The donkey, the Samaritan and the King

"Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion...; see, your king is coming. He is righteous and victorious, yet he is humble, riding on a donkey..." (Zech 9:9)

Market day around a sprawling oak tree. I escape to make a journey down the tunnel-like pass to the valley below. Destination Alice, (not the Springs one), but our own bustling piece of Africa. Named after Princess Alice, daughter of the British Queen Victoria. Home to the University of Fort Hare where many of the current political leaders in South Africa were educated. Also the alma mater of former President Nelson Mandela. It first became well known as a mission station, with Presbyterian missionaries founding an educational centre known as Lovedale. Something of the gentleness has remained and smiles and greetings are freely shared.

But on this day my journey is delayed. Goats, cows, scrawny dogs and other live stock are often encountered on and next to the road, and my eyes automatically scan the horizon. I suddenly notice a strange shape on the left verge, not so far ahead. Slowing down and drawing a deep breath, I look. My heart sinks. I make out the sad form of an injured donkey, lying still on its side. As I pass, its front legs flail in what I think to be a final kick. Something compels me to turn around, my insides churning desperately as I turn the wheel. The animal rears its head as I approach and something in me breaks. I kneel down and lay my trembling hand on its head. An almost human moan escapes his bleeding mouth. "Oh Lord please" I plead, "take him now, take his suffering, my helplessness, all of it". But the moaning continues, his back legs broken and still, but in obvious agony . As one vehicle after another speeds past, my mind races from one possibility to another. My phone-calls lead me from one dead-end to another. No one wants to become involved.

My heart prays wordlessly, and two dusty cars finally pull off to the side of the road. It appears that the incident was reported to various authorities more than an hour ago. I watch the two vehicles pull off again and become smaller. The cruelty of it all makes me shiver in the hot sun. A caring friend back on the mountain lets me know that she met with the same response each way she turned. Leaving the police station, she bowed her head and pleaded: "Please Lord, give a name, anything..." She is given a name and having tracked him down, he meekly takes his keys without hesitation and sets out to do what needs to be done. The animal is released from its suffering, loaded up, and the good Samaritan goes on his way without need for recognition or praise.

Setting out for Alice a second time, I swallow the sadness, and marvel at the unfolding of events thus far. Even though some people would say: "it was just an old donkey", these humble animals have always had a special place in my heart. They cant claim to be anything but what they are. Highly intelligent, but stubborn and not very easy to train to do your bidding.

I thought of Jesus of Nazareth's dramatic entry into Jerusalem... Openly entering the city celebrating the feast of Passover, where he himself is a marked man. A crowd of pilgrims go out to meet him, shouting: "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" Then, waving their palm branches, they add: "Blessed is the King of Israel", echoing the great dream of a Davidic ruler who would come and liberate Israel. Jesus responds by sending for a young donkey to sit on, muddling the picture they were creating. He should have chosen a fine white horse to ride on, or made use of some other symbol of power. Instead he paints from a different palette. He enters, evoking an image from the Prophets: "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion...; see, your king is coming. He is righteous and victorious, yet he is humble, riding on a donkey... (Zech 9:9). He was (and is) indeed their King, but not the sort of king they had in mind.

The cry of Hosanna! is a Hebrew word (hoshi`ah-na), and had become a greeting or shout of praise, but actually meant "Save!" or "Help!" Israel hoped to be saved from oppression and hardship. To be reinstated as a people under the long-awaited Messiah.

Why do we so stubbornly expect our help to come from other people? Someone at the other end of the line, the authorities, our spouses, family, friends. God cares. He hears the moan of a donkey at the side of the road. It knows how to call out to Him, carrying the imprint of the Creator in each fibre of his being. Not even a sparrow falls to the ground without His knowing. And we are made in His image, called His beloved. Our Lord, who cares enough to send help when an animals suffers, knows the cries of our hearts even before we put them into words. He does not need to use who we call on for help, but whom He chooses, it all fitting in with a bigger picture that we know nothing about.

This man Jesus who road into Jerusalem, did not stop there. Here, He proclaimed His mission and then went on to fulfill it. His body was broken on the cross, speared, taken down and buried. But the blood that flowed there, has not lost its power and never will. It saves, reinstating us as a people, in right standing before God the Father. The tomb is empty and our Saviour is preparing a home for us in the house of His Father. While we journey in this place that is not our home, he hears our cries, takes them right up to the throne of God and will not cease doing so until he returns.

Sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna! Sing Hosanna to the King of kings. He hears.