Here’s the uncomfortable truth that makes a lot of people squirm: Christianity claims to be the only way to God. Not one of many ways. Not the best way. The only way.
I know, I know. In our culture that celebrates inclusion and diversity – and rightfully so in many areas – this sounds harsh. It sounds narrow-minded. It sounds… well, mean.
As a Christian woman and mother, I’ve wrestled with this tension more times than I can count. How do I raise my son Michael to love everyone while also teaching him that Jesus is the only path to salvation? How do I navigate conversations with friends who believe all roads lead to heaven? How do I hold biblical truth in one hand and genuine love for others in the other?
But here’s what I’ve discovered: Christianity’s “narrow” path isn’t actually narrow-minded. There’s a huge difference between the two, and understanding that difference changes everything about how we live and love.
So let’s explore what Jesus actually said about this narrow way – and what it means for how we treat the people around us who see things differently.
The Hard Truth About What Jesus Actually Said
Jesus didn’t leave much wiggle room on this topic. He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Not some people. Not most people. No one.
Last month, my son Michael asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks. “Mom, why do Christians think they’re the only ones who are right? Isn’t that kind of arrogant?”
I’ll be honest – my first instinct was to launch into defensive mode. But then I realized this was actually a beautiful opportunity to explain something crucial: there’s a massive difference between being exclusive about truth and being exclusionary toward people.
When Jesus talked about the narrow gate, he wasn’t trying to keep people out. He was showing us the cost of following him. “Enter through the narrow gate,” he said, “for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”
The narrow gate isn’t narrow because God doesn’t want everyone to come through. It’s narrow because it requires something of us – surrender, repentance, faith. It’s narrow because truth itself is narrow.
My brother Willy down in Florida challenged me on this once during a family visit. He said, “Irma, you really think all those good people who aren’t Christians are going to hell? What about the Buddhist monk who spends his life helping others? What about the Muslim woman who prays five times a day?”
His questions hit hard because they came from a place of genuine concern for human dignity. And I get it. The exclusivity of the gospel can feel harsh when we think about real people we love.
But here’s what I’ve learned: the narrow path is actually wide open to everyone who chooses it. Every single person, regardless of their background, their past, their culture, or their circumstances, can walk through that gate. The invitation is universal even though the path is singular.
The gospel doesn’t say, “Only certain types of people can be saved.” It says, “Whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” Whoever. That’s pretty inclusive language for such an exclusive claim.
What makes Christianity narrow isn’t that it excludes certain people – it’s that it excludes certain paths. There’s only one way to be reconciled to God, but that one way is available to absolutely everyone.
When I explained this to Michael, something clicked for him. He said, “So it’s like saying there’s only one bridge across the canyon, but anyone can use the bridge?”
Exactly. The bridge is narrow – there’s only one. But it’s strong enough to hold everyone who wants to cross.
Living the Narrow Path with a Wide Heart
So how do we actually live this out? How do we hold biblical convictions while genuinely loving people who see things completely differently?
Well, it starts with understanding that we’re not called to be the Holy Spirit in other people’s lives. We’re called to love them, serve them, and share truth when appropriate – but we’re not responsible for changing their hearts. Only God can do that.
A few years back, our neighbors invited us to their daughter’s wedding. Beautiful ceremony, lovely people – but it was very clear their family held beliefs that were quite different from ours. Kevin and I had a choice: do we attend and celebrate with them, or do we stay home to avoid compromising our faith?
We went. We celebrated their joy. We brought a gift. We hugged them and told them how happy we were for their family. Because loving people doesn’t require agreeing with everything they believe.
But here’s where it gets tricky. Later that evening, the conversation turned to spirituality. The bride’s father started sharing his views about all religions being different paths up the same mountain. Everyone was nodding along, and I could feel the pressure to either agree or create an awkward moment.
I took a breath and said something like, “I really appreciate how much you value seeking truth and meaning. That’s something I deeply respect about your family. For me personally, I’ve found that truth in Jesus, and it’s changed everything about how I see life and eternity.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t launch into a sermon. I didn’t tell him he was wrong. I simply shared what was true for me while acknowledging what I appreciated about him.
That’s the difference between judging hearts – which we can’t and shouldn’t do – and standing on truth, which we must do. I can’t look into someone’s soul and declare their eternal destiny. But I can share the hope I’ve found in Christ.
Kevin’s years in ministry have taught me that love and truth aren’t opposites – they actually work together. Truth without love becomes harsh and judgmental. Love without truth becomes meaningless sentiment. But when you combine them? That’s when real transformation happens.
The key is learning to engage these conversations without getting defensive or dismissive. When someone challenges Christianity’s exclusivity, I don’t need to win an argument. I need to represent Christ well.
Sometimes that means saying, “You know what? I understand why that feels unfair. I’ve wrestled with that question too.” Sometimes it means sharing a story about how Jesus has worked in my life. Sometimes it means simply listening and asking good questions.
Last Christmas, my sister-in-law brought up this exact topic at dinner. Instead of getting into a theological debate, I asked her, “What is it about the exclusivity claim that bothers you most?” Her answer revealed that she was really concerned about justice and fairness – values I share deeply.
We ended up having the most beautiful conversation about God’s character, his justice, and his mercy. I didn’t compromise biblical truth, but I also didn’t dismiss her heart concerns. We found common ground in caring about what’s right and fair.
The narrow path doesn’t make us narrow people. It makes us people who know where we’re going and why. And that clarity should make us more loving, not less.
Christianity is narrow because truth is narrow – but God’s love is wide. The gospel excludes certain paths while including all people.
You can embrace both the exclusivity of salvation through Christ and the inclusivity of God’s invitation to everyone. Subscribe for more content on living out authentic faith in today’s culture.