When Wolves and Lambs Share the Same World

Isaiah paints an almost impossible picture: "The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat." It's a vision of such radical peace that natural enemies become companions, predators lose their appetite for violence, and creation itself transforms. The prophet speaks of a future kingdom where conflict dissolves not through conquest but through a fundamental change in nature itself. Yet as we journey through Lent, our news feeds tell a different story. Wars escalate, authoritarian leaders tighten their grip, communities fracture along ideological lines, and social media amplifies every division until we can barely recognise our neighbours as human. The gap between Isaiah's prophecy and our present reality feels wider than ever. We're not moving towards the peaceable kingdom; we seem to be sprinting in the opposite direction.

This tension matters precisely because Lent calls us to honest examination. The kingdom Isaiah describes isn't just a distant future hope. It's meant to begin in us, now, in small and stubborn ways. When governments exploit fear to maintain power, when media profits from outrage, when algorithms keep us angry because anger keeps us scrolling, the prophetic vision becomes our resistance. Singapore's competitive environment already trains us to see others as threats to our children's school places, our career advancement, our property values. Add global polarisation to local pressure, and we become predators ourselves, protecting our territory, baring teeth at anything unfamiliar. But Lent asks: what if the change Isaiah promised starts not with fixing the world's dictators but with taming what's wild inside each of us? That part that dehumanises people who vote differently, worship differently, or simply get in our way? We can't sit back waiting for politicians or religious leaders to deliver peace to us. Christ calls us to be peacemakers, not peace consumers.

The practical work is harder than sharing angry posts or signing petitions, though those have their place. It means choosing one relationship where suspicion has replaced trust and deliberately rebuilding it. It means limiting our consumption of content designed to make us furious. It means teaching our children that people who disagree aren't enemies but fellow human beings we haven't understood yet. When extended family gatherings become minefields, the wolf-and-lamb challenge is staying at the table anyway, asking rather than making pronouncements. Isaiah's vision won't arrive through government policy or viral movements. It comes when enough individuals decide that their own growth matters more than being right, that laying down our defences is strength rather than weakness. This season, the real concern isn't whether the world will embrace peace. It's whether we will become the kind of people who make room for it.