I Was There
by KD Sullivan
(Posted with permission)
I remember the first time I gave a man a ride on my back. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, the day the stranger came and took me away. When my master’s servant called out, “What are you doing with my master’s donkey?” the man simply replied, “The Lord has need of him,” and kept walking. For some reason, that answer was enough.
When we arrived at our destination, a Man was waiting for us. He smiled at the stranger, placed His hand on his shoulder as if to speak, then paused and reached out to stroke my neck instead. His touch felt like warm sunshine—soothing and gentle.
The stranger and his friends laid their coats across my back so this Man could ride me. As we traveled through the streets, people lined the road as though expecting a parade. They waved palm branches and shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna in the highest!”
“Apparently this Man on my back is very important,” I thought. “And to carry such a man must make me important as well.”
The people laid palm branches beneath my feet, making the road soft and cool compared to the usual dry dust. The farther we went, the louder they cheered—jumping, clapping, and waving their branches in celebration.
Finally, we reached the Temple and He dismounted. After stroking my nose, He went inside. A servant found me a moment later. “There you are! How did you get here?” he muttered, confused by the coats draped over my back. Shaking his head, he led me to the Temple stables for food and water.
“Who was that Man I just carried?” I asked a mare who had also been near the road.
“He is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth of Galilee,” she replied.
“A prophet?” I wondered. “Why would a prophet want to ride a lowly donkey like me?”
In the days that followed, I often thought of Him—His gentle smile, His warm touch, the honor of carrying Him while the crowds rejoiced. It made me feel warm inside to remember that I was chosen for such a moment.
But about five days later, I heard a commotion. I looked out the window of my stall. Once again, people lined the road.
“I wonder if the Prophet is having another parade?” I said aloud, my ears perking up with hope.
The oldest donkey, whom we called Old One, approached me. “This crowd is different,” he whispered.
He was right. The people stood in silence—cold and suspicious. Many folded their arms or stroked their beards with hardened faces. Then I saw Him. Or someone who looked like Him. But He was beaten, blood dripping from a crown of thorns pressed into His head. His back and legs were torn open. Worst of all, He carried a cross—something even I knew was used only for criminals.
“Who is that Man?” I asked.
“That is the same Man you carried five days ago,” Old One replied.
“That cannot be! He was good and kind. I felt it. How could they do this to someone they praised just days earlier?”
Old One sighed. “There are many reasons people persecute others. Often it has nothing to do with guilt or innocence. But I know this: that Man comes from God.”
The road passed close to my stall. The Prophet—if He was still a prophet—came stumbling under the weight of the cross. A soldier kicked Him as He tried to rise. When He lifted His head, His eyes met ours, and I could swear… He smiled.
Feeling ashamed for my earlier doubts, I lowered my gaze.
A moment later, a weeping woman came into His path.
“I once carried that Man and woman,” Old One said softly.
“You did? Why have you never told me?”
“It was long ago, when I was your age. She was heavy with child, and there were no rooms at the inns. She bore Him—the Prophet—in the stable where I rested. Angels filled the room. Shepherds came to worship Him. He slept in the manger I had eaten from earlier that night. Even the stars sang. That Man is not just a Prophet. He is the Son of God.”
“Then why doesn’t He stop this? Surely He could!”
“I believe He could,” Old One answered. “But He chooses not to.”
I felt a chill. “What will happen if people kill the Son of God? Will the world end?”
“I do not know,” Old One replied, settling down in the straw.
Later that day, my master saddled me for a ride to the Temple, unaware that the Son of God had already ridden me. As we traveled, the sky darkened. The wind roared. Dust swirled around my hooves. Lightning flashed. The earth began to shake beneath us.
People screamed, “This is the end! What is happening?” Priests ran from the Temple, shouting that the enormous curtain had torn in two. And then—just as quickly as it had begun—it stopped.
My master checked to see if I was unharmed, then led me to the Temple stables. Pandemonium rattled the animals, but the servants worked to calm us.
About half an hour later, a strong military horse entered the stable. He carried the scent of battle and sorrow.
“My master was at the crucifixion,” the horse said. “Jesus—the Prophet—hung on the center cross, with two thieves beside Him.”
He recounted every detail:
One thief mocked Him.
The other defended Him.
And Jesus answered, “Today you shall be with Me in Paradise.”
The horse continued, “When Jesus cried, ‘Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit,’ the ground shook violently. My master fell to his knees and said, ‘Without question, this Man was upright!’ He helped take Jesus down from the cross and placed His body over me. His blood is still on my coat.”
Groomers gathered, washing the horse with solemn reverence. “Some say this Jesus was the Son of God,” one whispered.
“If not, then why did heaven and earth groan at His death?” another replied.
Back in my stable, Old One awaited my return. After I told him the story, I said bitterly, “Those men didn’t deserve forgiveness. Some were the same ones who honored Him days ago. They deserved punishment, not pardon!”
Old One let out a raspy chuckle. “Perhaps that is precisely why He came—to give man (and in your case, donkey) the ability to forgive.”
I remembered the look in Jesus’ eyes as He passed by my window—the eyes of forgiveness. That day, I had feared it was the end of the world. But now I sensed it was the beginning of a new one. A world in which God cared so deeply that He sent His Son to forgive even the worst betrayal. A world where forgiveness now had a face.
And in that moment, I realized something:
Forgiveness changes everything… because forgiveness had changed me.
