Buckle up, buttercup. We’re diving headfirst into the kind of Truth that’ll make you want to pour yourself a stiff drink and curl up in a dark corner with a cigarette. It’s the kind of Truth that slaps you across the face, rubs your nose in it, and leaves you standing there in stunned silence. It’s the Truth that makes you question everything about the power you hold, the life you lead, and the road you think you’re on. And for those of you who think you’re some untouchable warrior—whether you’re a soldier in the trenches, a general on a high horse, a governor behind a desk, or a king sitting on your throne—this one’s for you.

Here it is: You’re called to die. Yeah, you heard me. But not the death you’re thinking of—the death of the body that comes after all your glory and violence and bloodshed. No, this is the kind of death that comes before you die. The death of your ego. The death of your pride. The death of your delusions that you’re some god because you’re holding a sword or, signing a decree or sitting on a throne. That’s the Truth that’s too big for your tiny little world to handle, but it’s the truth that’ll set you free if you have the guts to face it.

God’s given the authority, the power, the right to defend, protect, and lead. You’ve been entrusted with the lives of others—soldiers at your back, people at your feet, nations on your shoulders. You’re supposed to fight the good fight, stamp out evil, uphold justice, and conquer the darkness that threatens to swallow the world whole. But here’s the kicker: as you’re out there doing the dirty work of bringing light into the darkness, you’re also called to die—and that’s the part that no one tells you. You’re supposed to die to your own obsession with control, your hunger for power, your addiction to the thrill of battle. You’re supposed to die to the idea that you can fix everything, that your army, your policies, and your willpower can somehow bend the universe to your desires.

But that’s the ugly truth no one wants to hear. And it gets uglier the more “in the world” you get. You think you’re fighting evil, but what happens when you start becoming the very thing you’re fighting? You start calling the shots from a place of pride, from a place of selfish ambition, from a place where the end justifies the means. You start burning out, fading into the evil you set out to destroy. That’s the danger—the slow death of your soul as you grasp for more power, control, and glory, thinking that this makes you a man and worthy of the title. But let me tell you something—you’re wrong.

To the soldier who thinks he’s just following orders—yeah, sure, you’re in the line of duty, but if you’re not dying to yourself first, you’re just a cog in a machine that will break down. You’re told to fight for the good guys, protect the innocent, and stand tall. But if you’re unaware of the thin line you’re walking between justice and vengeance, righteousness and corruption, you’ll find yourself dying a different kind of death. A death of your soul. A death of your humanity. A death that no battlefield can take from you but one that will take you down just as surely.

To the general—listen up. You’re not just a warmonger who gets to dictate the fate of nations. You’re supposed to be leading with humility, leading with wisdom, and knowing that no amount of strategy, no amount of planning, can ever control the outcome of this world. Sure, You can fight battles, but the war you’re really waging is the one inside yourself—where your pride and your need for recognition gnaw at your insides. Death before death means you get off that high horse for a minute, admit you don’t have all the answers, and realize that in the end, every kingdom—yours included—is dust in the wind.

And to the kings—you think you’re untouchable? Do you think the crown you wear gives you power over the cosmos? Step down off your pedestal because the thing that’s got you by the throat is the one thing you’re least prepared for the death of your pride. No throne can save you from that. No scepter can protect you from the relentless need to die before you die. Do you think you hold the keys to the kingdom? Nah, my friend—only one King holds those, and it’s not you. The faster you realize this, the faster you’ll see that your power doesn’t come from your title. It comes from your willingness to surrender it all—your crown, your authority, your control—and bow to the One holding the whole crumbling world together.

So what’s the answer? What do you tell these men of war, these men of power, these men who hold the future of nations in their hands? You tell them that they’re not in charge—not even close. They’re called to fight, yes. They’re called to lead, yes. But they’re also called to die—to the very thing that makes them think they can do it all alone—death before death. To humble themselves before God, they lay down their weapons, crowns, and pride at the foot of the Cross. Because, in the end, it’s not the generals or the kings who win the war. It’s the One who conquered death itself. So get your hands dirty and fight the good fight, but remember this: your victory doesn’t come from the battlefield. It comes from the surrender.

It’s time to die before death. And then, when you’re blessed, you’ll live to see the Truth.

And remember the words of St. Paul, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2).