“Thus saith the Lord….Matthew seven, verses thirteen and fourteen:

“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat. Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”

They call it entertainment….They call it joy…..A spectacle for the weary, a distraction for the lost.

But the Lord called it long before the tent was raised…. the wide gate.

And you, Klaus Way, are the one holding it open.

You stretch your arms to the crowd and promise wonder. You drape misery in color and call it art. You lead the broken through your curtain of illusion, selling comfort to the desperate and calling it salvation.

But the Almighty does not confuse spectacle for truth. He does not bow before laughter. He does not smile at mockery disguised as mercy.

Your circus is not holy.

Your family is not redeemed.

Your joy is counterfeit a glittering coffin for those who refuse to wake.

You take the freak, the wounded, the castaway and instead of healing them, you display them. You sell their pain for applause. You preach that belonging can be bought with a ticket. But Heaven cannot be bought. The Kingdom is not for sale.

You’ve built a house of noise, and called it community. But the Word says the wide road leads to destruction and yours is paved with laughter that echoes only in Hell.

The Almighty is not amused.

He is not entertained.

He is not fooled.

I have seen men like you before smiling prophets of comfort, selling freedom with one hand while chaining souls with the other. And every one of them fell the same way:

When the tent burned.

When the crowd fled.

When the laughter turned to screams.

I walk the narrow way. The path of stone, of loss, of blood and truth. The road that breaks the body, but saves the soul.

You chose the wide one the road of applause, of illusion, of fools too blind to see their own doom.

And now, the roads meet.

This match is not a performance, Klaus.

It is a prophecy.

It is the collapse of your carnival, the final toll of the bell that your laughter has drowned for too long.

The banners will fall.

The lights will fade.

The wide gate will shatter beneath the weight of truth.

And when the tent is ash and the echoes are gone, I will still be standing unbroken, unbent, unbowed.

The narrow way.

The chosen way.

The way of the Almighty.