The Donkey of God

One day as he (St. Francis) was walking among the ruins of monuments as old as the stone-age, he noticed he had gone farther than usual and was straying in a circle of queer structures that the natives called ‘Fairy Houses’. He smiled as he thought of the fear the peasants had of these stone-chambers and the superstition that anyone resting within the circle would ‘dream true‘. He noticed a donkey standing in the shade of a stunted tree, but it did not appear in the least astonished to see him.

Now that he observed it closer, he could not remember ever having seen a donkey so small. It was no larger than a large sheep-dog with unusually long ears. Its ankles were more delicate than a deer's and the eyes had a speaking softness. But the most peculiar feature was revealed to Francis only when he stood close. The colour was a soft pigeon-grey without a spot except for one distinguishing mark: a pattern made by two interesting lines of black, one line running down the back from head to tail, the other line running across the shoulders. Presently, Francis noticed that the animal was speaking to him and he was aware that he understood it.

‘Tell me, my good man,’ it was saying, ‘for I can see you are good, is there no justice in creation? Isn't it bad enough that we donkeys have to carry every sort of burden — twice as much as the much larger horse - without also being a joke among men and animals? Is that just? And if that were not enough, why should we be made still more foolish by having to wear such a disfiguring pattern on our back? Can you answer that’

To his surprise, Francis heard himself replying to the little donkey as if he were a priest and it were one of his flock.

‘Yes, my daughter, I think I can. There is a justice in all things, though we cannot see it at once. We must wait until the pattern is completed before we judge any of its parts. In your case the answer is easier than most, for you are the donkey of God’.

’The donkey of God?’ asked the little animal.

‘Surely’, replied Francis, amazed at the way he was talking, but keeping on in an even voice. ‘If you do not know your own story, I will tell it to you’.

And Francis, who had never seen the creature before, and who certainly had never thought of its origin, heard himself telling this strange legend:

It was the morning of the Sixth Day. God had spent the First Day inventing Light. Then, seeing that continual light would be too cruel on the eyes, He made Darkness for relief. On the Second Day God had designed the seas and had put a clear border of sky about them to prevent the waters from overflowing. On the Third Day, being dissatisfied with the emptiness of a world of water, He had gathered the waters in one place and had put dry land carefully among the seas. He called the dry land Earth and liked it much better, especially after He had caused green things to grow and had planned fruit to come after the flower. He had told Himself it was good. On the Forth Day God had looked at the widespread Heaven and realized it needed something. So He had put lights in it: a great light to rule the day, and a soft silver one to rule the night, and a lot of lesser lights to decorate the evening.

And once more He had been pleased. On the Fifth Day He decided he wanted more motion and sound in the universe. So He had filled the waters with whales and minnows and the air with insects and eagles. He had smiled when the first whale, that island afloat, had blown his first spout, and His great heart had tightened when the lark, hoping to reach heaven, sang his first song.

And now it was the Sixth Day. The earth, God saw, needed life no less than the sea and sky. So early in the morning He began making animals. First He made small simple ones: the snake and the snail, the mouse and the mole, rat and rabbit, cat and dog, lamb and wolf, goat, mink, fox, hedge-hog. beaver, woodchuck and a hundred others, each after his kind. Then, watching them leap or crawl or dig or prowl, He tried the same design on an ever growing scale.

It was then He made donkey and deer, horse and cattle, lion and tiger, bear, buffalo, elk, the great apes, the giant lizards, the mammoths like mountains on the move. The God, out of the humour of His heart, indulged himself in a few experiments.

He made a giraffe with his feet in the mud, his long neck lost in the leaves, and his silly head trying to scrape the stars. He tied a bird and a snake together and made the ostrich, He took a lump of clay, shaped it, unshaped it, dug His thumb twice into it and threw it away - and that was the camel. He thought of a hillside with a tiny tail and nose-arm-fingers in one long trunk - and the elephant was made. He took some river-mud, breathed on it, changed His mind saying, ‘No animal that looked like that would want to live’ — and it was the hippopotamus.

When He saw these absurd shapes strut about, He laughed so long that the stars began to fall from their places — some of them are still so loose that they tremble in the sky — and for a while, He did nothing at all.

But since He was God, He could not stop creating. So in the afternoon He looked at everything and said, ‘It is good’. After a little while He added, ‘But it could be better. It lacks something’.

All afternoon He sat pondering among the clouds. At last, toward evening, He said, ‘It is not enough like Me. I will take the very best soil from the earth, for this will be an earth-creature. I will mix it with water so he need not be afraid of the sea. I will knead it with air so he can trust himself in any element and even fly if he wishes. I will put a spark of Myself deep in him so he may be God-like. And it will be Man.’

