WHAT MANNER OF STEED WAS THIS?
©1991 Debra L. Clifton
On the outskirts of Jerusalem, as one heads down from Mt. Olivet toward the city’s eastern wall, stands a small but important village. For it is in this tiny village that travelers came to refresh themselves from their journey in the wilderness, before entering the clamor of the city. In the village was a man called the “keeper of the pools.” It was his job to see that “living water” unfouled by man nor beast was kept in the village pools. A water such as this, to quench to thirst of those from the wilderness, could only be found in the valley below.
The Keeper himself knew the only place where a fountain flowed with living water. At the dawn of each day, he lead a caravan of donkeys down the narrow passages on the steep banks, leading to the valley below. Somberly, they edged by the myriad of tombs lining the valley cliffs in the grayness of the morning, always appearing at the fountain the moment the sun rose over the mountains. The townspeople found it odd that a fountain of living water should flow in a valley such as this. “Why, is not the brook that runs through it called Kidron, where the kings of Israel have burned and spread the ashes of idols and their altars?” they mused. “How could living water spew forth in a valley that holds the shadows of the dead?”
The task was a difficult one, for the path was treacherous and the burden heavy, causing even the ablest of beasts to grow weary. This being so, the Keeper released the donkeys that had grown too faint to the meadow in the valley below, for a season of rest. For he never lost a donkey to a broken bone or a faint heart. Whenever he visited their trysting place, he would rejoice at finding the addition of beasts just out of the womb. He raced among the young colts, choosing those ready to serve in the caravan. His fold was always increasing; never was found in it disease or wolves. In fact, those too old to join the caravan seemed to live forever, and when they were gone, there was never a bone or clue of their death to be found in the valley.
It was the Keeper’s habit to always bring a first-born colt and his mother up from the valley together. He would tie the colt to a tree and let him observe the duties of his mother in the caravan. Then, when he felt the time was right, the colt was prepared and pressed into the service of the caravan.
It is in one such case we meet our little colt tied to a tree by the pool of living water. “My little one,” said his mother, nuzzling him to get his attention. “The day is coming when you shall carry the burden assigned to you. Before any burden is placed upon you, however, a redemption must be made, for you are my firstborn. The Keeper himself will take you to the temple. Since you are unclean in the Maker’s sight, he will offer a lamb for sacrifice in your place. Only then will you be a suitable beast of burden to carry the living water from the valley.”
“Why do I have to be as I am?” brayed the colt, for he was not at all happy with his lot in life. “And why is a lowly lamb a fit offering for my life?” he complained. In fact, the little colt seemed to always be complaining. Day after day he stood tied up to the tree near the pool, watching the other donkeys shoulder the heavy load of water jugs. He never ceased in his murmuring to those around. In fact, not one beast could drink at the pool without the colt marveling at how much better their life was than that of the Keeper’s donkeys.
The colt was especially drawn to the Roman chariot horses that flew by day after day. “Oh, to be one such as the chariot horses. Why, their riders dress like gods, and they pull chariots of gold. These steeds are of such import that their owners place a crown of feathers upon their heads,” he mused, almost worshipfully. “Oh, to be a steed such as these!” the colt brayed to the horses as they hurried by. “You are so lucky! What must I do to become as you?” But they were not able to stop and reply.
One day, much to the colt’s surprise, a chariot pulled up to the pool to speak to its owner. It was not the habit of Roman soldiers to refresh themselves at the pool of living waters, for they maintained pools of their own. The colt was delighted that an opportunity came to speak to the horses about his desire to be as they were. The donkey lavished them with praise. “Oh foolish little burro, why desire to be as us? For yes, we do run like the wind, and the chariots we draw shimmer as the sun’s majesty. Many a great soldier and ruler do we serve. But the bits in our mouths are sharp and the whips are cruel and relentless. The races we run are not run freely, for the course has been set. Great fear have we, for each gallop we make at such high speeds. Should we fall, the chariots overtake us and give us to the hands of death. If we stumble and injure ourselves, we do not arise, for we become useless to our masters. You, little donkey, will climb the hills at your pleasure. Those around you do not compete with you, but share in your task. Your master prompts you with a branch, not a whip that has the power to tear your flesh. No, little colt, rejoice at your call in life! You shall live long after we are gone, for truly your burden is light!”
The colt sighed and thought, “Surely this could not be true! The horses are so grand and swift.” Then he gazed into their eyes, and with compassion, looked down at their spindly legs. A whip cracked in the air, startling the colt. The chariot horses leapt in the air and charged down the road to the city. “Perhaps the life of a horse is not all that I imagined. But surely there must be another such regal beast I could hope to become,” he murmured to himself. “A stronger, more significant beast; yes, one that his master must rely on.”
