He Calls Us To Die To Ourselves

Title: He calls us to die to ourselves

Intro: The fable of the wolf and the lamb that we heard is not just an ancient story.

Scripture: Isaiah 11:6-9

Reflection

My dear friends, let me tell you about something I witnessed last week that broke my heart. A young mother came to see me, tears streaming down her face. Her teenage son had been bullied at school for months because his family could not afford the expensive shoes the other children wore. “Father,” she whispered, “why does one child have to diminish another to feel big?” I had no easy answer for her. But I held her hand, and together we sat in that sacred silence where human pain meets divine mystery.

This morning, as I read Isaiah’s vision of the wolf living with the lamb, I thought of that mother. I thought of her son. I thought of all of us, really, because if we are honest with ourselves, we have all been both the wolf and the lamb at different moments in our lives. We have all felt the teeth sink in. We have all, perhaps, been the teeth.

The fable of the wolf and the lamb that we heard today is not just an ancient story. It is playing out right now in our homes, our offices, our places of worship, and our schools. The wolf does not need a reason to devour the lamb. He makes up reasons, flimsy excuses that crumble under the slightest scrutiny. “You insulted me.” “You graze in my pasture.” “You drink from my well.” None of it matters. The wolf has already decided. Power does not need justice. Power only needs opportunity.

I see this in the father who silences his daughter’s dreams because he believes sons are more valuable. I see it in the employer who pays different wages for the same work based on caste or religion. I see it in the neighbour who spreads rumours to elevate himself by lowering another. We are Aesop’s wolves, dressed in human clothing, creating elaborate justifications for why we deserve more and others deserve less.

Thomas Hobbes was right when he said man is wolf to man. The Igbo proverb speaks truth when it says a fish must eat other fish to grow. But, my friends, this is not the end of the story. This is not the world God dreamed when He breathed life into the first human being. This is not the kingdom Jesus proclaimed when He stood on that mountain and said, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5).

Isaiah saw something different. He saw something impossible. He saw the wolf lying down with the lamb, not in death, but in peace. He saw the leopard resting beside the young goat. He saw the calf and the lion sharing the same ground, and a little child—innocent, trusting, unafraid—leading them all (Isaiah 11:6).

When I first read this as a young seminarian, I dismissed it as beautiful poetry, nothing more. How could natural enemies become friends? How could the strong give up their advantage? How could the weak ever trust again after so much violence? It seemed like wishful thinking, like a children’s story we tell to make ourselves feel better about the brutal reality of life.

But I was wrong. I was wrong because I was thinking with human logic, and God’s grace does not follow human logic. Grace transforms nature, yes, but more radically than we can imagine. Grace does not just modify behaviour. It changes the very heart.

Let me tell you about Ramesh and Prakash. They grew up in the same village but in different worlds. Ramesh was from a wealthy family. Prakash was a daily wage labourer’s son. Throughout school, Ramesh made Prakash’s life miserable. He mocked his torn uniform. He ensured Prakash was excluded from games and gatherings. He was the wolf. Prakash was the lamb.

Years passed. Both men grew up. Ramesh built a successful business. Prakash worked hard and educated himself through night classes. Then came the pandemic. Ramesh’s business collapsed. He lost everything. He was on the verge of losing his home. One morning, there was a knock on his door. It was Prakash. Without a word, Prakash handed him an envelope containing enough money to cover three months of rent. “I remember what it feels like to have nothing,” Prakash said quietly. “I will not let you go through that alone.”

Something broke open in Ramesh that day. Something hard and calcified in his heart cracked. He wept. He asked for forgiveness. And Prakash, with tears in his own eyes, embraced him. “We are brothers now,” he said. “Brothers eat at the same table.”

This is what Isaiah saw. This is what grace makes possible. The lion eating straw like the ox (Isaiah 11:7). Not because lions naturally prefer straw, but because grace transforms the hunger itself. The powerful learning to live without dominating. The privileged choosing to share rather than hoard. The strong discovering that true strength lies in lifting others, not in pushing them down.