One writer says that Jesus found a young donkey, as if he himself sought it out.

Another writer says that Jesus sent his disciples ahead with explicit instructions on how to find a specific donkey, along with her colt.

Yet another writer says they were sent with instructions on finding only a colt.

And yet another writer says that Jesus sent his disciples to fetch a single colt, but to promise that they would bring it back.

If you read the stories carefully, there are some obvious discrepancies. If you read enough other stories in the Gospels, you will find other such discrepancies—some that seem more or less significant than the donkey / colt business. Some try to consolidate these accounts. Some take it to mean that nothing in the Scriptures is reliable.

At the same time that Jesus was riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, through the entrance on the opposite side of the city, the Roman Governor, Pontius Pilate, was arriving on a horse. Jesus was followed by his rag-tag band of disciples; Pilate was accompanied by a military brigade. Jesus had come to bring peace by way of self-sacrifice; Pilate had come to keep the peace by intimidation—and by brute force if necessary.

There were crowds to celebrate each of them. One arrival was a cobbled together, last-minute communal expression of hope, the other was a military parade.

There are still crowds celebrating each of them.

Someone else might try to kill. Or at least intimidate with death threats. Because the reversal of death is a disruption. Resurrection threatens the natural order of things. It’s just not how things are done around here.

If death is no longer a thing, what leverage does anyone really have over anyone else? If someone has already died and come back to life, is any kind of second death intimidating at all?

We don’t know for sure, but I like to imagine that Lazarus—who already died once due to natural causes, but then was raised back to life by Jesus—had to chuckle a little when he heard that there was a plot to kill him. Death? Been there, done that.

Does not count as a genuine contribution to the world. Appraising other’s passions is an unhelpful thing to be passionate about. Critical reviews of others’ expressions of joyful creativity only stifle further joyful creativity.

You’re so creative with your reviews

Of what other people do

How satisfying that must be for you

David Bazan, “Selling Advertising”

Leave her alone. Leave him alone. Your criticism says more about you than anyone else.

It’s not entirely clear when, but at some point people started catching on that Judas Iscariot was skimming off of the funds supporting Jesus’ ministry. Before he was a known betrayer, he was a suspected thief.

At least John knew (because he wrote about it), and I think it’s safe to say that other disciples knew as well. As things like this go, it likely began with suspicions that were eventually confirmed, perhaps not even until after his death.

Two things about this bewilder me a bit.

Praise of someone or of something only becomes real when it becomes public.

We know real praise when we encounter it: The roar of the fans when the home team scores a touchdown. The applause of the crowd when the singer takes the stage. The rising of the congregation as the bride walks down the aisle. The cooing of family members as the newborn is carried out to meet them for the first time.

The most surprising thing about the story of Lazarus is that after being raised from the dead there was no next big thing. After something as spectacular as a resurrection, you’d expect something else powerful to follow. But apparently, as best we can tell, he just went back to living his little inconsequential life in his little inconsequential town.

The next time we see Lazarus post-resurrection he is not traveling and doing ministry with Jesus, he is not leveraging his story for the gospel, he is not raising others from the dead. He is not doing anything at all spectacular or exciting or even useful: He is reclining at a table.

At some point in time, if you follow Jesus long enough and take him seriously enough, you’ll find yourself asking, “Isn’t he coming at all?”

There you are, waiting. In an obvious place, at an obvious time. You’ve known him to show up here before, but now, this time, he seems totally absent. In the bustle of life all around you there is just the nagging silence of waiting.

It’s just plain smart. It might even be a virtue. Or perhaps a spiritual practice worth learning.

Reading the warning signs of danger ought to prompt some kind of action. When your check engine light comes on, you ought to take your car to the mechanic. When you get a low balance alert, you ought to curb your spending. When your back hurts, or your stomach is in knots, or you have persistent headaches, you ought to tune into your stress levels.

God always has been in, is active with today, and will be working on until it is complete, the business of gathering all that has been scattered.

Unifying all that has been separated. Connecting all that has been disconnected. Merging all that been alienated. Making into one single whole all that has been divided.