Just then, an ox cart rambled up the road. The colt looked at the powerful oxen and exclaimed, “Oh, this is what I truly long to be! Why, with a chest such as that, I will never have to fear carrying a burden. There is no load too heavy for a beast such as the ox!”
The ox cart stopped and the driver jumped down to draw some water. The little donkey brayed at the ox, but no response came. This did not stop him, however, for he was insistent on knowing what he must do to become like the ox. He decided that to entreat such an important beast, he must use flattery. “Oh, to be an ox such as you would be a great honor. Why, I’ve heard it said at the pool there is no beast of greater value in all Israel than you! Who else never tires of plowing to open the ground for the precious harvest seeds, but you!? And what beast in all the kingdom is allowed to eat of the firstfruits of the grain as it is being threshed! Your great strength enables men to prosper where others are too weak. I’ve heard it said at the pool that your masters have even made laws to protect you. Speak to me if this is so!”
The ox, tired of the little donkey’s bantering, spoke. “Why do you desire to carry such a heavy load, little one? The esteem of men does not lift the burden off of me. If I am not bearing the yoke, I am under the harness. When they unmuzzle me to tread the grain, it is only to sustain my strength to work. Even when I can enjoy the company of a fellow worker under the same yoke, we must be of equal strength to labor together.”
The little colt finally burst in, “But surely you have seen the Keeper’s caravan in the valley! Look how the donkeys are tied together, one after the other! The water must also be a heavy burden. Why, if they stumble, who knows what horrible things could happen!” He flared his nostrils in a loud retort, satisfied the ox now understood his plight.
The ox broke out in a flow of laughter. “Yes, I have seen the Keeper’s caravans in the valley. And yes, the load is not light. But have you never noticed that when one stumbles there is always one in front and one behind to hold him up? Besides, the Keeper himself goes before the caravan, making the way passable. He does no sit behind, like my master in the cart, and urge them on with a whip.”
But I’ve seen you in the valley’s pastureland,” interrupted the colt. “I know that your master treats you well. Why, all of Israel regards you as a beast to be valued. Are you not one of the few animals whose sacrifice at the temple is pleasing to the Lord?”
“Oh, foolish little donkey, we may like yourselves eat in the green pasture below, but that’s where all similarity ends. Have you not watched an ox at rest? We can not kick and gambol such as you donkeys can while you refresh yourselves. Our gait is not one of freedom, but of a constant treading.” The ox spotted his master coming for him and remarked quickly, “Little one, be content with who you are. For I cannot be as you nor you as I.” The owner grabbed the ox by the ring in his nostril and led him back to the ox cart.
The colt eyed the heavy looking cart and harness of the ox and exclaimed, “He’s right! Why should I submit myself to a burden such as his?” His countenance began to change as he mulled over the ox’s words. “Perhaps my life as a donkey will not be as I expected. Why, I may not be esteemed as the ox, but then again, he can never enter into the labor and rest that I have. Besides, who else has ever carried the jugs of living water?” he mused with growing pride. A shudder ran down his body as he thought of the prospect of being a suitable sacrifice for the temple like the oxen. The horror was replaced by a growing appreciation of his lot in life.
Just then, the air filled with the whining noise of sheep. The colt looked disgustedly at the herd of sheep coming down the road toward the pool. “Oh, you pesky sheep!” upbraided the colt as they passed by the pool. “All you do is feed on the green grass of the meadow. No work do you do of yourselves. Your coat you do not grow of your own labor. Yours is to play all day long and eat of the meadow. Why, I hear it said at the pool that you are so dumb you cannot do anything without the shepherd’s aid,” he brayed.
The sheep herd clogged the tiny village, pressing the little colt up against the tree he was tied to. “You have no sense of your own,” mocked the donkey. “Why do you submit so blindly to the shepherd? How can you trust him so completely? Do you not know that if you lay your life in his hands you could lose it? At best, he will take you to the shearer, who will strip you of all your coat of wool. He will be paid a pretty price for your coat, but you, what will you profit from it? Have you not heard that he only feeds you so that you may be food for others? Why, some of you may even be sacrificed for an unclean first-born such as I. How can your blood pay the price at the temple for an animal like me?” As the words slipped out, a sorrow filled his heart. He realized they were all Passover lambs.
“Run!” he bellowed, “Run, run, run! Don’t become sheep for the slaughter! Run, I say! Have you no mind of your own!? The shepherd won’t stop you. Run! Why pay the price so that others might live?” Frustrated, he stopped yelling and muttered to himself, “Perhaps the others were right about ‘being as you are.’ At least my lot in life is better than that of those sheep.”
Just then, two strangers approached, untied the colt, and began to lead him away. The Keeper ran forth to the well to question the men. “Why are you loosing the colt?” he cried.
“Because,” they replied, “the Lord has need of him.”
“What Manner of Steed Was This?”
Copyright 1991, 2004 Debra L. Clifton
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