THE DONKEY BY ME

“Jesus? Jeee-zusss!”

“I said stop calling me that!”

“Jesus, there you are! For heaven’s sake, get over here and help your mother.”

“I said stop calling me that, Mom. I’m God, and I keep telling you—you have to call me that!”

“Okay, but see, Mommy named you Jesus, and your father agreed. It was my favorite name, and now you have it, so that’s that. Besides, why can’t you be God and Jesus? I mean, for Christ’s sake, God can do anything, right? I mean… errr… can’t you?”

“Mom, what do you want?”

“Okay, Jesus, listen. I need you to go to the store and grab some milk and honey. We’re out again, and your brothers are thirsty.”

“Momma, why don’t I just multiply the food we have here and make a feast? And stop calling them my brothers!”

“No, no, enough of the miracle stuff! I don’t need any more trouble around here. You know what happened when you tried to multiply those two cows. The entire neighborhood accused your daddy of stealing them from your uncle Zechariah—when even Zechariah knew it was little Johnny who ran those cows off into the wild, talking about blemishes and whatnot. Lord knows you two are going to end up on the wrong side of the law if you don’t straighten up. Well, anyhow I’m praying for you boys, but it never seems to be enough.”

“Ugh, how much milk and honey did you want, Momma?”

“Same as last time, Jesus. Just make it quick—sunset’s coming. Be back before the candles are lit this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, Momma. I was just hungry last time and had to grab a little snack.”

“Okay, Jesus. Okay. But that’s what you said last time, remember? Here, just take these shekels and get going while the sun remains.”

As Jesus was walking down the road, he noticed a crowd forming around a man covered in mud, his clothes torn and tattered.

“What’s going on here?” Jesus asked an older, tall man standing at the back of the crowd.

“This man has claimed to be the messiah. He’s going to be stoned, as Moses instructed. Look—here come the men with the stones now.”

“Well, I can certainly attest he is not the messiah, for it is I who—”

Just then, a group of Roman soldiers approached, some marching on foot and others on horseback, gathering the attention of all.

“What’s going on here?” the Roman on horseback demanded, addressing the crowd and the man on the ground.

“This man claimed to be the messiah. He is to be stoned, as Moses instructed,” a man from the crowd explained.

“Is this true?” the Roman asked the man on the ground.

The man remained silent.

“Have you nothing to say in your defense? Roman law dictates that silence under oath is an admission of guilt.”

Still, the man said nothing.

“Soldier,” the Roman commanded.

A soldier unsheathed his sword, and with a swift swing, the man’s head rolled to the ground. Blood pooled as the horses backed away, and the sight shocked young Jesus, who was still a year away from his bar mitzvah.

He thought to himself, What if they do that to me? My mother and brothers don’t even believe me. What if nobody believes me, and I end up like that headless false prophet? If I say I’m the messiah, they will surely kill me. If I don’t, they may still accuse me and kill me anyway. If I remain silent, I will also be killed. I am God—I should do something now and reveal my power.

Jesus squinted, scanning the Roman troops and calculating how many angels he might need to deal with the threat and begin his campaign toward Jerusalem.

“Ten angels ought to do the trick. Heck, maybe nine. That’s the easy part. The hard part… I still need her.”

Jesus scanned the crowd, not toward the Romans but toward the town.

“Where is she? She’s gotta be here.”

The noise of rushing feet rose as the Romans dispersed the crowd back to town for Shabbat. Jesus remained, replaying the sight of the man’s head rolling across the ground. Squinting and scanning for her.

Just then, in the corner of his eye, Jesus spotted a flickering candlelight in a window near a barn. Next to the barn stood a white donkey with a white rug and saddle.

“Hallelujah—it’s time!” Jesus exclaimed as he sprinted toward the donkey.

A Roman soldier noticed him. “Go home, boy, before you get yourself stoned for breaking your own people’s laws!” he said as the Roman army marched off into the darkness.

But Jesus ignored him, fixated on the donkey.

Finally, reaching the animal, he untied it, marveling as though it sparkled like gold.

“Exactly how I always imagined you,” Jesus said, leading the donkey toward the road.

As he mounted it, he said, “I declare you Rocinante, and it is time! As foretold through the Law and the Prophets, I—ahhhhhh!”

Suddenly, he was bucked off the donkey as a shadowy figure emerged from the barn.

“What are you doing with my donkey? On Shabbat, no less! My prized donkey! You come to steal what I saved my entire life for? You should be killed—twice! Once for breaking Shabbat and again for stealing!”

“It’s MY donkey! It’s waited for me for generations!” Jesus shouted. “I am the messiah, and I’m going to ride it to defeat the Romans and claim my throne in Jerusalem!”

“What are you talking about? There’s no one out there! Are you adding lying to your list of sins, boy?”

Jesus looked back in the direction of the Roman troops only to see them completely camouflaged in darkness.

The man moved to grab Jesus when Mary appeared, breathless.

“Jesus! Where have you been? I sent you for milk and honey hours ago! The entire house is starving, and I’m paying for it. It’s Shabbat, and I’ve been worried sick! Your father nearly killed me when I ran out to find you!”

“And what is this?” Mary asked, noticing the man and the donkey.

“Your son tried to steal my donkey!” the man exclaimed.

“Jesus! Not again! I’ve told you over and over about this donkey thing.” Mary turned to the man. “I’m so sorry, sir. My son is… different. He’s very studied in our holy books, but he’s self-taught, so some of his ideas, well…”

“Oh, I see,” the man said, smirking. “Went into Paradise unprepared huh? Yeah, that’ll do it to ya. But hey, you’re young. Maybe you can learn to work with your hands and do some carpentry for me. It’s probably either that or trouble with the law, boy.”

As the man led his donkey back, Mary grabbed Jesus by the arm.

“Let’s go. Your father is going to kill us when we get home!”

“He’s not my father, and you know it!” Jesus protested.

“I’m not discussing this again, son.”

As they walked home under the moonlight, Jesus asked, “Mom, do you believe me? Do you believe I’m the messiah?”

Mary held him close. “Of course I do, son. Of course.”

-To be continued.