A Donkey Tale

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me [Matthew 21:1-2, a portion of the Gospel reading, Palm/Passion Sunday, RCL, Year A].

While the Gospel reading appointed for the First Sunday of Lent rotates during the three-year Lectionary cycle among the Synoptic writers (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), the core story is always the same: immediately after being baptized by John the Baptist, Jesus moves out into the wilderness where he is tempted by Satan for 40 days. Indeed, this is the reason Lent is a 40-day observance (Sundays, as feast days, are not counted).

There is a tendency on the part of many of us to see those original 40 days in the wilderness as the limit and extent of Jesus’ temptations. Many suppose that after Jesus had refused Satan’s “suggestions” —the temptation to turn stones into bread to feed His hungry stomach; to subject the nations of the world to an earthly kingdom over which Jesus would preside; and to call upon the heavenly angels to do His bidding—he then settled into his Messiahship without too much distraction. As I say, many of us think that. Over the years, I’ve come to conclude that Jesus’ temptations never stopped. They were with Him as long as He lived. It’s just that He didn’t succumb to any of them, whereas we do.

I think that Jesus faced particularly strong temptations as he planned his entry into Jerusalem five days before his appointment on a hill called Golgotha. It is clear from many of our Lenten readings that Jesus knew full well that His enemies were out to get Him. His disciples had warned Him of the dangers in traveling to Bethany, the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Earlier, at the moment of His transfiguration on the mountain, Jesus had warned and taught the disciples that His path was toward death. They, of course, had tried to talk Him out of such thinking.

After Jesus commanded Lazarus to come out of the tomb—the Lord’s voice is heard even by the dead—did Jesus not know that His action in raising Lazarus would be the straw that would break the camel’s back? As He and His band of followers left Bethany and headed toward Jerusalem, did He not wince—at least a bit—when He thought of the abuse, the scorn, the pain that lay ahead? He must have. Four nights after His triumphant entry, He would pause in the garden at Gethsemane and ask God if there might be some sort of Plan B, “yet not my will but yours be done” [Luke 22:42].

Think of all the healing Jesus could do if He extended His ministry for even a few more years. Think of all the folks who might be converted by His miracles, His preaching, His parables. Think of all the lives that He could have touched. To be sure, the people don’t seem to understand the type of Messiah that Jesus is. Oppressed by Rome, dominated by dishonest Hebrew leaders, they want a King David 2.0. Most seem not to want a suffering servant; they prefer vengeance. As He approaches Jerusalem, Jesus knows for sure that He has been rejected by the powers that be.

The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes [Psalm 118:22-23, a portion of the Psalter reading, Palm/Passion Sunday, RCL, Year A].

He could convince many more of the merits of His kingdom … if He just had more time. Alas, as Jesus prepares to enter Jerusalem, He knows that His time has run out. His hour is at hand.

His path ahead is difficult. It is fraught with danger. And so, Jesus secures an unusual mode of transportation. He chooses a donkey. Donkeys are bred for rough terrain. Jesus knows that the path ahead is treacherous.

Jesus does not enter the city on a warrior’s steed. His is a path of peace—a difficult peace. He has no legions of soldiers to guard his flank. He needs no secret service detail. Later, when Peter draws a sword and cuts the ear from one of the Roman soldiers, Jesus stops the confrontation before it can mushroom into something that is antithetical to His entire mission. His path is difficult. And so, He chooses a donkey.

Jesus also chooses a donkey because the donkey is the perfect symbol of the paradox that He offers those who would follow Him. Yes, He is their king, but He is a king with no palace, no handlers, no riches, no ambassadors. He is no haughty king, but rather a humble one. He has taught his friends that “the first shall be last.” Nor does He bask in the warmth of their shouts of praise, as they throw down palm branches and their very cloaks to welcome Him. Jesus is wise and as a wise man, he knows that “Hosannah,” after all, means “God save us now!” Their cries are not so much joyous praise as they are commands of action. Jesus will save them, of course, but not in the way that they think.

Jesus’ entire message is paradoxical. In order to approach and embrace life, He tells them, one must approach and embrace death. “Whoever loves his or her life will lose it, but the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life” [John 12:25].

Jesus’ life is similarly paradoxical. The One who healed the sick, the lame, the blind, the One who spoke to and ate with outcasts, the One who touched lepers, and consorted with Samaritans, the One who rejected no one—He is rejected. The One who, on a Sabbath, spoke up for—and healed— “a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years” [Luke 13:16] will, in the end, be despised. As Isaiah wrote of the suffering servant who would one day come to save His people:

He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief [Isaiah 53:3].

Barabbas will be pardoned and claimed by the crowd; Jesus will be scorned, beaten, whipped, spit upon, and crucified. It’s the last week in the life of Jesus, and it all starts with a donkey.

Jesus can take the easy way out. He can accept the accolades of the crowd. He can continue to meander all over Palestine, touching the hearts and souls of the lost. He can carve out more time on this earth. Perhaps He can negotiate some sort of truce, some sort of compromise between the Jews and the Romans. He can grow old and become a trusted advisor. He can hang onto life, or He can mount a donkey.

Holy Week begins with a powerful and difficult vision. In all truth, it’s a bit of a donkey tale. In His action of shunning the steed and instead, of climbing onto the donkey, Jesus teaches us that, like Him, we can have anything that we can let go of.

Do we want our lives? Then we must let them go.