To do the work he came to earth to do, to suffer and die in the world’s spiritual capital, Jesus chose the humblest animal—a donkey—to bear him. And to call a donkey humble is…rather kind. For donkeys are stupid, stubborn and exasperating—we insultingly call someone who is stubborn a “donkey” or one of its other synonyms. St. Francis of Assisi even referred to his own body as a “donkey”—an “ass” because he experienced his bodily passions as having a mind of their own, going off in different directions, refusing to submit to the demands of holiness.
And for the Lord to coax this stubborn, stupid animal to carry him through the Jerusalem gate amidst this exultant crowd is a bit of a miracle. It walked on the cloaks and palm branches of the chanting crowd, totally docile to the Lord’s will—cooperating with the Lord—requiring neither bridle nor bit.
The donkey, stubborn and stupid, cooperates with the Will of God. Certainly, here is a symbol of the Lord’s mission among man, to transform our stubborn, contrary, disobedient, inflexible refusal to follow the will of God—to transform human resistance and sin to docility and cooperation.
And the Church is made up of such creatures—from Pontiff to Church pew, all of us donkeys: absent-minded donkeys that drift-off during mass, donkeys which sit behind bishop’s desks, donkeys trying to get other donkeys to work together to carry the load of a charitable endeavor, donkeys that refuse to admit that they are donkeys. And knowing that the Church is filled with a bunch of donkeys, don’t we all need to be a little bit more patient with each other. We need to give everyone the same leeway, the same patience, that we would want for ourselves, in every circumstance. I know I have acted like a donkey before and after priestly ordination, not to mention baptism. And I am grateful for the patience.
So in our first Gospel, we have this powerful image of the stubborn donkey submitting to God. But the Gospel, the long beautiful Passion Gospel, reveals something else about God’s treatment of his donkeys. He doesn’t enter into our lives simply in order to control us, simply to bend our stubborn wills to his.
He actually loves us donkeys, so much so that he suffers and dies for us. The stupidest among us, the most spiteful and hateful among us, he loves us. The Pilates, the Herods, the pharisees and Sadducees who conspire to kill him, the members of the mob who give themselves over to insane bloodthirst and mindless group-think, those who spit upon him, and whip him, the executioner who was just following order to commit deicide, he loves us and dies for us all. He didn’t just die for the Veronicas and the Simon of Cyrenes who comfort him in his sufferings or come to his aid, the models of charity. He didn’t just die for the women of jerusalem who wept for him, the compassionate. He didn't just die for the beloved apostle and the women who followed him all the way to the cross and stayed with him until the bitter end, the courageous. He didn't just die for the charitable, compassionate, and courageous. He died for the selfish, the coldhearted, and the coward. He died for all. He died for Peter who denied him and Judas who betrayed Him. He died that the mercy of God be extended to all. To every disobedient donkey.
This might be hard to admit, but He died for every abortionist. He died for every child trafficker and school shooter. He died for every racist slave owner. He died for every heretic. He died for the most contemptible politician. Every drug pusher. Every narcissistic spouse and gaslighting coworker. Out of real love. Not because he had to, but out of freely given love.
He forgave and so must we.
Does his forgiveness extend to all? Yes. Of course. This is clear and biblical. It extends even to those in hell. And there is a hell. The existence of hell is a dogma of our faith. And understand that those in hell are not those who God for some mysterious reason chose not to forgive. Jesus died even for the souls in hell to ultimately reject him. Every soul in hell was forgiven by God, but they chose hell anyway, despite the warnings, despite the call to conversion, despite the call to repent and believe, despite the signs that God loves them and desires their company, despite the opportunities for grace that no doubt, our good God extended to them.
God’s love extends to all, to you and me. And so we must extend that love and forgiveness to each other.
This week, we do well, to examine our hearts and consider those to whom we have been reluctant, or downright refusing, to forgive. Bring them to the cross of Christ this Good Friday. Your most bitter enemy. The person you believe is bringing the most harm to the Church. The person who hurt you most deeply. Bring them to the cross, and say with Jesus “Father forgive them, for they know what they do” and you will find peace at the cross. And Father forgive me, for I, too have acted in ignorance and donkey stubbornness. Help me to love as you love. To forgive as you forgive. Steer my own obstinate donkey heart to witness to mercy for all, for the glory of God and salvation of souls.
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