Let
me tell you a story. It’s about a Hebrew
man named Jonah, son of Amittai, son of . . . well, I’m sure Amittai was the
son of someone, but I don’t know who
it was. And this Jonah was how shall we
say it? A single-minded fellow, and the
single thing on his mind was himself.
And one day, he was sitting out the heat of the day under the awning of his
father’s tent, when the word of the Lord came upon him. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard of all the ways
the word of the Lord has come upon folks, and it never seems to be the same way
twice. It came to Moses out of a burning
bush, and to Isaiah branded in red-hot coals on his mouth, and poor old Ezekiel
was forced to choke it down in the form of a musty old scroll. This time, however, it was just a voice, a
great, big, booming, intimidating voice.
And I kind of think that God tailors the word of the Lord to fit the
hearer, because intimidating was just the right tone to take with Jonah, son of
Amittai.
And
here is what the word of the Lord said: “Go at once to Nineveh, that great
city, and cry out against it; for their wickedness has come up before me.” And because of this, it didn’t look good for
the Ninevites: in those days, when a peoples’ wickedness was brought to the
attention of the Lord, their days were often numbered.
And
to Jonah as well, it was pretty clear what God wanted of him: God wanted him to
become a prophet. Indeed, the phrase “go to Ninevah and cry out against it” was
pretty standard prophetic language, straight out of paragraph 3, clause 2b of
the “Prophet’s Legal Handbook, Third Edition,” and Jonah could see his life
stretching out in front of him, world without end, forced to go places he hated
and say bad things to people who hated him, things that could just as easily
get him killed, and if not, well he’d heard all about the live coals and scroll
sandwiches, thank you very much. So even
though he’d heard the Psalms recited in the Temple, and knew that even the
darkness is not dark to God, he left in the dead of the night, taking passage
on a ship sailing on the midnight tide for Tarshish—far, far away, and the
exact opposite direction from Ninevah.
Sandals, don’t fail me now.
But
no sooner had the ship set sail than lo!
A huge storm crashed down upon them, and lo! The waves towered over
them, and lo again! The wind howled round about them, and everyone was really
scared. And naturally, the sailors, being
an international bunch, had a variety of gods—and even a goddess or two—and
they tried them all out, one by one, praying fervently to each in turn. It was like an ancient beauty pageant, or
maybe a game show called “Name That God,” where the only fabulous prize was not
getting drowned.
And
so they prayed to the Ba’als and they prayed to Asterah. They prayed to Tiamat and they prayed to her husband
Apsu, and various Sun gods and Moon goddesses, but to no avail: the storm raged
on, with even more force. In their
desperation, they lightened the load, throwing everything overboard they could
get their hands on: the cages of squawking chickens, bound for the finest
tables of Tarshish; the beautiful jewels, bound for the most fabulous socialites
in Tarshish, but it was not enough: they continued to wallow in the seas,
taking on water at an increasingly alarming rate.
The
crew was just about to give up, and let the boat go rudderless against the wind,
when the captain remembered their passenger and found him in the hold, fast
asleep. Realizing that he represented at least one god they hadn’t yet tried,
he said to Jonah: “What’re you doing
fast asleep when we're dying around here?
Get up off your rear and call on your God, and maybe that God will spare
us a few thoughts.”
Meanwhile,
on the deck above, the men were looking for someone to blame, so they cast lots,
and sure enough, they pointed straight at Jonah, and the jig was up: “Who are
you, and where do you come from,” they
asked, and who is your god?” “I am a
Hebrew, and I worship the Lord God, maker of heaven and earth, and, yes, even
this very ocean!”
And
now the sailors were even more afraid, because they’d heard of this God, and
they’d also heard that he was one tough customer, and they just knew that Jonah
was running away from God—maybe because Jonah, in a senior moment, had let it slip—and
so they conferred one with another, asking what they should do with him. And that’s when Jonah did the most selfless
thing he’d ever done: he told him to throw
him overboard. And the sailors were
aghast, because though they were rough-hewn, they were not cruel, so they tried
mightily to make it to shore but again, to no avail: they were still on destruction’s
edge.
So
regretfully, they gave up, and with much apology and wishes of good luck,
chucked Jonah over the side. And
lo! The wind immediately ceased, and the
sea became as a millpond, and though their sails were in tatters, and their
mast broken off, they were easily able to row to the nearest land. And for the rest of their days as sailors,
they always asked their passengers two simple questions: where are you from and
who is your god? And they never did make
it to Tarshish.
Meanwhile,
Jonah was in a bit of a fix. The waters
closed over him and he began to drown. His
eyes began to close, his lungs began to burn, and the last thought he had before
all went dark was: “At least I don’t have to go to Ninevah!”
