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You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you’ve been swallowed by a fish. I don’t even like seafood, so Jonah has never been my favorite story. Hanging out in the stomach of any kind of sea creature seems like something you’d want to avoid.
Things don’t really even get much better. At this point I would expect our hero to emerge out of the depths of his despair. Cue the triumphant music. I can see it now, Jonah redeems himself and saves the day! Jonah even prays in a way that makes it seem like this might be possible.
“To the roots of the mountains I sank down;
the earth beneath barred me in forever.
But you, Lord my God,
brought my life up from the pit,” he says.
Once Jonah has encountered this dark, dare I say slimy, place, he should emerge ready to be the prophet he was meant to be.
But was this a transformative near-death experience? Did Jonah become a new person, excited to love all people? Not even close. Jonah gets out of the fish, dutifully, and quite pathetically, mumbles a one liner to the people of Ninevah, and then sets himself down outside the city, ready to sulk. He complains to God. He stays disconnected from the very people he was sent to communicate with. All in all, Jonah is a grump.
And in a moment of storytelling genius, we are shown how Jonah is more upset about the loss of his beloved shade plant than the loss of human life. Jonah had more of an emotional attachment to one shade plant than a whole city of people. It’s funny, really. It’s a ridiculous scene, with this prophet angry and upset all because of one shriveled up plant. We’re meant to see how disproportionate this is.
Jonah is limited. He’s preoccupied with himself. He can’t quite make that stretch to get out of his own head and pursue something beyond what feels good for him personally. Jonah is drawn back in, swallowed up, by what keeps him comfortably in control. He never is quite able to find the way to practice compassion. He may have a good reason for not liking the people of Ninevah. Everything we know seems to suggest that the people of Ninevah would have been quite awful to Jonah’s people. And yet, we are able to watch how Jonah’s hatred cripples him. We watch as this prophet, ready to have his moment of glory, instead stays back in what he knows, stuck in his old ways.
II. US
This has been a very uncomfortable week for many of us here in the church. Whether you like it or not, things are changing. Jeff is resigning in August. That’s bound to be a whole mess of conflicting emotions, for him and for us. Suddenly there’s a search process to worry about, and the security this church has had for decades is changing. The prospect of keeping this congregation together can feel daunting. There are big decisions looming.
This makes me more sympathetic to Jonah. We want to keep our shelter and shade, too.
But I hope we don’t end up like Jonah.
Which makes me want to ask, what are we preoccupied with? What is our focus? Both as individuals, but as a church as well. Are we following through on the tough challenges God is putting before us, or are our eyes pointed downward on what keeps us sheltered and safe?
Today after church we have our congregational meeting. Apart from being very excited about the sandwiches that are going to be served, I think meetings like this are a perfect time to ask these questions. Church reports are an excellent way to tell what matters to a congregation. What does our church report say? I think this will be the big question for our faith community. When we make decisions, are we choosing what we like, or are we looking beyond our own shade and shelter?
I can tell you plenty of stories about congregations I’ve been a part of that betray what they truly care about through a few lines in a church report or bulletin. There can be nothing more disheartening than walking into a church and finding that they have spilled countless ink about the state of their boiler fund and none about ways they are loving their neighbors.
If our reports are only about what’s right in front of our noses, we might be in trouble. If Jonah teaches us anything, this sacred story reminds us that we cannot only think of ourselves. It might make us mad, it might make us uncomfortable, and we even run away from it. But with a sense of humor and faith in God, we may just end up a part of something more than what we could imagine on our own.
III. CHANGE
We must stretch to see the world differently.
The good news is that just by being here, you are showing a willingness to be stretched. What we’re doing right now is part of that stretching. Worship, through the music and liturgy, can be a transcendent experience that takes you outside of yourself. It’s focusing our attention on God. I’m not always sure why we sing hymns, apart from that I like singing. But, using my seminary educated guess, I believe that part of it is turning toward God and creating a community that listens for God together. We sing words that we might not always believe in the moment, but then those words sink into who you are.
When we gather for second hour, we are stretching. Through that time, this church does an excellent job of hearing diverse voices. When you pause to hear about a transgender woman’s experience in the world, you are being stretched to be be kinder and more oriented to justice than what you might be on your own.
I know someone who uses the prayer of St. Patrick devotionally as a way to stretch his faith.
Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.
He would use it as a physical prayer, stretching ahead, behind, up and down, usually right when he woke up. I’ve always thought there was something beautiful about this type of prayer. It’s a small way to daily pray and open ourselves to the pull of God, knowing that God will surround us, no matter the circumstances.
It takes ethical elasticity to think as God thinks. We are limited. It is hard to love our enemies, to care for people beyond our boundaries. I’m thankful for Jonah, because it lets me know that the people of God have been struggling this for a very long time. It’s human to be self-interested and trapped by the immediacy of what is around us. I’m reminded of my studies in ethics, how philosophers debate how much easier it is to save the struggling person who is right in front of you, in comparison to the starving person on the other side of the world. That’s the natural response. But faith coaxes us to something beyond that.
God is our standard, our hope. Believing in God is believing that there is something better than what you can imagine. Faith means trusting that it’s not all about you.
Jonah wanted things to go by his plan. He even tells God, “I knew this was going to happen. You always end up loving people.” Jonah is mad that he didn’t get to stay home and stay away from the horrible people at Ninevah, to leave God to what God does best.
Yet God wanted Jonah there. To push Jonah outside of any recognizable comfort zone. The tragedy of Jonah is that he stayed locked inside himself.
Whether you have hit rock bottom, avoiding all that you are supposed to do, or have been following the tug of God on your life, know that God is clearly a God of mercy and love, always coaxing and loving us along the way. This story of prophetic failure still ends up being a story of love. God, in and through all things, tends to Jonah just as God’s mercy saves the city of Ninevah. Isn’t it just the mystery of God that God can provide us with shade and then kick us out when the time is right?
Thanks be to God for that.
Amen.
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