Only a Boy

[My imagining of a boy dragooned into accompanying Jesus' entry into Jerusalem]

I’m an old man now, but I was only a boy then . . . living with and working for my uncle and his family . . . 

I’ve often wondered how Jesus knew about that colt – none of his followers were from my village – had never been there, as far as I knew . . . 

“The Lord needs it,” they said of the colt . . . actually what they said was that The Messiah needs it – do you have any idea how many Messiahs were running around my country in those days?  Everyone was looking for rescue from the Romans . . . 

They were fishermen and they didn’t know anything about donkey colts – it was pretty comical really – they kept trying to get near her and she kept dancing around so they couldn’t  get close to the reins, so one of them came over and grabbed me by the arm and said ‘You - farm boy!  Untie this son of a donkey and bring it - you’re coming with us!  

Looking back, they didn’t mean me any harm . . . but they just weren’t used to asking children for anything . . . that’s something their master tried to cure them of that I don’t think he ever succeeded at . . .  

Anyway, I don’t know what I was expecting, but their Jesus wasn’t anything special to look at, that’s for sure . . . usually the Messiahs we see coming through the village are big, strong, handsome fellows - you know the kind - the ones any fool will follow – but this guy was different – not memorable at all – I can hardly even call his face to mind, even now . . . and he was quiet . . . sort of soft in his voice . . .

Slowly, we started walking toward Jerusalem . . .what a sight!  People were shouting ‘Hosanna!’ . . . save now! 

As we walked, more and more people fell in behind us, shouting their hosannas and waving their branches . . . not everybody followed - some just watched in silence as we passed by . . . some laughed and pointed – including some centurions . . . they thought we were great entertainment – poor villagers from the far corner of their ‘Empire’ processing into town like it was a parade . . . like we didn’t know our lot, our fate . . . like we didn’t know they were watching . . . but we knew . . . He knew, I can tell you that much . . . whenever he saw them, though, he just seemed sad . . . like he pitied them . . . lucky they couldn’t see his face . . . I don’t like to think what they would have done to him . . . of course, they did, didn’t they?  Only not then . . . 

Hosanna, they kept shouting . . . and I started shouting it too . . .

Finally, we entered Jerusalem . . . somehow, we made our way with the crowd right up to the temple . . . 

As we got closer and closer, it got quieter and quieter . . . even the hosannas seemed to be whispered . . . 

The air seemed to be alive around us . . . and then the wind came . . . sand storm . . . the closer we got, the more the wind blew until you couldn’t see or hear anything . . . most of the people disappeared inside to ride out the storm, but we few continued on . . . I put my hands over the colts eyes to protect them from the grit of the sand and we crept forward, one slow step at a time . . . he didn’t seem to mind – when we came to the temple . . . he just walked up and in . . . disappearing from my sight with his first step . . . 

I stayed with the colt . . . I didn’t know what else to do, where else to go . . . I’ll never forget the sound of the wind while I stood outside the temple holding onto the colt . . . it was like she and I were the only two creatures left on the whole earth . . . the few other people around were just shadows huddled against the howling . . .

When the insiders tell the story, they don’t mention the dust storm, do they . . . well, I guess it’s not their job to give a weather report . . . and they don’t mention me . . . why would they?  I was only a boy . . . 

They tell the important bits – about the parade and the hosannas and the colt and the temple – and I get it . . . those are the things everybody looks for – the signs – that make a messiah – it’s kind of a prophet’s check list with my people – and if this guy was the messiah, his followers needed all the check-list proof they could muster – cos he sure didn’t look or act like who or what  we were waiting for – he came from the wrong people, wrong birthplace, wrong status, wrong looks, wrong horse, wrong message . . . wrong, wrong, wrong!

How could we have been so wrong?  My excuse?  I was only a boy!

I wonder how it would have been if I’d stayed with them, with him?  Of course I know what happened to him . . . and I know the stories . . . but I didn’t stay . . . I went back to my uncle, back to my life, back to everything the same . . . I went back . . . but I was only a boy!!!!!   

That Which Lies Beneath Your Feet

[NOTE:  On Palm Sunday, contemplating Holy Week, I have been moved to consider each step along the way presenting a whole cast of characters, many unnamed, in the unfolding drama of it all.  This week is devoted to those 'characters', the first of which is the road taken.]


