The Donkey-ness of Jesus

By: The Rev. Brenda Sol

I’ve had donkeys on the brain for several weeks now. I think it all started while I was reading a novel called The Waters, which I highly recommend. It’s wonderfully written, involves some great character transformations, and, though, it wasn't about donkeys, a couple of donkeys played an important role. Most importantly, the main character’s nickname was “Donkey”, and in the end, was very donkey-like in how she showed up in life.

Then, as I prayed over this morning's Gospel—the one we read as part of the Liturgy of the Palms—I was transported back to my 2019 pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy. We did a lot of walking as we retraced the footsteps of Saints Clare and Francis. Sometimes, we actually saw donkeys standing in fields, but more often, we just heard them braying in the distance. And, for me, there’s something about the sound of a donkey braying that’s both haunting and funny at the same time—just one of the ways donkeys are paradoxical. They’re quiet and surefooted, yet, stubborn and noisy.

Before we talk more about donkey-paradoxes, it’s probably helpful to revisit that reading from Luke, because some of you may have noticed that the Palm Sunday Gospel mentions a “colt” instead of a “donkey”. In other versions of the same story—in Matthew, for instance—the colt is referred to as a young donkey. So, even though Luke uses the term “colt”, the passage is referring to a donkey.

Now, before we dive down into the donkey-paradox, let’s take a moment to understand what’s happening in this morning’s readings. First off, you may wonder why we have two sets of readings today. Many of you’ve heard this explanation in the past, but for those of you who haven’t, the creators of our lectionary assignments—that is the three-year cycle of readings we use every Sunday—made the assumption not all of you will join us for the observance of Good Friday this coming week.

To compensate for that—knowing it’s challenging to experience the fullness of the resurrection, without first facing the reality of the crucifixion—these wise scholars smooshed together the readings for Palm Sunday and Good Friday. We heard the Palm Sunday readings at the beginning of the liturgy out in the courtyard.

Then, we made our way down the street, banging noisemakers as we reenacted the chaos that was going on as Jesus rode into Jerusalem. Although Deacon Gigi just read the crucifixion story, Catherine Campbell will say more about that passage in her Good Friday sermon.

Okay…back to paradoxes. In a book I’ve been reading recently, called Living with Contradiction, Esther de Waal points out that our faith is built on a number of important paradoxes:  

–      the understanding that, though we are many, we are one in Christ;

–      the promise that in losing our life, we shall find it;

–      and we have a God who becomes human;

–      a victor who rides on a donkey;

–      a savior who is executed;

–      and, of course, the ultimate paradox is that we will find life through death.

The book is an introduction to Benedictine spirituality, in which the paradoxes of the Christian faith are fully embraced. The author explains that when a novice makes their vows in in the Benedictine tradition, their commitments revolve around three key stances: 1) to stand solidly in place, being firmly rooted in God’s love and acceptance; 2) while being firmly rooted, also being willing to move—to move through a life-long and continual conversion; and 3) while always moving and growing, to also stop and listen for, and to, God’s call.

As I ruminated on those vows, I realized, they’re very donkey-like. Donkeys are sure-footed and can climb precarious trails, because they’re grounded in knowing their capabilities and their limits. The don’t get distracted by outside influence. They just put down their head and walk, one foot in front of the other.

At the same time, donkeys don’t just stand in the place of knowing they can climb treacherous trails, they move. They climb. But, here’s something else I learned about donkeys. Their long, funnel-shaped ears give them the ability to hear sounds great distances away. So, they stop and listen, and if there’s something that sounds threatening, they won’t budge forward at all.

So, as I read the Palm Sunday gospel, I was struck by how Jesus not only rides in on a donkey, Jesus is donkey-like in the way he moves through life. Every action Jesus takes, every decision he makes, is rooted in knowing who God created him to be. Jesus understands that as a human he has limits, and that he will face consequences for his actions, but he pushes against the corrupt empire anyway. He knows his movements will likely put him in risky situations. He will be judged—even persecuted—but he takes action anyway, because he knows who he has been created to be.

At the same time, though he is grounded in knowing who he is, and is consistently taking action—steadily putting one foot in front of the other—he also stops and listens. He hears the signs of his own depletion, or surrounding danger, and, in response, decides to rest and pray when he needs it, or to wait until a more opportune time to continue his quest.

But as I’ve pointed out in other sermons, Jesus doesn’t do these things—doesn’t live these ways— just so that we might retell the story of what he did. Jesus was, and is, continually modeling for us and inviting us to try out his ways, so that we can continue to be the hands of God in this world, embracing the paradoxical nature of it all.

The author of Living with Contradiction explains the necessary interplay between the three, paradoxical-seeming vows this way:

If I stand still without moving on, I am in danger of becoming static, of failing to grow, possibly even of fossilizing. If I journey on without remaining still in my innermost being, I am in danger of becoming a wanderer, someone who is endlessly searching. If I do not continually stop and listen to the voice of God, I am in danger of listening only to my own self, and so failing to discern what [God] is asking of me.[1]

So this Holy Week, as we journey forward toward Easter, may we be donkey-like in living out the ways God has created us, and calls us into.

-AMEN

[1] Living with Contradiction: An Introduction to Benedictine Spirituality by Esther de Waal, pp. 52-53.