Living Catholic with Father Don Wolf

How many will be saved? | October 5, 2025

• Archdiocese of Oklahoma City

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A single question can bend the arc of a life: Will many be saved—or only a few? In this episode, Msgr. Wolf explores how generations shifted from “heaven is promised but not presumed” to “heaven is assumed if we’re decent,” and why both comfort and terror can miss the heart of grace. We unpack the old struggle over predestination and assurance, and how Sunday worship takes shape from those assumptions: is the goal a moving experience that signals chosenness, or the steady sacramental life that Christ entrusted to the Church? We argue for a both/and spirituality—feelings welcomed, sacraments central—anchored in a God whose mercy calls for a real response.

To bring Jesus’ “narrow gate” to life, we contrast Broadway’s bright promise with the quiet courage of daily fidelity. Drama can awaken us; only the cross can change us. The narrow way is the kitchen table, the hospital corridor, the patient choice to forgive without applause, the freedom that comes from dying to self early so fear loses its grip. Blessed Stanley Rother’s witness ties it all together: he did not become a martyr in a moment; he became ready through thousands of hidden yeses. That is the shape of salvation lived now—focused love, steady hope, and a cross that promises all is gained in what is given away.

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Father Don Wolf is a priest of the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City. Living Catholic also broadcasts on Oklahoma Catholic Radio several times per week, with new episodes airing every Sunday.

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This is Living Catholic with Father Don Wolf. This show deals with living the Catholic faith in our time, discovering God's presence in our lives, and finding hope in his word. And now, your host, Father Don Wolf.