You walk upon me all the time unaware . . . scarcely needing to cast a downward eye to assure a safe tread . . . for I have seen to all of that for you . . . removing the rocks which routinely fall from the center of my flat pathways . . . for you . . . 

The animals and I worked together to make me the pathway that I am . . . a meandering, curving thing, taking you first this way and then that . . . slowly, every so slowly wending toward that which you seek . . .The Holy City . . . 

I see your excitement as it comes into view . . . I am glad for you . . . but always a little sad, too . . . as you rush forward with no thought of me . . . the mountain road you so eagerly leave behind . . . 

Was the view too harsh for your delicate eyes, with its sun-glaring whiteness?  Did you mistake the blending together of all you saw for dullness . . . or lack of life?  Did you miss the creatures and the grasses and the trees bursting forth even in the worst of the dry times?

Or perhaps my dust offended you . . . rising up in greeting and welcome, did you receive it not as the gift it is intended to be, but only as an annoyance to be gotten through as quickly as possible?  How could you not know I was welcoming you with flung star dust . . . surrounding you with the very rings of Saturn?

Did you really think my gift was nothing . . . have you really forgotten that I greet you as one dust brother to another?

Did you think it was an accident that I wend towards a destination?  Did you think that no planning or effort was involved in scratching out from the millennia a path for your delicate two-footed existence to navigate with ease?

As you leave behind your palm branches and gather up your coats, won’t you look back, if only for a moment . . . and remember me . . . the path you trod to get where you’re going?

Sermon Cliff Note: Only a Boy*

I was there that day . . . I’m an old man now, but I was only a boy then . . .living with and working for my uncle and his family . . . 

I’m sure you’ve heard how, When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, [Jesus] sent two of his disciples and said to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter the village. . . my uncle’s village - you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. . . I’ve often wondered how Jesus knew about that colt – none of his followers were from my village. . . untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, “Why are you doing this?” just say this, “The Lord needs it . . . actually what they said was that The Messiah needs it – do you have any idea how many Messiahs were running around in those days?  Everyone was looking for saving from the Romans and every other guy had someone tagging behind yelling ‘Mesihee’ over his head . . . and will send it back here immediately.”

So they went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street.  As they were untying it . . . It’s a bit of a stretch to say that they untied the colt . . . these guys are fishermen, don’t you know . . . they really don’t know anything about donkey colts – it was pretty comical really – they kept trying to get near her and she kept heeing and hawing and dancing around so they couldn’t  get close. . . then they noticed me standing there, watching and laughing – that was my mistake - laughing - in my defense, we were all laughing that day. . . I never was sure which one it was came over and grabbed me by the arm and said “You - farm boy!  Untie this son of a donkey and bring it - you’re coming with us!”  What was I going to do?  Yell for a Roman  soldier to save me?

Some of the bystanders said to them, ‘What are you doing, untying the colt?’ You’d think my friends would have asked what they were doing dragging the boy away . . . but be realistic – boys are a dime a dozen in my country, but donkey colts are pretty valuable . . . They told them what Jesus had said and they allowed them to take it. . . it wasn’t ever going to be much of a fight anyhow – the fishermen were big and strong and determined and nobody was going to ask too many questions, either – in my world, questions get you killed quicker than answers . . . 

 Then they brought the colt to Jesus . . . I always laugh at that part . . . even when we got her untied and headed down the road, those fisherguys gave the colt a pretty wide berth . . . every sound she made made them jump – especially the big one – he was the scaredest of all . . . I didn’t dare let him see me, but every time he jumped, I snickered a little into her ear and whispered to her . . . good job . . .

I don’t know what I expected, but their Jesus wasn’t anything special to look at, that’s for sure . . . usually Messiahs coming through the village are big, strong, handsome fellows - you know the kind - the ones any fool will follow – but this Jesus guy was different – he wasn’t much to look at – not memorable at all – I can hardly call his face to mind, even now . . . and he was quiet . . . and he was more like me than the guys he sent to the village – at least he knew his way around a donkey, although I don’t think he ever sat on one . . . 

The people there threw their cloaks on the colt’s back.  He looked pretty awkward sitting there, like he wasn’t used to it . . . but when he sat, it was like something fell into place for the people there with him . . . like they knew their parts now. . . 

Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. . . and slowly, we started walking toward my village . . . me, holding the bridle and keeping the colt from running home. . . my uncle just shook his head when he saw us – and pointed his finger at me just to make it clear whose fault it would be if that colt didn’t come back the same way she left . . .

We kept on walking like that, to Jerusalem and clear up to the Temple . . . what a sight!  Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, ‘Hosanna! . . . save now!  Really, they were pleading, ‘save me now’ . . . we were all in need of some saving in those days of new Roman rules to follow . . . new ways of getting in trouble with those sons of dogs . . .

As we walked, more people fell in behind us, shouting their hosannas and waving their branches . . . not everybody followed - some just came out of their hovels and watched in silence as we passed by . . . some laughed and pointed – he did look pretty silly, sitting on the colt, his feet practically dragging the ground – 


I wondered the ones following didn’t notice – how did they think the one riding on a baby animal could save them?  Where was his war horse?  Where were his following troops?  

I reckoned, he was a pretty sneaky feller – if he had come into Jerusalem . . . Jerusalem!  riding on a great horse, that would have gotten Rome’s attention!  But all the centurions did that day was watch from their doors and windows and laugh . . . they thought we were great entertainment – and I expect to them, we were . . . poor villagers from the far corner of their ‘Empire’ processing into town like it was a parade . . . like we didn’t know our lot, our fate . . . like we didn’t know they were watching . . . but we knew . . . He knew, I can tell you that much . . . whenever he saw them, though, he just seemed sad . . . like he pitied them . . . lucky they couldn’t see his face . . . I don’t like to think what they would have done to him . . . of course, they did do it to him, didn’t they?  Only not then . . . 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t catch the spirit and get all excited too . . . everybody loves a parade and this day was definitely different than any other day of my life . . . I still can’t believe the guys didn’t mention me when they told about getting the colt . . . but that doesn’t matter . . . not really . . . I was only a boy . . . 

Hosanna, they kept shouting . . . and I started shouting it too . . . then others responded . . .   Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! . . . Hosanna, we’d shout . . .  Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! they shouted back . . . Hosanna in the highest heaven!’

Finally, we entered Jerusalem . . . As we got closer to the temple, it got quieter . . . even the hosannas seemed to be whispered . . . 


The sky started to turn that weird color it gets just before a storm . . . sort of greenish black . . . the air was alive around us, crackling with import . . . and then the wind came . . . sand storm . . . the closer we got to the temple, the more the wind blew until you couldn’t see or hear anything . . . I put my hands over the colts eyes to protect them from the grit of the sand and we crept forward, one slow step at a time . . .when we came to the first step of the temple . . . ran into it, really, he just got off and walked up and in . . . 

I stayed with the colt . . . it seemed like he was gone forever but really, he wasn’t gone long enough to do much besides look around at everything . . .

When he came out, we headed back the way we came, all of us, even him,  walking this time . . . back through my village where I tied up the colt at my uncle’s door . . . 


He kept going . . . he went out to Bethany with the twelve. . . and a few others, like me, tagging along . . . 
When the insiders tell the story, they don’t mention the dust storm, do they?  And they don’t mention me . . . why would they?  I was only a boy . . . 


They tell the important bits – about the parade and the hosannas and the colt and the temple – and I get it . . . those are the things everybody looks for – the signs – that make a messiah – it’s kind of a prophet’s check list with my people – and if this guy was the messiah, his followers needed all the check-list proof they could muster – cos he sure didn’t look or act like who or what  we were waiting for – he came from the wrong people, wrong birthplace, wrong status, wrong looks, wrong horse, wrong message . . . wrong, wrong, wrong!


How could we have been so wrong?  My excuse?  I was only a boy!


I wonder how it would have been if I’d stayed with them, with him?  Of course I know what happened to him . . . and I know the stories . . . but I didn’t stay . . . I went back to my uncle, back to my life, back to everything the same . . . I went back . . . but I was only a boy!!!!! 

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*Palm Sunday sermon, imagining the procession from the point of view of a village boy conscripted to hold the bridle of the donkey colt upon which Jesus rode, weaving his narrative into the account as told in the gospel of Mark.  'Colt' is referred to as a female 'she' - forgive my ignorance of equine gender.