When the animals heard this they began arguing with God. ‘Consider, O Lord’, said the lion in his gentlest, most persuasive roar. He was already known as the king of beasts, so he spoke first. ‘Consider, O Lord, before You breathe life into the creature. If you make him of the elements, he will be master not only of them, but of us all’.

‘Yes’, said the elephant with a gruff simplicity, ‘such an animal as Man will do no labour at all. He'll say he's not made for it, and we will have to do his work for him.’

‘Not that we mind, Lord’, hissed the serpent with false meekness. ‘But if you put your spark in him, he'll think he's divine. And after he's mastered us — not that we mind — he'll try to master what created him. And then — ’

‘And then,’ said God in the still small voice which was more terrible than thunder, ‘he will be part of Me again. Meanwhile, I have no need of advice from My own creations’.

And so he made Man.

You are wondering, I see, what had become of the donkey. Up to now he had done nothing but listen and mind his own affairs. While the others were arguing with God or grumbling among themselves, the donkey calmly went on eating rose-leaves and lettuces and growing lovelier every minute. Perhaps I should have told you that he had been born the most perfect of four-footed creatures. He was very much like the donkeys of today except that his colour was softer, his eyes more tender, his ankles even more graceful — and, at that time, the long ears of his great-great-grandchildren did not disfigure his head. Instead of grotesque flapping sails of the donkey of today, the original donkey had two of the finest, most perfectly shaped ears you can imagine. They were like those of a dainty fox, only smaller, and so wax-like that you could half see through them. Everything satisfied him; he feared nothing; the world was good. So he continued to munch lettuces and rose-leaves.

The donkey was so busy eating — it was at the beautiful beginning of things when there were no worms in the lettuces nor thorns on the roses — that he did not see God make the first man. Nor did he see Him, late in the night, creating the first woman. The next morning — it was Sunday — the other animals told him about it and said the man-animal was called Adam and the woman-animal was called Eve.

A little tired of doing nothing but eating, the donkey joined the other beasts and peered into the garden where the two newest-born creatures were sitting. When he saw them he burst into the loudest and most ridiculous laugh on earth. It was like no sound that had ever been made; it was the first wild, weird, astonishing bray. Today only the smallest echoes are in the throat of all the donkeys, but then it rang so fiercely against the skies that it almost threw the fixed stars out of their courses.

‘Ho-hee-haw !’ screamed the donkey. ‘It is too funny! Such animals !

They're made all wrong! No hide! No hoofs! Not even a tail! And so pink — so naked! God must have meant to put a coat of fleece on them and forgot it! Ho-hee-haw!’
Eve, frightened by the screaming and screeching, ran into the woods. Adam sprang to his feet.

‘And look!’ the donkey brayed in a still ruder laugh, while the other beasts roared and cackled and barked. ‘Look! The she-man runs on her hind legs! She doesn't even know how to walk! Ho-ho-hee-haw he-HAW!’

This was too much for Adam. He ran over to the donkey and grasped him by the ears. The donkey tried to pull himself free, but Adam held fast. As he tugged and Adam tightened, his ears began to stretch, grow long, longer, ... And while they were pulling God suddenly appeared.

Said the Lord, ‘Because you have spoiled My day of rest and because you have made fun of My creation you shall be punished. Because you saw fit to laugh at your betters, you shall never cease from laughing. But no-one will listen with joy; your voice will be a mockery by day and a horror by night. The louder you laugh, the longer will you be despised. You shall serve man and be subject to him all the days of your life. Other animals shall serve him also: the horse, the cow, the elephant and the dog. But unlike them, you shall work for man without winning his love. Unlike them, you shall resist him foolishly, and he shall beat you for it.

You who are the most comely of My creatures shall be the most comic. Instead of roses you shall feed on thorns and thistles. You shall have a rope for a tail. And your ears shall remain long.’

So it was decreed. And so it turned out. When Adam and Eve were forced to leave the Garden and go to work, the donkey went with them. Adam rode on the horse, the dog trotted at Eve's side, but it was the donkey who carried the tools, the spinning-wheel and all the household machinery. Throughout Adam's life the donkey was reminded of the saying about laughing last instead of first. Sometimes he was ashamed and dropped his long ears like a lop-eared rabbit; sometimes his pride came back and he refused to take another step. At such times Adam beat him and the donkey remembered the Lord's prophecy. He wondered how long the burdens would be piled upon him.

