Donkeys are having a big year. There was the donkey star in the movie “Eos,” the donkey named Jenny in “The Banshees of Innisherin.” And of course, a donkey is a co-star on Palm Sunday.

When I was kid, I was really more interested in the donkey than Jesus.  In fact, I was mad at Jesus because the donkey looked so small and Jesus looked so big. I asked my Sunday School teacher Miss Pat, “Doesn’t that hurt the donkey? If Jesus is so nice, why isn’t he walking next to the donkey?” Then I told her I was going to pray for the donkey.

She was smart and didn’t try to explain that it was a fulfillment of the prophecy made in Zechariah 9:9 that said, “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your king is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is he, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” As smart as we four year-olds thought we were, I’m sure we wouldn’t have understood that.

But now that I’m slightly past that age, I deeply appreciate the donkey, a symbol of peace and humility. Jesus didn’t come roaring in, guns a-blazing on a giant stallion. There was roaring, but it came from the crowd. As a kid I thought this was like a ticker-tape parade—nothing but cheering and celebration. But now I understand that “Hosanna!” is not just praise, it is also a desperate request: “Save us!”

One of my first rotations as a chaplain intern was in the Cardiac Care Unit. My patient, a 66 year-old businessman was something of big deal. He was demanding and pushy with the nurses. As a wealthy,  Silicon Valley patriarch, he couldn’t quite believe that all his years of playing tennis didn’t keep his heart healthy and strong. He needed a new valve.

The cardiology team came in and said, “Good news! We can replace that valve.”

“Hurray!” he crowed.  He would have leaped out of bed to dance around the unit except he was too short of breath. But I knew his, “Hurray!” was just like, “Hosanna!” It was praise and delight, but also a desperate cry, “Save me!”

As the team was leaving I grabbed the sleeve of the medical student and asked, “How do they fix that?”

“Pig valve,” she answered. It was if someone laid a psychic fart. A cloud of silence settled over the room. At this point they had been using pig valves for over twenty years, so this shouldn’t have been a surprise to him. But it was.

“Pig valve?” he asked. “I thought it was titanium. Or, or—teflon or something.”

“Nope. Pig valve,” the medical student repeated. And she left the room.

He was silent for a couple minutes. I bet he was angry at not getting something high-tech. I bet he was going to call Somebody Big and complain. I bet he was going to start ranting. He finally looked up at me and said, “Let’s pray for that pig, shall we?” In those few silent minutes, he underwent some kind of transformation that I hadn’t predicted. He understood that he was going to be saved by the sacrifice of another. He was happy and a little bit sad. And I was reminded how much I had yet to learn.

There is almost always a little bitter mixed into the sweet. A birthday? One year closer to death. A job promotion? More work and more responsibility. A new baby? Say goodbye to Happy Hour with friends. Welcome to Jerusalem—crucifixion on Friday! As they say, “An ending is always a new beginning.”

Often in the midst of our triumph and victory we need something like a humble donkey—or a pig valve—to keep us grounded and grateful. So in our “Hurrays!” we can look around and see where our, “Thank-you’s,” should go. Who helped us get here? More important: who helped us become who we are? Has anyone sacrificed for us, in even a small way?

Of course it never hurts to pray for the donkey. But when our hearts are healed, then, let’s pray for that pig, shall we?