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Welcome, Oklahoma, to Living Catholic, Father Don Wolfe, pastor of Sacred Heart Parish and the rector of the shrine of Blessed Stanley Rother. There is one question in that way that may be one of the most contentious in the entire history of Christian belief. This one notion has determined the belief structure and direction of entire branches of Christianity and has even founded and ended whole denominations. Thads come and go, eras are marked by preoccupations we can hardly understand, and the concerns of our fathers sometimes never make it past their grandchildren. But this one concern never seems to go away. And the question is, are there many to be saved? It's simple, which is why I suppose it has such cachet. Were it hard to ask, we wouldn't waste time asking it. Were it hard to formulate, we wouldn't bother. And certainly were it complicated by all matter of qualifications, it wouldn't move the souls of simple men. But such is not the case. This question haunts the imaginations of some of the most famous people in history. It was asked by Ignatius in the second century and by Augustine in the 6th. John Calvin and John Wesley were haunted by it, Calvin in the 16th century and Wesley in the 18th. And the most notable Martin Luther was tortured by the answer he came up with as he was ready to upend the Christian world in the 1500s. And these notables are simply a smattering of those who've asked and then answered the question. All of them wondered, will there be many people or only a few who are going to make it to heaven? These were all brilliant minds. They weren't simply indulging some abstract question. It wasn't as if they were trying to figure out, for example, how many Israelites actually left Egypt and crossed the Red Sea at the Exodus, or what was the shape of the mask Moses would wear when he came out of the meeting tent with his face glowing after having talked to God? Those are trivial pursuit kinds of questions. They don't really matter that much to anyone, really. Certainly they don't go to the heart of the faith or to the credibility of the Bible. But asking about the number of the saved, that goes to the foundations of the faith. What would be more crucial than the saved? What would God be up to, after all, if salvation were not in were not in the mix? Besides, these quick minds were just trying to come up with a formulary for the people they were ministering to. They were also concerned about themselves. They looked into their own hearts and lives and figured, unless the saved included a very, very wide swath of humanity and humanness, there won't be very many of us. In fact, unless there is a very generous response from God, I might not be among them myself. That's when the question becomes personal and pointed. Will the saved include me? And it's a good question. It's asked in the Bible, after all, just how many are going to respond to what God wants? And the answer is not a bad bit of information to know. Will there be many? Are most of us going to float toward the goodness of heaven? Or is it only the few? Will most of us just watch as we slide down toward the hellishness of life and find ourselves in the final moments of life, condemned? Which will it be? No, it's not a bad question at all. And we can see the different kinds of answers to it in the contrast of generations. My parents and grandparents, for example, were of the notion that going to heaven was hard. They knew the life of the faith impelled them to respond to God's initiative with gratitude and discipline. God wanted them for himself, but they had to take the initiative to respond. They were given the life of Christ through the graces of the church, and they acted so to bring this grace and goodness into their lives. As part of this, they were all attentive to the teachings and the disciplines of the church. They never once missed Mass on Sunday. They were strict in their attention to the teachings of charity and forgiveness, and they remained aware of their need to acknowledge and to repent of their sins. Heaven was promised, but it was not presumed. Going to heaven wasn't easy. It certainly wasn't guaranteed. Hell is no mirage for them. It yawned as the ultimate truth. But among their grandchildren of today, they presume heaven is their due. In their presumption about their lives, they imagine heaven to be no more than a brief slide into paradise from wherever they are. All they have to do is hold on for the ride, no prerequisites necessary. Being born, being present, and being decent are all that's required in their point of view. Do that, and there's no need, and there need be no more worry. Heaven is as easy as breathing and is no more challenging than choosing the clothes you wear. No rules, really, no expectations, actually, and no church, certainly. Just show up, and the gates of life lie open. Heaven is no prize if it simply falls into your lap. And to be honest, the response is less about what era a person is from than it is about what we think of God. And it's not just about numbers, about many or few. The formulation goes something like this. If God knows everything, then the divine awareness, including who's going to heaven and who's going to hell, that means from the beginning, a person is either chosen to enter heaven or is chosen to be in hell. If this is true, there's no appeal. God knows, and that knowledge is immutable and unchangeable. However it happens, whatever the mechanism and in whatsoever is contained in a lifetime, the person chosen will end up in heaven, and the one condemned will end up in hell. More than that, to imagine a person could buck against the trend would be to cast God as impotent or useless. If God had chosen to condemn, but there was some mechanism to undo this choice, then the person or the machinery of life would be more powerful than God. And that couldn't be the case. And there couldn't be some sort of system created in which God could somehow be convinced to change the divine apportionment and let someone who was condemned into heaven. That would make God mistaken. No, it has to be stark and complete. God knows and God chooses. And once we become aware of that, things are set. There are the chosen, and then there are the condemned. It's all set and done. Sounds tough, logical and straightforward for sure, but tough. There's not much room to wiggle around in those conclusions. Either God is is through and through, either God is God, through and through, with the power to condemn, just because he wants to, and saves just because he wants to, or we're through with God being God. Those are the contrasts, and they are stark. So you can see how the question about how many of the saved there are quickly becomes crucial. If there are only a few, then whether you're one of the chosen becomes a pretty vital question. What if God chose only one in a thousand or one in 10,000? Knowing that you're that one could change your life. What