to the right or left.

From the perspective of Divine Sovereignty, the narrowness of the gate is not a design flaw but a reflection of the singularity of Truth. As Charles Hodge reminds us, truth by its very nature is exclusive. Just as there is only one center to a circle, there is only one way to God. The gate is narrow because it is Christ Himself, stripped of all human addition. We do not widen the gate to accommodate the crowd; we recognize that God, in His infinite wisdom, has established a specific means of reconciliation.

Yet, as we stand before this narrow gate, the voice of Human Responsibility calls out with equal force. John Wesley exhorts that while the gate is established by God, the act of entering requires a violent stripping of the self. The gate is too narrow to admit us and our sins; it is too narrow to admit us and our self-righteousness. “Nothing is wide enough for thee,” Wesley argues, “but the broad way”. To enter the stenos gate, one must leave behind the baggage of the world. The rich young ruler could not pass through because he was widened by his love for possessions; the Pharisee could not pass through because he was inflated by his pride.

Therefore, the entrance is a paradox of grace and action. It is a gate opened solely by Christ’s finished work, yet it demands that the sinner agonize (Luke 13:24) to enter, shedding the “old man” to fit through the door of the “new.”

The Pressure of the Path

Once through the gate, Jesus describes the journey itself. The King James Version translates the description of the way as “narrow,” but the Greek word is distinct from the word used for the gate. The word here is tethlimmenē, a perfect passive participle from the verb thlibo, meaning to press, squash, or hem in. It conveys the idea of a path that is compressed, like a road running through a rocky canyon where the walls press against the traveler.

This “pressed” way is the crucible of Sanctification. Norman Gulley points out that the Christian life is not merely a change of status but a transformation of being. The broad way is spacious because it offers no resistance to the fallen nature; it allows the traveler to wander in whatever direction his lusts dictate. The narrow way is “hard” because it restricts the flesh. It presses against our desires, forcing us into the mold of Christ.

Here, the tension between God’s keeping power and our perseverance is most acute. Matthew Poole notes that the way is hard “to our corrupt nature,” requiring a constant mortification of the flesh. It is an uphill climb against the gravity of the world. We must choose, daily, to walk this compressed path. As Oswald Chambers famously noted, we must allow God to “crush” the grapes of our lives to produce the wine of His character; we must submit to the pressure of the way.

However, we are not left to walk this crushing path in our own strength. C.H. Spurgeon provides the comfort of the Sovereign perspective: while the way is hard to the flesh, it is paved with the promises of God. “The way of holiness is the King’s highway,” Spurgeon declares, and those who walk it are guarded by the King’s own power. The pressure of the path is not meant to destroy us but to shape us, ensuring that we do not wander into the destruction that waits on either side.

The Destination and the Travelers

The ultimate contrast lies in the destinations: “destruction” (apōleia) and “life” (zōē). The broad way, populous and easy, leads to apōleia—not merely annihilation, but ruin, waste, and the total loss of everything that makes existence meaningful.

Jesus observes a tragic demographic reality: “those who enter by it [the broad way] are many” and “those who find it [the narrow way] are few.”

How do we process this? The Reformed tradition, echoing Augustine, often views the “few” through the lens of Election—that God, in His mysterious counsel, has preserved a remnant. This ensures that our arrival at “Life” is a result of His grace, not our cleverness in finding the path. We find it because He found us.

Yet, Andrew Murray reminds us that this reality should not lead to fatalism but to urgent, prayerful dependence and evangelism. The fact that the way is hard and the travelers are few is a call to vigilance. “The Christian life,” Murray asserts, “is a life of unceasing dependence,” where we must abide in Christ to avoid slipping back toward the ease of the broad road.

Matthew Henry synthesizes these views beautifully. He notes that while the company on the broad way is large and raucous, providing a false sense of security, the “few” on the narrow way are the “little flock” to whom the Father has graciously given the Kingdom. Their fewness is not a sign of failure, but of distinctiveness. We must not follow a multitude to do evil (Exodus 23:2), but rather be content to walk in the “sweet society” of the saints and the Savior, however small that company may appear.

Conclusion

The doctrine of the Two Ways leaves no room for a third option. There is no middle ground between the compressed path of holiness and the open road of destruction.

To the weary traveler feeling the pressure (thlibo) of the narrow way today: take heart. The pressure you feel is evidence that you are on the right path, walking against the wind of the world. As the Apostle Paul reminded the early church, “Through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God” (Acts 14:22).

Let us then combine the assurance of God’s sovereignty with the zeal of our responsibility. Let us praise Him that He has opened the Gate which is Christ, and let us strive with all the energy He powerfully works within us (Colossians 1:29) to walk that compressed, holy, and life-giving way until we see His face.