Have you seen the bumper stickers that start with “My other ride is a…” and then end with something hilarious, something wildly inappropriate or something out of this world?
I have. I love them.
There are ones that claim my other ride is a Porsche or a BMW. There are ones that assert my other ride is a pirate ship or a hot dog truck. And then there are my personal favorites: the ones that claim my other ride is the Millennium Falcon.
As is the case with all bumper stickers, these are trying to tell you something about the owner of the car in front of you. I think this particular brand of bumper stickers wants you to know that, no matter the hunk of junk stopped at the light, there’s something better waiting at home in the garage. What you see is only the tip of the iceberg.
As I’ve been praying in these days leading up to Holy Week, trying to see what images most stand out to me, I’ve found myself drawn to the colt, the animal upon which Jesus rides into Jerusalem. An odd image, to be sure — and an even more peculiar choice for transportation.
What’s important to note is that this animal is not a beast of war, not a horse trained to draw a chariot, not a creature familiar with a royal entourage. We hear in Luke’s Gospel that this is a colt “on which no one has ever sat” (19:30). In Matthew’s Gospel, we learn that Jesus is fulfilling the words of the prophet Zechariah: “Behold: your king is coming to you, a just savior is he, humble, and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey” (Mt 21:5; Zec 9:9).
We know, too, that Jesus selected this animal on purpose, telling his disciples: “Go into the village opposite you, and as you enter it you will find a colt… Untie it and bring it here” (Lk19:30). Jesus knew he wasn’t riding into Jerusalem under the usual décor of a king; he was riding in as a fellow traveler, a humble companion.
And yet, we know Jesus knows that he doesn’t have to ride a simple colt. “Do you think I cannot call upon my Father and he will not provide me at this moment with more than twelve legions of angels?” he says when betrayed and arrested in the garden of Gethsemane (Mt 26:53). Certainly, if he has that kind of angel power at his disposal, he could’ve gotten a nicer horse!
I wonder what Jesus’ bumper sticker would say. “My other ride is a celestial dragon.” “My other ride is the Will of God.” “My other ride is Elijah’s fiery chariot.” “My other ride is the Millennium Falcon.”
Jesus made an intentional choice to ride into the heart of oppression, tyranny and violence. He did so embracing the spirit and tools of nonviolence and peace. Jesus does not enter as a conqueror but as a companion, not as a prince but as a pilgrim.
Jesus turns to us, too, and extends this invitation. The message of Holy Week isn’t that we can trot about confidently on our baby horse because God can send us a dragon if necessary. The message is that we follow Jesus who embraces the path of peace willingly to disarm and defuse conflict and chaos. Only by first embracing that path, finding the courage to walk it, is God’s great glory able to burn forth from death and destruction — the Holy Week phoenix from the ashes of that very first Lenten Wednesday.
“Put your sword back into its sheath,” Jesus says, “For all who take the sword will perish by the sword” (Mt 26:52).
What swords do we need to put down during these final days of Lent? What humble animals do we need to climb upon? Where might they lead us — and with whom will we walk?
I don’t think Jesus cares what your other ride is. All the power and prestige in the world can’t replace the compassionate presence you can bring to the here and now. Jesus wants you to be present to the needs of this moment.