if God chose 99 out of a hundred or nine hundred and ninety out of a thousand to go to heaven? Knowing your disposition would still be comforting, but the contrast would be less. In truth, as long as you're chosen, whatever the odds, your life would be fine. It's in the knowing that makes the difference. In fact, whole groups of Christians fell out over these questions, coming down on one side or the other about how important it is to know about being chosen or not. About 500 years ago when the Reformation started, this question had the power to shake the foundations of the faith throughout the world. In fact, knowing whether or not has formed the life of believers all over. It is in the answer to this concern, am I chosen, that we experience on Sunday morning, that what we experience on Sunday morning is shaped. What we do when we gather on Sunday depends on what we believe about how many and who. Think of it. If you're worried about whether you're going to go in, you're going to be one of the chosen that God has selected, and there's nothing you can do about it at all, one way or the other, wouldn't it be good to know? In fact, you might conclude that God ought to let his chosen know they are in fact chosen. That way, they can fearlessly do God's work and work here amid their chosenness. And that was one of the conclusions of those groups who focused on God's immutable choosing. They figured that if God wanted to bless us with choosing, then the chosen would know. So, what would be the sign? Well, one of the signs would be the religious experience we had. If we had a sense of God coming to meet us, of assuring us of having a sense of God moving in our lives, we'd know then we were chosen and all would be fine. And that's what happens in a good number of places on Sunday morning. They put a great premium on an experience of God, of a moving, powerful experience of God in their lives. Whether by music or sublime preaching or simply because it happens best in a large crowd together, the focus is on having the experience. And once you do have it and know you're chosen, that's all that matters. Literally, nothing else in the world of the church does matter except this experience. On the other hand, if we have an assurance that the church has been entrusted with the means of salvation, according to the words of Jesus, then what happens on Sunday is what Jesus has us enact. What we feel about it or experience of it, or even what goes on in our hearts isn't that important, since we're fulfilling what Jesus told us to do. Being chosen is up to God. We do our part and God does his part. Since God has entrusted the church with what to do, we do that and trust in God's goodness. It makes for a different kind of Sunday than in other places. These questions and their answers had consequences, which we see every single Sunday. He was asked whether they would be many or just a few to be saved. So the question is certainly legitimate. He said, seek to enter by the narrow way. It's not a number or percentage that he responded to. Instead, it's a recommendation about how to achieve what we're looking for. Be among the few, he said. Many will try the opposite and want to enter by the easy or the broad road. Be different and enter by the narrow gate. It's a hard response. We've all met people who are narrow. They're not very flattering. It's the same as being mean or punishing. Spend a few minutes watching TV, especially programs pitched toward young people and young adults, and you'll find the narrow character. They're the ones who believe in the narrow way. They're pinched and limited, prejudiced and hard. Life is a contest for them, and if you fail, then you'll never make it. In our society, according to our way of thinking, there's hardly a greater condemnation than being accused of being narrow. Entering by the narrow way is the worst thing anyone could imagine. So unpacking Jesus' words is something important. We want to walk the narrow way without being narrow people. We can try it by thinking of what the opposite of the narrow way would be. The opposite of the narrow way is Broadway. What do we get when we live our lives on Broadway? Now I love to watch the shows on Broadway and celebrate the nightlife on the Great White Way as much as anyone. This doesn't somehow condemn entertainment or musicals. But as we think about it, we do have to admit, Broadway has a message. If Jesus tells us to enter by the narrow way, maybe the Broadway has something to teach us. And the first thing is if we want to live on Broadway, we'll notice that it's surrounded by lights and letters. There's no way it won't call attention to itself and to its offerings. Everything there is designed to capture our energy and keep our attention. And it doesn't matter what the content might be when looking at a theater where the great shows are playing. What's the difference between a really wonderful play and a terrible one? On the outside, among the neon and the glitz, nobody can tell. They all invite attention and interest in exactly the same way. They want to make sure everyone's talking about what's playing. They want everyone to hear the buzz and the beauty. The broad way is what everyone expects, what everyone wants, what everyone is focused on. The narrow way is different. It's subtle and quiet. The narrow way is usually calm, serene among those who experience it. To enter by the narrow way is its own reward. It produces its own fruit, and it doesn't need the impulse or the light from something else. If the broad way is the blinking lights and giant letters of opening night, the narrow way is the kitchen cupboard door and the cutting block for Sunday supper. The Broadway is the excitement and drama that caught that captures our attention and holds our energy. There are great dramatic stories and moving plots, betrayals and resolutions and wonder. To go to Broadway is to experience the highs and lows of human life and human history in ways impossible to reach just on our own. We can cry at the depth of misery and laugh at the foolishness of humanity in ways we would never do if we were just at home, considering the smallness of our lives. Nearly a billion people, for example, have seen Le Miz and shed a tear when Fantine dreamed a dream. They roll their eyes at the foolishness of the young revolutionary students when they sing of the new day that will dawn when righteous blood is shed. We cry and laugh and are made whole, because that's what drama is for. But that is all at a distance. We regard the drama and the comedy there on the stage, and when we see it, we can see it in ourselves, reflected into the darker corners of our souls. In fact, we're dignified and deepened by what we experience. But it's there on the stage, and it's there during those two and a half hours away from us, even as it sparks something in us. That's the broad way. The narrow way is to shed the true tears of our own mistakes and our own foolishness. The narrow way is to