The Lion Who Bowed

In C.S. Lewis's The Horse and His Boy, there is a moment that has quietly stunned readers for decades. Shasta, a runaway boy who has spent his whole life believing he is nobody, discovers that the great Lion Aslan has been walking beside him through every dark valley and every terrifying night. But what strikes deepest is not Aslan's power — it is his proximity. The Lion of all Narnia does not roar from a distant mountaintop. He draws close. He breathes warm breath on the boy's hands. He walks at the pace of a frightened child.

Lewis understood something about humility that most of us resist: true greatness does not announce itself. It adjusts its stride.

This is the portrait Scripture paints of the Almighty again and again. The God who stretched out the heavens stoops to wash dusty feet. The King of Kings arrives not on a warhorse but on a borrowed donkey. Philippians 2 tells us that Christ Jesus, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant.

Humility is not thinking less of yourself. It is being so secure in who you are that you can kneel without losing anything. If the Lion of Judah can adjust His stride for a frightened child, perhaps we can set aside our titles, our need to be noticed, and simply walk beside someone who needs us today.