Like Jonah, we fear to live into our calling. Then hate those we’re called to help. It isn’t about being good, but becoming it.
Epiphany 3B | Jonah 3:1-5, 10
The only reason any of us remember Jonah is because of the whale. It’s always Jonah and the whale. He’s famous for getting swallowed. But we don’t care so much about him, let’s be honest. It’s the whale that hooked us.
And we’re told that story as kids for obvious reason. The Whale. Just like we’re taught about Noah. It isn’t Noah or the arc or even the rain, it’s the animals.
Later on, when we’re a little older, we come back to it and wonder why there’s a whale in this story at all. How’d Jonah get in there?
And maybe, while we’re asking that question, a good teacher is pointing out that it doesn’t actually say he was swallowed by a whale, those mammalian herbivores, but by a giant fish. Which just opens up a whole set of new questions.
But it is that first question that is much more important. Because this whale (or giant fish) for us is a lot like our Moby Dick. Or perhaps something smaller, like a red herring.
The story of Jonah isn’t about that moment. It’s about what leads up to that moment and what comes after it.
Jonah is running away.
Specifically, he is running from his responsibility. God has called him to do something he doesn’t want to have to do. Let someone else do it. It’s too hard. I’m not the right guy.
We all know what this is like, of course. But let’s be honest. We’re loathe to admit how we all engage in this every single day.
One of our favorite ways to run from responsibility is to outsource it. If someone else is doing it for us, then we stop owning it.
But the great invention of the modern era is to outsource responsibility to no one person. Not to someone, but to something. A robot. Or an algorithm. Then there isn’t a person to do it. We convince ourselves that the solution is neutral and befits fairness.
But it never truly is. Flawed systems lead to flawed outcomes. Only worse: now there’s nobody taking responsibility at all.
We’ve seen this in predictive policing models in cities like New York and Los Angeles which are making racial discrimination worse. And nobody is owning it!
Jonah is running away knowing it is his responsibility. Knowing that God has asked him to do this work. In his audacity, he dares to argue that God is wrong in asking him.
He runs and runs, to the point that he thinks he will kill himself to avoid this like a child refusing his vegetables. And God keeps putting it all back on his plate. These are yours.
And finally, after surviving the belly of a Giant aquatic beast, Jonah says to God: Fine. I’ll do it.
And what was it that God wanted him to do?
Tell people they’re doing bad stuff.
Jonah is supposed to go to Ninevah, the big city, and tell them that they’ve done terrible stuff and need to repent of it. Like going to a sunset town and saying they need to quit their ku klux klanning.
I think we can understand the feeling. Even right now, as I’m wading into that water, simply talking about what the Bible says here and then suggesting that maybe we ought to think about how we so often avoid naming the evil in our community, this gives us that tingling discomfort of sounding like maybe we shouldn’t—it’s not polite. Not dignified. It’s divisive. And isn’t the timing all wrong? Aren’t we supposed to talk about unity? So why bring up these matters of opinion? These differences? Why not let those sleeping dogs lie? Better yet, not go there at all. Maybe just go fishing instead.
We don’t literally run away. We have other means of avoiding reality. And avoid why God wants us to change. We call it being impolite or political. Dare not make each other uncomfortable.
So we all avoid responsibility. And the evil persists.
Jonah arrives at Ninevah.
He gets up his courage. Walks in and keeps going. Heading to the middle of town. And he opens his mouth
“Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”
We can’t be sure what happens next, because the writer truncates the story to its most basic outcome. We don’t get to hear the words the people say in a dramatic dialogue. Instead, we get their improbable actions. It says:
“And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth.”
So they repented. And changed. No more evil. Hatred. Selfishness. They owned their evil. And turned it around.
This brings us to the story’s improbable second turn.
The people of Ninevah changed their minds.
God changed their mind.
Jonah stayed the same.
Jonah wanted them to be punished.
This isn’t Jonah following God’s command any longer. Jonah was called to help these people face their need to change. And they do! It is miraculous. And God’s wrath is transformed to love.
This is literally everything we believe and preach. We must change for the sake of change! Because God wants us to be transformed!
But Jonah gets all mixed up in the purpose. He needed to face what he was running from. Now he needs to see the new thing he is avoiding: mercy for the penitent.
We could make some connections, couldn’t we?
If we were sitting around, planning out how the planet would be and somebody described the earth in 2021 as their “plan” for us, we’d kick them out of the conversation. We can love our planet, our country, our land, our community, our neighborhood, and our church, but none of this is anything close to perfect.
This isn’t what any of us wants. It’s just what we live with.
And God keeps calling us to live into a more perfect way of being.
To do that means saying some things we’d rather avoid saying. Like racism is incompatible with equality. And the racist systems we tolerate make this less like the kin-dom.
But we don’t get to stop there. We aren’t called to tolerate inequality, injustice, war, selfishness, and all the evils of the world. Like this junk isn’t our fault so it isn’t our problem. We’re called to make peace: shalom. Wholeness. Wellness. Justice. Peace.
Our tolerance of that evil is something for which we must repent and change.
This is our white whale. Our obsession, our distraction.
It is also the way through which we can turn our world around.
We are in the repentance business.
This way of love we follow is not just about being nice. Making people feel good. It is about building the beloved community. Bringing justice. Restoring the broken. Healing the hurting. Making God’s fairness the overriding doctrine. The fairness that pays the laborers all a living wage. Who makes all the people equal regardless of skin tone or ethnic or religious heritage.
Siblings in Christ, we must not return to Egypt, preferring the shackles of stability to the chaotic trust in God’s freedom. Nor must we be, as Jonah, too tempted by the allure of unjust punishment. We must reserve room in our hearts for Christ’s generous mercy.
But it is all based on our common need for repentance. For owning the sin we’ve done and the sin we’ve tolerated. The sin done on our behalf.
We must own the sin of racism. Of sexism. Of the many discriminations based on gender, orientation, ability, creed, age, and mental and emotional capacity.
We must own the way we avoid our responsibility, allowing the problem to be someone else’s to fix. A sin for someone else to repent. And yet never us.
We must own the calling is not only to believing the right things, but becoming a people who do the right things.
The way of love begins with that very move: turn and then learn. Change and begin. Face what God is calling us to do and strive for it in our lives.
This is what Simon and Andrew dropped their nets and left their dad in the boat for. To change the world by changing themselves.
This is the first step: to listen and believe. It leads to the second: a radical act of courage.