But
of course, the Lord God has a sense of humor, and the next thing Jonah knew of
was a terrible stench, and a darkness like the end of the world, and for just
an instant he thought he’d gone to join his ancestor Abraham, who apparently
hadn’t had a bath in ages. But, no, on
second thought, it wasn’t sheep he smelled, or unwashed Israelite, but fish. And he rolled over on his back, and found he
was covered in funky, gooey slime, and he knew he wasn’t in Palestine anymore.
And
gradually, as his eyes adjusted, he became aware of a ghostly phosphorescence,
a greenish, putrescent glow, and he saw coins, jewelry and a wooden cask, scattered
around the strangely spongy floor. Most
worrisome, though, was the perfectly preserved carcass of an entire cow. How she got there, he couldn’t even begin to
fathom, because by now he’d figured out where he was: in the belly of a great
fish.
Well. Out of his mouth came the most profane, un-prophetic
words you’ve ever heard, words I cannot even begin to repeat under the present circumstances,
but then he began to think at least I’m not dead. And then he started praying to the Lord,
asking for salvation. How he had the chutzpah to ask God to save him after he’d
turn tail and run, I have no idea, but that’s what he did.
And
I won’t repeat the prayer, ‘cause it was all whiny and sycophantic, and presumed
on his past relationship with God, such as it was, but lo! The Lord—the
long-suffering God of idiots and second chances—heard his prayer, and spoke to
the fish, which immediately vomited Jonah up all over the dry land.
The
Lord said “Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the
message that I tell you.” And Jonah
couldn’t help but notice that God used almost the exact same words as the first
time, and he got the hint that God had better not have to ask a third time, so
he picked his slimy self up and headed for Ninevah.
Now
Ninevah was a huge city, the biggest city anybody had ever seen, so big that even
on the fastest camel alive, it would take you ten days to get across it. So big that even the fastest carrier pigeon
would take five days to get to the other side.
So big that even a jaguar—the car, not the animal—would take three whole
days to get across.
But
Jonah had no intention of getting across, he wanted to do the bare minimum to
get God off his back so he wouldn’t be fish bait again. So he crept in through the South Gate (called
“the Turtle Gate,” though nobody had ever seen a turtle before) and a pitiful
sight he made. The fish slime had dried
to a golden, flaky crust, and it made him itch all over. His clothes stuck to his body. And he was followed wherever he went by a
pack of hungry dogs, hoping for a tasty bite of carp. But he crept a little way
into the city and whispered: “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”
and he left of the city the way he entered, muttering “there! That oughta hold him” under his breath.
But
then a strange and wonderful thing happened: his message began to spread
throughout the city. Kitchen servants
told household servants. Household
servants told the heads of their households.
“Forty days more and Ninevah shall be overthrown.” The heads of households told their friends in
the markets, who told the harness-makers and the vegetable sellers and
fish-wives. “Forty days more and Ninevah
shall be overthrown.” If you had been in
a balloon above the city, you would have seen the disturbance spread like
ripples across a country pond. “Forty days more and Ninevah shall be
overthrown.”
And
the people of Ninevah repented, they changed their ways, and sackcloth and
ashes became the new black at all the best parties, and when the King heard it—“Forty
days more and Ninevah shall be overthrown”—he repented, and ordered all his
servants and flunkies and yes-men to wear sackcloth and ashes for a whole year.
And
the Lord looked down upon it all and was very pleased, so pleased that God
changed God’s mind and decided not to overthrow the city. And there was rejoicing in the markets, hugging
and kissing in the streets, and a holiday was proclaimed. And as for Jonah? Well,
you’d think he’d be happy that all those people had been saved, and you’d think
he’d have at least a little pride in what he’d done, how obeying the word of
the Lord had, in the end, worked out.
But if you thought any of these things you’d be wrong, because Jonah was
mad. So mad that he went out a little
ways from the city, sat down, and began to sulk.
And
he said to the Lord: “Isn’t this just why I ran away in the first place? Didn’t I know that you are a gracious God, slow
to anger, and always willing to forgive?
And now look what you’ve done, you’ve gone and made a liar out of me,
nobody will believe a word I say, my prophetic credibility has just been ruined.” And he raised his hands in supplication and
fell to his knees and said to the Lord
“Take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.”
In
response, God told a bush to grow over Jonah’s head to make him shade and keep
the hot sun off of him. And Jonah was
mollified and very happy about the bush, and ceased his whining and carrying on. But the next night, God, the told a worm to
eat all of the leaves off the bush, so that the next day, Jonah was sweltering
in the heat once again. And Jonah said
to the Lord: “take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to
live.”
And
at this, the Lord spoke to him one more time: “You are concerned about the
bush, for which you did not labor nor did you
grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should
I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than
a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from
their left, and also many animals?”
And
that is the word of the Lord. Amen.
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