Reflection for Palm Sunday
Jesus tells his disciples to go into the village, where they will see a donkey and a colt tied up. They are to untie them and bring them to Jesus. If anyone says anything to them, they are to respond, “The master has need of them,” and the man will “send them at once.”
The faith of the man, who not only allows his animals to be taken but who “sends them at once,” is what I would like to consider today. This man allows his animals to be taken as soon as he hears that it is the master who has need of them. He must know this master if he so willingly allows his animals to be taken by him.
Who is this master? He is the master who has pity on the sick and heals them, and the one who says to those who want to stone the woman caught in adultery, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” He’s a merciful master. This is the gentle master who first weeps over the city before he rides into it, and he’s the master who asks the Father to forgive those who are crucifying him, “for they know not what they do.” He’s also the master who, only one week later, will lovingly sacrifice his life so that his estranged children might be with him forever.
As we notice in our story, though, the master doesn’t always ask before he takes. But, because the man knows him to be a generous and merciful master, he can trust that when this kind master takes something that this taking is for his good, and even that this taking it is somehow a gift.
Earlier this week, I was thinking about something that had been taken from me. It wasn’t anything very big—a small good I was inordinately attached to—but even when we lose a small thing, it hurts. In what can only be a response to grace, when this small good was taken from me, I accepted the taking of it and offered it for someone I love very dearly. It wasn’t until a month later that I found out that at this time that same loved one was mourning something deeply. As I pondered these things, realizing that Jesus had taken something from me, given me the grace to accept it, and used it to bring about some good in a suffering loved one, the words, “the master has need of it” were spoken very quietly in my soul. All I could do was praise. How kind of the master to take this thing I needed to get rid of anyways and use it. How kind of the master to allow us to share in his work.
“The master has need of it.” In an absolute sense, we know Jesus doesn’t need anything from us. He is God. Our life, our breath—everything—is a pure gift from him. We add nothing to him. He doesn’t need us or our things in any absolute sense. Yet still, our text says, “The master has need of them.” How paradoxical that the master, the one in whom everything exists, would need something of ours, thereby allowing us to participate in his redeeming work.
What does the master have need of? In the gospel, it’s a donkey. The donkey isn’t a great war horse that the owner can proudly point to it and say—“Look, Jesus is using my great steed.” No, it’s a donkey. Valuable, yes, but it’s certainly not flashy. This gentle master doesn’t have need of our greatness. A lesser master might need to prop himself up with our great things to boost his persona, but that’s not the way of this master. He’s a humble master, possessing everything, and still, he’s on his way to give his whole self for the ones he loves so dearly.
He does have need of our trust and our resignation, though. Oh, how our master loves when the loss of something is accepted trustingly, or when a small injustice is forgiven, or when we continue to hope in his mercy after we fail yet again. Our kind master takes these little things and joins them into the immensity of his sacrifice. He mysteriously works through our resignation and trusting surrender, allowing us to participate in his work of redemption for our good and the good of our neighbors. We don’t see it, but there is a mysterious yet real fruitfulness in our trust.
On the cross, we see the depths of a love we can trust. When we find our fear creeping in and that our faith is lacking, all we need to do is ask the kind master to give us his trust. He wants to. He will, and not only that, but he is glorified in our asking.
As we enter into Holy Week, let us ask for the grace to trust this master. He won’t take anything from us that isn’t for our good. He takes what is lesser that he may give us what is infinitely greater. Like a good physician, he wounds that he may heal. Let us ask for the grace to abandon ourselves to his chisel, knowing that the work he is accomplishing is done out of pure love, with such tenderness, for our good and for the salvation of others.