This is donkey who has lived near the hermitage for all the years I’ve been in Western North Carolina. Sometimes one hears of a parish, usually a Cathedral parish, for which a donkey is prepared for his hour on which the (Arch)Bishop or Cardinal or Patriarch will ride up to the church on that donkey with all having palm fronds in their hands. I’ve heard of that for the Philippines, for Nicaragua, for Jerusalem. How about your parish?
The Donkey – by G.K. Chesteron
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.