Like all others in the Episcopal Church who use the Lectionary to read and pray the Scriptures daily, I had the pleasure of hearing the story of Balaam’s donkey this week (Numbers 22:21-38). This passage often raises smiles when read in groups—or, even alone—for its combination of naïve (in its original sense) storytelling, vivid characterization, and surprising content. It is, however, worthy of some consideration and reflection for the serious message it bears amidst the irony and comedy.
Balaam is riding his donkey while going to meet Balak for what would turn out to be an unsatisfactory stint of employment to curse the Hebrews. Along the way the donkey sees the angel of the Lord, with drawn sword, in the road. Sensibly, the donkey detours into a nearby field. Balaam whacks the donkey; smarting, the poor beast obeys and continues on.
A little later, the angelic figure returns, this time in a lane with walls on either side. Obediently the donkey squeezes between the angel and the wall—no mean feat—and continues on. This is a courageous as well as skillful and obedient donkey. However, during this delicate maneuver the donkey had to rub up against the wall, crushing Balaam’s foot. More whacking ensues.
Finally (ah, yes, three times!) the angel appears to the unnamed donkey in such a way that there was no way around. Perhaps surrendering to its fate, the critter simply folds its legs and rests on the ground. Then all hell breaks loose.
Angry and, one presumes, mystified, Balaam uses his staff to beat the donkey. The picture is both very sad and very ironic. The Seer who cannot see beats the “dumb animal” that can. This image, which makes one think of St. Paul’s teaching that all Creation groans under the consequences of human sin, is a pitiable miniature of all the folly and spiritual blindness humans commit and suffer from throughout the ages, and the toll it exacts on everything.
Then perhaps comes the real point of the story: the donkey speaks. “What have I done to you, that you have struck me these three times?" Balaam doesn’t blink, even for second, at this. The text has him shoot back his self-justification: “Because you have made a fool of me! I wish I had a sword in my hand! I would kill you right now!"
Here is revealed the condition of everyone who abandons simple humanity to live in the ego. All behavior is justified, no matter how vile, because “you have made a fool of me!” Our appearance, our standing, our control, our comfort, our need to be respected by others—is a bottomless pit of rage, ready to open up whenever we are thwarted. People, animals, objects, the Creation around us, even God are all swept into the drama of our ego-centered universe, culminating in Balaam’s threat to annihilate the donkey. A surreal picture of a man witnessing a miracle who threatens to extinguish the very miracle itself is thus made complete.
To this nihilistic outburst (which is as comic as tragic), the donkey calmly addresses himself. He patiently pulls Balaam from the edge of insanity with these logical words: “Am I not your donkey, which you have ridden all your life to this day? Have I been in the habit of treating you this way?"
Balaam considers this request—never commenting on the novelty of the conversation once—and replies simply: “No.” That is all he says. Stopped in the midst of his violent fulminations by the solid and honest reasonings of his donkey, servant, and (really) friend, Balaam ends up climbing off the ledge and resumes being human. Only at that moment are Balaam’s eyes opened by God to see the angel in the road, with drawn sword in his hand, blocking the way.
The angel is not amused by Balaam’s violence. Rather than being merely a quaint detail of a folk tale, the striking of the innocent and faithful donkey is brought up as an accusation against Balaam. God sees all we do—in the heat of the moment or in recollected calm. We are responsible.
The angel then speaks at some length in praise of the donkey, saying that if it had not reacted so wisely, the angel would have killed Balaam and spared the donkey. The issue at hand is not the donkey’s disobedience or obstreperousness, but Balaam’s perversity—his intention to thwart the way of the Hebrews as they journey to the Promised Land. By standing in the way of Balaam, the angel is expressing what Balaam is trying to do to God. Only then, after listening to a talking donkey and a sword-bearing angel, does Balaam finally become fully human: he repents in word and deed and agrees to do what God commands.
Balaam’s repentance eventually leads to the comical scene which follows: blessings coming out of this paid curser’s mouth. Balak’s desire for control over God and the Hebrew people is upended by the very “donkey” he has hired to do his bidding. The irony is complete.
We in the Church, however, would do well to think over this seemingly odd story with great care. When the faithful souls who do the hard work in the Church’s life, often for years and without comment or criticism, suddenly balk, what do the leaders do? Do we dismiss them? Figuratively strike them by demanding compliance with our goals? Do we end up saying something very similar to the Pharisees in John 9:34: “‘You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" Or, in John 7:49, when the educated leadership speaks of the crowds turning to Jesus: “…this crowd, which does not know the law—they are accursed.”
And beyond balking, what if these same people should dare speak? The unaccustomed voice in the Church, in our communities, in our neighborhood, family, or online—what do we do when this voice speaks? Balaam’s donkey could see what the Seer could not. The quiet person, who does the work but does not “theologize” in the Church or “take the floor” in the workplace or family or online likely sees the reality of what is happening from a vantage point completely beyond the people "at the helm." When such a person balks at plans, or turns away from the announced agenda, what do we do? Do we enquire, consider, listen? Or, do we metaphorically strike out at the suddenly out-of-turn or unpliable messenger?
In the current era of the Culture War heresy it has been fashionable to say that this sin is most often committed by the “side” one opposes, but my experience suggests that it is really an equal-opportunity error. Whenever our wills become perverted from the basic will of God we end up “walloping the donkey,” so-to-speak. When we are lost in our ideology, our supposed powers or knowledge or authority, we re-enact this story in our own way. The Church is, sadly, especially vulnerable to this due to our willingness to turn opinion into truth. This is particularly evident when we hear little of Jesus and much of ideology, "tradition," or the need for "relevance" in the conversation.
The story of Balaam’s donkey has many meanings, of course; but for me during this year’s reading, it is a reminder to consider what I am becoming as I go through life—based on how I perceive and treat everyone and everything along the way. It is also an invitation to grasp the freedom found in repentance.
When I was growing up, my mother would sometimes say to me: “Just who do you think you are?” It is a worthwhile question, as also is “Just who do you think others are?” whenever we are thwarted in our plans and expectations. An angel just might be standing before us.
Most of all: don’t beat the donkey. Listen to it. You may have been riding a true Seer and Prophet all along.