After Adam died the donkey thought things would go easier, but he soon realised his hardships were only beginning. He belonged, he discovered, not to one man but to all men. Cain, the brutal son of Adam, broke him to harness and made him drag a heavy plough. When Noah built the ark the donkey carried more timber than the elephant, but no one praised him for it. Forty days and forty nights the floating menagerie breasted the flood, and every day and most of the nights the other animals jeered and mocked him. He knew now what it was like to be laughed at. And when the windows of heaven were closed and the fountains of the flood went back into the heart of the sea, the donkey walked the earth again with meek eyes and bowed head. From that time on he swore to serve man faithfully and ask no reward.

At the building of Babel, the donkey was there, working willingly although he knew no tower built by hands would ever reach Heaven. After the city was deserted, the donkey helped Abraham with his flocks, and carried for Isaac, and wandered with Jacob. So through Bible times, the donkey remained loyal to his masters.

He brought Joseph and his twelve brothers together; he dragged bricks for the Hebrews during their long slavery in Egypt; he crossed the Red Sea with Moses; he was beaten for trying to save the wizard Balaam; he entered Canaan with Joshua.

He worked; he wandered; he did not die.

Years passed; centuries vanished. The donkey was in Palestine. His master was a carpenter in the little town of Nazareth, a good master by the name of Joseph, though far different from the Joseph who had become a ruler in the land of Egypt. He worked for him for a long time, and he had served his owner well.

A few years ago, when Joseph and his wife Mary were on their wanderings, the little donkey carried them everywhere without complaining. They were terribly poor and innkeepers had no room for them. The donkey trudged on, carrying his load that seemed to grow heavier with each step. For a long day and a longer night, he plodded toward the distant haven, never stopping or stumbling till be bought them to the little town of Bethlehem. That night, in a cattle stall, Mary's child had been born.

The donkey obeyed his master, but he worshipped his master's small son.

The child was not only beautiful, but even as perfect as he seemed to his mother. Goodness shone from his eyes; miracles, they said, flowed from hi hands. The donkey believed it, for he had seen one performed.

Once, when playing with some other children in the streets of Nazareth, the carpenter's son picked up some clay from the gutter and kneaded it into a shape. His companions gathered around to watch him.

‘Good’, said Simon, ‘let's all do it. What shall we model?‘

‘Let's make horses’, cried Zadoc, the son of the priest. ‘When I grow up I'm going to have six horses of my own — two white ones, two black ones and two horses with many coloured coats’.

‘Stupid!’ said Azor, the broom-maker's child. ‘There are no horses with many coloured coats. Besides horses are too hard to model. Let's make pigeons’.

So they started to make pigeons of the clay. After a while Zadok called out, ‘I've made seven.

How many have the rest of you?’

‘Five,’ said Zithri, the beggar's boy.

‘Four,’ said Simon.

‘Three,’ said Azor.

‘Two,’ said Jesus, who was the carpenter's son.

‘Only two!‘ sneered Zadok. ‘And not even good ones. Mine look more like pigeons than yours!’

‘You are right,’ said Jesus and he tossed his aside. But though the clay pigeons were thrown, they did not fall to the ground. Instead, they hung in the air, spread wings and flew away.

The older children stared a moment and then grew angry. ‘He's playing tricks on us!’ cried Zadok, son of the priest. ‘Let's play a trick on him!’ The others joined Zadok and soon they had tied the little Jesus tightly. The cord bit deep into his wrists but he did not cry.

‘He's just making believe he's brave,’ said Zadok. ‘He acts as if he were a king’.

‘All right,’ jeered Azor. "Let him be a king".

‘I'll get him a crown,’ shouted Zithri.

They pulled down part of a withered rose-tree and twisted two small branches into a crown. They pressed this upon his forehead and cried, ‘King Jesus!! Hail to King Jesus!’ Then they ran away laughing, while tears stood in the eyes of the carpenter's son.

The donkey had seen it all, had seen that the hands of Jesus were still tied and that the child could not remove the crown of thorns. Then he nuzzled his soft nose along the Child's shoulder, raised his head and, though the thorns stabbed his lips, lifted the piercing weight from Jesus' forehead. He tugged at the cords till he freed the child's hands; then he carried him home.

More years passed. Jesus had gone away. Though the donkey did not know it, the carpenter's son had grown from childhood to manhood, had travelled and studied, had healed the sick, restored eyesight to the blind, cast out devils, had suffered untold hardships. But now the moment had come; Jesus was to enter Jerusalem in triumph.

