Jesus Had A Hot Ass!

Mark 11:1-7

And when they drew near to Jerusalem, to Beth'phage and Bethany, at the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples, 2: and said to them, "Go into the village opposite you, and immediately as you enter it you will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever sat; untie it and bring it. 3: If any one says to you, `Why are you doing this?' say, `The Lord has need of it and will send it back here immediately.'" 4: And they went away, and found a colt tied at the door out in the open street; and they untied it. 5: And those who stood there said to them, "What are you doing, untying the colt?" 6: And they told them what Jesus had said; and they let them go. 7: And they brought the colt to Jesus, and threw their garments on it; and he sat upon it.

Sitting in church yesterday was a strange experience. For years I've attended. As long as I can remember and I know the stories well. I've read most of them, been in group discussions about them, and read opinions about what other people thought they meant. That was good enough for me for a long time. Perhaps I was busy frying other fish. But recently something has begun to change in the way I hear things. I seem to be actually listening. I guess I always have listened, but listening and thinking perhaps is a better way to put it. And now the church is a different place. Not a bad one by any means; it is a better representation of what people can do when they are not focused so selfishly on themselves... but...

I just don't like being told what to do. That's it. Call me stubborn. I'd be the guy going to war over the price of tea. My grandfather called these molehills 'the mountain I was prepared to die on' with his best middle eastern flourish. And I like church, like the Bible (as entertaining literature), and think some of the philosophy is good. But I am not buying what I am told without some critical reflection. Call me Thomas.

It started with the idea some months ago that I wasn't actually a sinner. That I am not, in fact imperfect. We are all, in fact perfect. I blogged on it somewhere in greater detail but the idea in summary is that if we are truly like snowflakes, one of a kind, then we are a statistical sample of one, which by definition is the standard of observation... or perfect. Or perhaps, religiously, if you believe in a divine god why would it create imperfect creations in its own image? That seems wholly illogical. And literalists often mention Eden, which is a great story. One of my favorites about human nature. It really is the story of all of us... amazing considering how very old it is. Our nature is essentially unchanged after all that time. But were it real, that an all powerful god, a creator who could create a universe in a week, could not adequately protect a fruit tree? That is simply not possible. Since this time, the liturgy has taken on a new meaning. The stories are seemingly new again, which is actually nice. Refreshing, even.

But yesterday Jesus stole a donkey. I have never seen until know, but I totally get it. He was running a scam. And its a funny one. No one was hurt. The hot 'wheels' were apparently returned later, but Jesus told two of the disciples (whose names Mark omits to hide the crime ;) to basically steal a ride. Its not uncommon to park on the edge of town as it kept the smell down and I could imagine them being conveniently located on the outskirts. Two strange men coming up and telling them their lord had need of the animal and would bring it right back would not be odd sounding to men charged with livery. All sorts of lords rode through and rarely got their own steed. Why would this be any different? He stole the mule. That ass he was riding on was hot!

I think that is hilarious! It certainly takes nothing away from other good things he did. In fact, I'd like to look more carefully through the Gospels again. Perhaps some find it sacrilege. We all are entitled to an opinion on the subject. This is mine. It makes me smile. Religion needs a better sense of humor. I think I like this guy more and more.