A talking donkey

O Lord, how manifold are your works!

In wisdom you made them all. Psalm 104:24

 

Read Numbers 22:21—35

Once the Lord opened the donkey’s mouth to speak it could have said something far more devastating than it did: ‘How come I can see what you can’t? I see an angel. You see a wall. I’m just a donkey, and you’re a prophet! But I’m the one who sees the activity of God.’ Instead, the donkey limits itself to the professional relationship: ‘I’ve been faithful to you all my life. I’ve carried you. I’ve fulfilled my contract diligently. Have I ever treated you as you have just treated me?’ Surely the creatures around me have spoiled the purposes of God far less than I have. If I take the time to enter into this (I don’t think this is so fanciful), surely the Lord can speak to me through one, at least, of his creatures; one, at least, of my companions, my fellow creatures.

 

Of course you can, Lord. Of course you can speak to me through one of your creatures. You already speak to me through the fact that it is. That it is yours. That it is true to its nature, and truer than I am to my nature. That it has its own mystery, unknown to me; and its own history, unknown to me. That it can’t explain itself. Or originate itself. That, now that I have stopped to reflect on it, it draws from me a respect. An honour. That I share its life and its life’s transience. And frailty. You hide your face, we return to dust. You send forth your Spirit, you renew the face of the ground.[1] May the glory of the Lord endure forever; may the Lord rejoice in his works.[2]

 

 

 

 

[1]Psalm 104:30

[2]Psalm 104:31