Homily for Palm Sunday 2004
He sat quietly, listening to the wind, the rustle of the leaves,
the grass bending over.
He pushed back his chair and looked out at the dawn light.
Somehow as soon as I saw those two guys,
I knew they were trouble.
Strange men; poorly dressed, rough and tumble.
They entered my gate and started untying Yasheeth.
I couldn't believe it — they were stealing my donkey in broad daylight.
Well, go ahead, make my day!
These guys didn't have a clue what kind of beast they were stealing.
Just let them stand in the wrong place — those back feet would fly!
Or let them try to move her forward — she would lock those legs!
But these guys were determined and
soon they were fifty yards down the path.
To boot, Yasheeth was not being ornery and cussed after all.
Without thinking I ran out onto the path
and yelled after them:
Just what do you think you are doing with my colt?
Oh, your colt — she is a fine animal.
You must be very proud to have such a fine little beast.
You are thieves — where are you taking her?
No, no, no, we are not stealing her.
We are borrowing your little animal.
The Master has need of her.
Do not worry, we will return her later today.
Wait a minute!
What is it about "No" that you are not understanding?
I don't care if King Herod needs her.
Yasheeth has never been ridden.
She has never even pulled a cart.
In fact, she is to be blessed during Passover.
Ah, she will be blessed today.
Believe me, the Master has need of her. Please.
And they left me standing there, speechless.
An hour or so later,
I headed outside again.
I had never seen such a large crowd.
It was our custom to greet the Passover pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem.
Since our town is a short distance from the city,
we were a kind of welcoming committee.
Also an opportunity for some good people watching.
When He passed everyone stirred,
everyone was on their feet.
Some hollered to be saved.
Others were shouting Hosanna!
Hosanna to the Son of David!
A mother held out her crippled son.
He rode by, seated on Yasheeth,
who seemed perfectly at home with this stranger on her back.
As he passed he seldom acknowledged the crowd.
Then, just as quickly, they were all gone.
I just stood there, held by the stranger's sad eyes.
Had he been weeping?
Then I turned and went home.
The earth slept, guarded by the stars.
And still he sat, thinking about the day.
And then he heard the bells on Yasheeth's halter.
The stranger was returning the colt.
Tomorrow I return to Jerusalem.
Can I stay the night?
By the time he arose in the morning, the stranger was gone,
and except for a garland of wild flowers that Yasheeth wore,
there was no evidence of the stranger.
What if he had said no?
What would the stranger have ridden
and where would he have slept?
No one had ordered him.
No one had promised him anything.
He had responded to a simple summons:
The Master has need of it.
Abbot John Klassen, OSB
April 4, 2004
|