look up and to lean into the world that surrounds us. It is the world we can't walk out of or leave early. There are no spectator seats in life, only the starring role when we enter the narrow way. It happens only in the middle of life. When the doctor comes back to the waiting couple in his office and he tells them the tests have determined that their new baby will be Downs syndrome, for example, they're not able to shed a tear, then dry their eyes, and find a taxi back to their hotel, as if the play then ends. When they embrace the truth that they've received and determine and they are determined to love this child because it is their child, and as deserving of life as their own selves, they've entered the narrow way for the next sixty years, every day and every moment of the day. There are no rehearsals, no second acts, and no silly interludes in the narrow way. There is life and the presence of the Lord and the promise of hope. And it's all lived out and given and made whole completely and intensely every day. That's the narrow way. And finally, the broad way is to escape from death. That sounds wide and broad, to escape from death, but that's what they're doing actually on Broadway. Of course, when we watch drama on stage, we're reminded of the tragedy of dying and the sadness of losing. Who hasn't shed a tear when the shortness of life and the cruelty of nature wins out over the charm and beauty of the people who are loved and celebrated? We weep at Romeo and Juliet. We're struck by the cruelties of the judges and the crucible, and the mania of the Phantom of the Opera moves us. On the Broadway journey, we approach the truth of death and the inevitability of failure. We learn to keep our stiff upper lip and our ironical composure as we face the facts of living and dying. But on Broadway, this carries with it a nobility, a purpose beyond the harsh facts of life coming to an end. Death is the pathway to seriousness and the prelude to understanding for those who want to be serious. It's the one truth that can't be denied. But we go to the Broadway to stay away from death. With all of our regard and with all of the celebration of our sensitivity, we keep death pushed to the end of things. It's the final insult and the ultimate surrender to the cruel world we occupy. The story of life is the story of the world that ends in tears and in sobs, but we keep it away from us by regarding it as something up ahead. We're moved by it by keeping its harshness offstage. The nastiness of dying is surrounded by the careful concern and the decent response of those who are shocked and stirred. If we have these emotions, these tools, then death stays wrapped in the explanations of tragedy. On the narrow way, we embrace death. It is up close and part of the life we've been given. Death comes for us early on the narrow way. It is the death to self, the forgetting of the endless promise of beauty and hope, so as to embrace the hard reality of living in this shattered world. The narrow way embraces death, like a husband who says, I do, to the woman at his side as they exchange their vows at the altar. He'll spend the rest of his life stooping to wash her feet in all of her limitations and misunderstandings and insecurities. He dies to the cheerful, boundless joy that Broadway tells him is life, and he walks out of the church with that old self left behind. In the narrow way, we embrace the death of our old self. We also forgive the ones who have offended us. We forego revenge. We also forego the easy resolution where we all embrace and love each other because life is easier when we do, like on Broadway. In the narrow way, forgiveness is a choice we make to die to the natural man who wants to hit back and to make things even and to hear an explanation. On the narrow way, dying is the choice we make early. On the narrow way, we nail to the cross the success we're guaranteed by the great white way. On the narrow way, we die so that we are no longer afraid of dying. No threat, no loss of a job, no shame or embarrassment can knock us over because we've already let go of the props and ease of the bright lights. There's nothing that can harm us when we have died to self. Jesus says, choose the narrow way. He says, take up your cross and follow. He says, I have overcome the world. On his way, the promise of life is there, and we're promised a different future. So will there be many who are saved? Of course we hear that everyone feels saved if he goes to the right play and sits through the right musical. He can smile as he leaves and feels relieved to know the world can turn out just right when the lights come up two hours later. But the invitation extended to us is that we embrace a life like Jesus himself offered. It's a life of being chosen, of being beyond the bounds of living. It is the life of resurrection. We can take a lesson from Father Rother. When he faced the prospect of the violence and intimidation in his village, he understood that he had to remain with them. His desire was to be the leader they needed, the pastor Christ himself wanted for them. When the knock on the door came at one o'clock in the morning of July the twenty eighth, nineteen eighty-one, he knew his life at that moment was forfeit. They had come for him. The only way out was the grave. But he had already given his life away when he was ordained. He gave his life away when he had surrendered himself to become a missionary. Stan had led, had left the broad way of his life by leaving what he knew behind so that he could become what his people needed. When the dock when the knock came to his door, he was ready. Because he had spent a life already on the narrow way. He was ready. We can be too. Back in just a moment. There is a cross upon the wall where I sit to study and read. It's a smallish room off the hall where I have the books I need. As I sit to peruse and write, or perhaps to contemplate, there in morning shadow or evening light, this cross's message I instantiate. No, I am not to be there hung or grabbed or dragged before accusers, in a trial or court just begun, in secret behind closed doors. No, I bear a promise from the cross, given on my baptism's day. All is gained and promise in loss, as I am led to into the Lord's way. Those of us who raise our eyes to the simplest cross hung above, are given the promise of the cross, the certainties of life and love. So the shadow falls upon me in my simple room square and small, that my day remains ever free, and my soul here lives its call. That's the cross upon the wall. Hope that in the week to come you can continue to join us here on Living Catholic. We depend on you because it's what we want to do together as we explore what it means to be living this faith. We have received. Hope to see you then.

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Living Catholic is a production of the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City for Oklahoma Catholic Radio. To learn more, visit okr.org.