Chapter Four

The Choice of the Heart

Jesus placed before us two paths with a clarity that leaves no room for confusion: "Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."

There are two possible directions for the human heart. One curves inward, toward the self—toward my desires, my comfort, my power, my glory. The other opens outward, toward love—toward serving something greater than myself, toward caring for others as I care for myself. One accumulates for itself; the other gives. One seeks to be served; the other seeks to serve. One asks "what do I gain?"; the other asks "how can I love?"

This choice is the central drama of human existence. It is why you are here. Everything else—the joys and sorrows, the relationships and losses, the successes and failures—all of it serves this one purpose: to provide the context within which you can choose.

We might call these two orientations Polarity—not as moral judgment but as description of how energy flows. Consider a magnet. It has two poles, positive and negative. Neither pole is superior to the other. Both are necessary for the magnet to function. Yet they operate in fundamentally different ways—one radiates outward, one draws inward. So it is with consciousness.

The path that radiates outward is the path of service to others. It perceives all beings as expressions of the same Source, as other-selves rather than as competitors or resources. From this perception flows a natural desire to serve, to share, to give. It recognizes that what I do to another, I do to myself, because at the deepest level there is no separation.

The path that draws inward is the path of service to self. It perceives the universe as a hierarchy of power, where others exist to be used, controlled, or dominated for one's own benefit. This is not stupidity—it is a consistent philosophy applied with great discipline. But it is built upon a fundamental denial: the denial of the heart's natural recognition that we are all one.

Jesus illustrated this with an unforgettable parable: the rich man who accumulated so many goods that he had to build bigger barns to store them. "Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry," he said to himself. But God said to him: "Fool! This night your soul is required of you." He had lived curved toward himself, and in the end had nothing he could take with him.

In contrast, Jesus pointed to the poor widow who put two small copper coins into the offering box—everything she had to live on. "Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them." The amount did not matter. What mattered was the direction of her heart. She lived open toward love, trusting even when she had almost nothing.

This fundamental choice—inward or outward, for self or for others—presents itself every day in a thousand small forms. In how you respond when someone offends you. In what you do with your free time. In how you treat someone who cannot return the favor. In the thoughts you allow when no one is watching. Each small choice is a vote for one direction or the other. Each moment is an opportunity to strengthen your orientation.

Paul expressed it powerfully: "Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others." And then he adds: "Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus." The mind of Christ is a mind turned toward others.

Jesus himself modeled this perfectly: "The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." The Creator of the universe took the form of a servant. He who had every right to demand worship washed the feet of his disciples. He who could have called legions of angels allowed himself to be crucified for the sake of those who crucified him.

The path of service to others does not mean being passive or permitting harm. It does not mean abandoning discernment or ignoring your own needs. Jesus drove the money changers from the temple. He spoke fierce truth to hypocrites. He withdrew to rest when he needed to. The path of love includes caring for yourself—you cannot pour from an empty cup. The key lies in proportion and intention. When the welfare of others genuinely matters as much as your own welfare, the positive orientation has taken hold.

A fundamental characteristic of this path is respect for the freedom of others. The one who serves does not impose help upon those who have not asked. It recognizes that each being must make its own choices, learn its own lessons, walk its own path. This respect sometimes appears as restraint when you yearn to help—but it is not indifference. It is the deepest form of love: the love that honors the other's right to choose.

This is why Jesus, who could have forced everyone to follow him, instead issued invitations: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." He knocked on the door of the heart but never broke it down. He offered living water but did not force anyone to drink. He respected our freedom even when our choices broke his heart.

The world teaches us that strength comes from accumulating power, from controlling others, from building walls around what we have. Jesus taught the opposite: "Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." We find life by giving it away. We receive by sharing. We are lifted up by bowing down.

The world says: accumulate for yourself. Jesus says: give. The world says: defend yourself, don't let anyone walk over you. Jesus says: if someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. The world says: love those who love you. Jesus says: "Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you."

This is not weakness. It is the greatest strength that exists. It is the power that conquered death. It is the love that transformed fishermen into apostles, persecutors into missionaries, sinners into saints.

We are not asked for perfection. We are asked for direction. Where does your heart point? Toward self or toward love? Every small choice in the direction of love—every act of patience, every word of encouragement, every surrender of pride—is a step on the narrow path. And that path, though hard, leads to life.

The good news is that we do not walk alone. We are supported by a love greater than our own, guided by wisdom beyond our understanding, strengthened by a power that works in us "both to will and to work for his good pleasure." We do not depend solely on our own willpower. We depend on grace—the love that meets us where we are and gently draws us toward where we can be.

Some who read these words may have spent years, perhaps lifetimes, oriented more toward self than toward others. This is not cause for despair. The choice is made new in every moment. The direction can change in an instant. The thief on the cross beside Jesus, in his last hours, turned his heart toward love and heard the promise: "Today you will be with me in paradise." It is never too late to choose.

And for those who have already chosen the path of service, who have oriented their hearts toward love: keep choosing. The path deepens with each step. The capacity to love expands with each act of love. The light grows brighter as you let it shine through you.

This is the choice of the heart. This is why you came here. This is what all the drama of your life has been preparing you for. Not perfection—direction. Not performance—intention. Not arriving—walking. One step at a time, one choice at a time, one moment at a time, the heart opens and the path becomes clear.

Which way does your heart point today?