Rent-A-Ride

On Palm Sunday, there's one thing I always wonder about: who is that man with the donkey?

I mean, if some dude came up to me and said, "Hey, my master needs to borrow your ride," would I hand over the reigns without any hesitation? Would I think for a while and then hand them over anyway? Or would I laugh in the crazy-person's face and make sure the knot tying the donkey up was extra secure?

If I had a car, and someone I didn't know asked me to give them the keys so they could borrow it for a rowdy parade, would I do it?

That's certainly what the donkey man did.

Now I know the theory that Jesus set the whole thing up in advance, just like how he set up Passover digs using a man with a jug on his head. It's a good theory that the donkey man knew Jesus was going to borrow his donkey in advance. Maybe Jesus even paid for it. It's a good theory because Jesus wasn't leaving anything about this crucial time to chance.

But I still wonder about it.

What if the donkey man was really a stranger, the God-given fulfillment to a prophesy? The Virgin Mary fulfilled such a prophesy, and she had free choice about it, so it stands to reason the donkey man would have, too. Somehow, I don't envision the angel Gabriel appearing to him and saying, "Lo, there shall come unto thee a disciple whom thou knowest not, asking thee for the use of thy donkey, the foal of an ass; and thou shalt give him thy donkey, for on it shall be riding the Messiah, the Son of God."

Yet he decided to hand it over, whether for money or otherwise.

How well did he know Jesus, anyway, if he wasn't recognized? If he did agree to loan the donkey in return for a price, how could he have known he'd get it back? A donkey is really expensive - those things are a person's livelihood. I doubt Jesus could have afforded to buy one. Whether the man was getting paid for the loan or not, whether this was planned or spontaneous, he was taking an awful risk.

He must have had a great deal of trust in Jesus.

I wonder if I would have had the trust to hand over my donkey to him? I'm not sure. Although I've spent much of my life as a practicing Christian, I'd probably be so afraid of what might happen to it that I'd refuse. A donkey isn't something I could afford to lose. It makes me feel ashamed to admit it, but I know that it's true.

But that man, that man two-thousand years ago, handed his donkey over. I don't know what he was thinking or feeling. I don't know why he agreed. What I do know is that he, and so many others like him, made it possible for Jesus to do what he did. Their support in small yet tangible ways allowed Jesus to make his way into the city as the Messiah, allowed him to eat a meal with his disciples in an upper room, allowed him to be executed in the most brutal way the Romans could imagine.

Whatever his reasons for helping Jesus accomplish his Passion, the donkey man, and others like him, did so without understanding what it meant. He didn't know that this would be a burden so terrible Jesus would ask that it be taken from him. And he didn't know that Jesus' death and resurrection would be for the salvation of the world. He didn't understand or know what we understand and know, but he helped Jesus anyway, trusted him in ways that would be beyond most of us.

And we don't even know his name.

And Then There Were Four

I went to a lecture yesterday entitled "The Beatles and the Gospels," or something like that. It was held at the office of the Archdiocese of Montreal across from the Roman Catholic seminary - easy enough building to locate once you've ruled out the Masonic temple.

Something like 1/4 of participants came from 'our' parish: there were jokes (on our side) that we were infiltrating our sister diocese as spies. Haha, St. Jerome is taking over! It was kind of bizzare to be the only 'Anglican' there, especially given the location. (not that I'm a 'real' Anglican, either...I guess I'm technically non-denominational.)

Anyway, the basic premise was that you can match the four gospels up with the four Beatles.

Mark doesn't mince words, is the shortest, the oldest, and is political. Also, in its original incarnation it ends with the word "afraid." We paired this gospel up with Ringo because he had a limited vocal range, was the oldest, the shortest and accidentally used malapropisms that ended up becoming important.

Mathew starts with a geneology, is most Jewish, is the strictest, emphasizes law the most but also has some cool saying about lilies and sparrows (for examples, see the Bible). This one was paired with George. He was the 'baby' and was quiet, spiritual and very disciplined. The thing about discipline is what cinched it.

Luke is the only gospel to have a sequel (that we know of), is full of payer and the Holy Spirit, is social-justice oriented and is the most civilized, in the sense that it understands social communities. Luke got paired with Paul, who was the cute one, political and sophisticated, had a good second career (i.e. sequel) and who tried to keep in touch with the others.

The final gospel, John, has a weirdo beginning, lots of "I am" statements, is metaphysical and can be read on two levels. John was paired with...you guessed it: John. John was arrogant, visionary, cerebral and abstract, sarcastic, competitive, and tended to inverse meaning. He thought he was the leader.

Since two hours is a really short time, the whole exercise was fairly superficial. But I still think it's good to try and look at these familiar texts from an unexpected angle, because it's jarring enough that it might just shake something loose.

What I need to do now is listen to Beatles music, since I've only ever heard, like, five songs. Maybe I'll understand the exercise better if I actually know what we're talking about, eh?

New Life

Things I've experienced recently have really enlightened me to the fact that new life is not confined to the Easter season. Renewal and newness are also here in Lent, in the journey to the Cross, in the going from one place to another. In general, I'd say that new things in life rarely happen while one is standing still.

In terms of my church life, I started going to a new congregation last year in Lent, where the people are great but the style of liturgy isn't one I'm used to. I'm not comfortable in the liturgy. At all. Ultimately, I think that this is allowing me to stretch my way of thinking as I get more comfortable with being uncomfortable.

The feast of the Annunciation will mark exactly one year since I started receiving Eucharist in the Anglican church. Eucharist still makes me uncomfortable, I admit it. But I'm not nearly as obsessed by guilt and sin as I was last Lent when I wasn't receiving Eucharist. There's a newness here for me because my whole experience of Lent has changed. Obviously, communion in Christ's body makes me a happier, more stable person, which I think is fairly theologically sound.

All of this is nice reflection, I'm sure. But what really brought home to me that the power of newness infuses Lent as much as any other liturgical season was my visit with my friend yesterday. I felt baby Raphaël moving in her belly and it was FANTASTIC!!!!! I'd use the 'A' word right now, except that I ranted about it a few posts ago and that would make me kind of a hypocrite.

I feel all warm and happy right now. Getting to feel this miracle reminds me that there's no time when God is not making new life, that there is no joy God can't give, and that there's nothing that can overcome the sheer power of human life - not even death on the Cross, not even the journey through darkness, not anything.

For more reflections on newness, feel free to read: http://allsaints-twomountains.blogspot.com/2010/03/all-things-new.html