Link Click: The Parable of the Difficult Way

Picture this: An aspiring manhua artist (or manhuajia) has defied family and fate alike to finally meet her role model at a signing event. Nervously, she gifts the experienced artist with a sketchbook of her drawings and asks her, with a quaver in her voice, for advice: should she pursue her dream? The sage professional bows her head and, after a torturous pause, responds with this parable:

About a year ago, the artist heard about a stunning meteor shower that was due to light up the sky in her home region. No one she invited wanted to go with her, though—it was going to be too dark, they said, and not worth the effort or risk. So that night, she set out alone, with nothing but a small flashlight and the stars to guide her through the forest to the lakeshore from which to view the night sky. Her poor eyesight and night blindness made the venture all the more challenging; she stumbled and fell too many times to count, even losing her way more than once. But each time, she got back up and pressed on, unable to see the path in its entirety, but relying on the small puddles of illumination from her flashlight to make her way. And it was worth it. What she saw that night was glorious, and it changed her. The next day, in the sunlight, she retraced her steps and realized that she had not taken the easiest route. But—she pauses to emphasize to her listener—she had no regrets for the path she’d taken or the humble flashlight she’d relied on. 

This parable is not just a picture of what it is like to pursue a dream; it’s also an image of the way of life that Jesus spoke of in his Sermon on the Mount, when he said that “narrow is the gate and difficult is the way that leads to life…”

I’ll admit, I’ve never properly let this image sink in before now, prompted by this side plot in the donghua Link Click (Bridon Arc). If I thought of Jesus’s words here, it was to picture something more like a narrow “yellow-brick road,” cutting through the expansive Middle Eastern landscape on a sunny day, perhaps with some ditches on either side, as I conflated the “narrow gate” at its outset with the path itself. But that’s not at all what he was describing. Rather than narrow, Jesus tells us that the way is difficult. 

Don’t get me wrong, the road walked with Jesus, the way of faith, is filled to overflowing with joy, paved with peace, and made possible by the love of God. And no matter how impossible the way may seem as the mountains loom high and heavy, and the wilderness encroaches, God always makes a way; in fact, Jesus is the way, so it’s impossible for us ever to be overcome or lost as long as we match our stride with his, bound together with him by his yoke. And yet, even so, there are times and seasons when the way is difficult. 

A path can be difficult in any number of ways, particularly in the context of ancient Israel, with its rocky, steep, and lonely mountain passes and endless stretches of dry, thirsty land. But it can also be difficult in the way of the manhuajia’s nighttime journey. The road of life can be dark, even when walked with Jesus—impenetrably so, such that our eyes cannot pierce it. Sometimes, too, it doesn’t even look like a path because it is so abounding in obstacles that we cannot see our way through, and instead we find ourselves feeling like we’re alone in the wilderness; sometimes we doubt whether our guide is still with us. This is why scripture describes the word of God, which is made flesh in Jesus, as a lamp to our feet and a light to our path; after all, we only need light when the way is dark. In those times, we can only see the next footfall, and then the next, as we move forward step by step, or perhaps leap by leap, since the way demands such faith to move from one pool of light to the next that it may feel far riskier than mere stepping.

It was dark and difficult like this at times for Jesus, too. He knew that the path he was on was good and true and came from his Heavenly Father, and he never wavered in his commitment to the way that would make true life possible for all humankind. But even so, the path brought him to tears on many occasions; it challenged him with struggles, disappointments, frustration, and disquiet. He wept, mourning for Lazarus and for Jerusalem, regretting the fate that the city’s inhabitants were choosing for themselves, his heart breaking over them. He suffered the faithlessness of his closest friends, knowing that betrayal was on its way to him, and he sweated drops of blood as he confronted the storm raging within throughout that last night in Gethsemane. He even asked God for another way, another path that he might walk instead. Yes, the way that leads to life is difficult.  

This is why Jesus himself, as well as the epistles, remind us to expect tribulation, to anticipate challenges amid the joy, peace, and love of God. All the more so since, unlike Jesus, we are fallible and vulnerable to temptation. Though we grow and mature, and our faith and wisdom are strengthened with each step taken with Christ, we are still prone to stumble, succumbing to sin or the fear or pride that provokes us to wander, preferring our own way to the way of life. Unlike Jesus, we suffer from bouts of spiritual blindness, too, like the night blindness of the manhuajia, and we lose our way. But that’s not the end of the story. You see, the way may be difficult, but it is full of divine purpose! Just as it was for the manhuajia.

The difficulties the manhuajia faced that night meant that she didn’t know the way; but she did know where she was going. And more importantly, she knew why she was going, why it was worth the risk of persevering. She was going so that she might see the glory of the heavens! It was a once-in-a-lifetime decision, and it marked her—so much so, that her journey that night became the gift that she now offers to others. It is the gospel, the good news, she shares whenever the young and burdened come seeking her counsel. They are now blessed by the price she paid to walk the difficult path that night. What a powerful story! And it can be our story, too. 

Fortunately, we have one advantage over the manhuajia. Whereas she had to find her own flashlight, carry it herself, and just hope that she pointed it in the most helpful direction as she made her way through the night, we have One who finds us, who shines the light for us, even putting his own light in us, making us a light. He is not blinded by the dark, nor is the path unknown to him, as it was to the manhuajia. More importantly, he knows our walking, our way of moving and being; he knows our capacity and ability, which means that he knows how to lead us along the path in such a way that its difficulties will never overcome us. He does this by walking with us, leading us by the light of his word. And it’s because of his presence and the grace that imbues it that, no matter how many times we stumble and fall, or how many times we veer off the path and lose ourselves, we do not need to regret the path we take with him, no matter how difficult it proves at times. 

The way that Jesus spoke of that day on the mountainside may be a harder way—and let’s be honest about that, because it truly can be at times. But it is also more purposeful. It goes somewhere worth seeing, with Someone worth following.

So as we face the dark night of the soul, or the steep, rocky, narrow mountain pass, let’s rejoice with the manhuajia, that we have a flashlight we can trust, and that where we’re headed is going to be glorious. May that become the parable we, too, share with the next generation, breathing life into their way.

claire
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