It was a tremendous moment; one that must be celebrated in the proper manner. Naturally, Jesus could not enter the queen-city of Palestine on foot; he must ride, they said, on a charger worthy of the event. So the Archangel Michael called all the animals before Jesus that they might plead their case.

‘Choose me,’ said the lion. ‘I am the king of the beasts; you are a king among men. Men only respect royalty — but only when they recognise it— When the people of Jerusalem see you riding on my back, they will know you are of noble blood and they will bow down and fear you. With me as your mascot, they will never dare to oppose, but follow you in terror’,

‘Choose me,’ said the eagle. ‘I am lord of the upper air. Choose me and you will have power to leave the earth and fly on the very back of the wind. I will take you to the borders of the sky. There, from heights unknown to man, you shall see everything that happens below. When you enter Jerusalem flying between my strong wings, the people will believe you are a god and they will worship.’

‘Choose me,’ said the mole. ‘I go where the eagle is helpless and the lion cannot follow. Choose me and I will give you the keys of earth. I will guide you to the roots of power, to secrets buried beneath the stones. I know where every vein of gold is hidden; my home is among the caves of rubies, hills of emeralds, ledges of pure diamond. Choose me and you will be greater than the greatest; you will be able to buy empires; you will not only be a king, but the King of kings’.

‘The great ones laugh at the treasures’, whispered the fox. ‘Who but a fool desires gold and glittering pebbles that turn men against each other with greed and jealousy? Choose me and I will give you cunning. I will show you how to outwit all men and overcome your enemies with shrewdness.

Choose me and I will teach you cleverness that is better than wealth and craft that is stronger than strength’.

‘Craft!’ trumpeted the elephant. ‘Craft and cunning are for knaves who will never be wise. Choose me and i will give you true wisdom. I am the oldest of living creatures; my years span a century and I have watched the comings and goings of all the races. Choose me and you will rule the changing mind of the unchanging world’.

‘Choose me,’ lowed the cow. ‘I am sacred, India and Egypt worship me. I feed the world’.

‘Choose me,’ bellowed the dragon. ‘I will spread fire before you and magic wherever you go’.

‘Choose me!’ neighed the horse. ‘I am swift as rage. The glory of my nostrils is terrible to the enemy. I swallow the ground; I laugh at fear’.

‘Choose me!’ screamed the camel. ‘Choose me! Choose Me!’ cried all the animals separately and in chorus. Only the donkey was silent.

‘And what can you give?’ asked Jesus, speaking for the first time and turning to the dusty little fellow. ‘What have you to promise?‘

‘Nothing,’ murmured the donkey. ‘Nothing. I am the lowest of all God's creatures and the least.’

But Jesus remembered. ‘The lowest shall be lifted up’, he said, ‘and the last shall be first’.

And so the meekest of men chose the meekest of animals. And they entered Jerusalem together.

But the great moment passed. Proud Jerusalem jeered at the carpenter's son even as it had stoned the prophets before him, and only a handful of poor folk listened to his words. He was despised and rejected. The people turned against him. He was imprisoned on a false charge and condemned to death. They put a crown of thorns upon his head and made him carry his own cross.

It was while Jesus was struggling up the hill that the donkey saw him for the last time. Their sad eyes met.

‘No,’ said Jesus. ‘You cannot help me now. Yet, since you have done more for me than have most men, you shall be rewarded. I cannot undo what God has done; what He has ordained must be carried out. But I can soften his decree. True, you will have to fetch and carry and feed on thorns. Yet these things will never again be hard for you. Because you carried me three times, so shall you be able to carry three times as much as animals thrice your size — and your load will seem lighter than theirs. You suffered thorns for my sake; so shall you be nourished when others can find nothing to feed on. You shall eat the thorns and nettles of the field — and they shall taste like sweet salads. You bore me when I grew to manhood, when I was a child, and even my mother before I was born. So shall you bear my cross — but you shall bear it without pain. Here —!’ And as Jesus touched the shoulders of the donkey, a velvet-black cross appeared on the back of the kneeling animal.

And Jesus, shouldering his burden, climbed up Calvary ...

Francis heard the last syllable leave his lips in a kind of wonder. His tiredness had gone: everything in him was full of strength. He was surprised to see that the sun had set and that a little horned moon had come into the sky one horn pointing to Assisi. He thought he understood the sign. When he turned back, the donkey had disappeared. The field was dark. But a light greater than the moon was on Francis' face.

Louis Untermeyer (1932) SFO 1885 - 1977 RIP

From: Reminiscences of Affection, by Victor Gollancz 1932