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Last Monday
... in Texas ... I met a new colleague and made a new friend.
"What is your name?" I asked. "John Myers,"
he said. "And where are you pastoring?" I asked.
"First Church, Nineveh," he answered.
Actually,
he isn't serving in Nineveh. He is serving in Fort Lauderdale.
But when the District Superintendent met him at the plane
and drove him to meet the committee, he said: "Welcome
to Nineveh." Whether he said that because the college
students (who party there) or the senior citizens (who retire
there) are grossly sinful, I do not know. Neither does my
friend. He hasn't been there long enough to work up a decent
tan. What he does know is a statistic ... a number ... a figure
(leading me to recall my late father's admonition that "figures
lie and liars figure"). But this figure, he says, does
not lie. It is the figure telling him that 90 percent of the
people in Fort Lauderdale are unchurched. Which does not necessarily
mean they have forsaken the Lord, but would seem to suggest
that, most Sundays, they are ignoring him.
At any
rate, my friend from Indiana has gone there ... full of sass
and vinegar (as my great aunt used to say) ... believing he
can change all that. In which cause, I wish him well. So far
as I can tell, nobody held a gun to his back. He went willingly.
Not everybody does, you know. Go willingly. To Nineveh, I
mean.
Consider
Jonah. To whom God said: "Go there and preach to them.
They're ticking me off. The smell of their sin is so foul
that I can't even eat my breakfast on heaven's patio anymore.
Go give `em what for. Take the first bus out." But Jonah
took the wrong bus out. Or the wrong ship out. Booking passage
to Tarshish. Meaning, he ran.
Who knows
why? I certainly don't. And I am not about to speculate. Although
I know that people run all the time. They run from the Lord
... or some other lover. They run from truths they can't face
... tasks they can't do ... callings they can't answer ...
families they can't stand. They run from enemies without and
feelings within. But such running seldom (if ever) works.
Meaning that eventually, they meet themselves coming or going.
No, I
don't know why Jonah ran. I don't know why anybody runs. But
they do. That much I know. They just do.
There
is one thing I am clear about, however. Jonah's discomfort
with going to Nineveh had nothing to do with an inability
to deliver the goods in Nineveh. Because, when he finally
got there, he was magnificent. Which God knew he would be.
God didn't send Jonah to do something he didn't have it within
himself to do. Neither will God send you to do things you
don't have it within yourself to do. That would be poor management.
And God is not a poor manager. So, whatever you color Jonah,
don't color him incapable. Color him uncomfortable. Then,
take a fresh brush and paint a yellow streak down his back.
The original "chicken run."
"Hi
ho ... .hi ho ... to Tarshish I will go," sings Jonah,
riding merrily o'er the waves. And where is Tarshish? Wrong
question. The proper question is: "What is Tarshish?"
For "what" Tarshish is, is the Hebrew slang equivalent
for "the end of the earth." Jonah's setting sail
for Tarshish is the equivalent of me setting sail for Timbuktu.
Which I never have, although Walter Denison did once. Not
because he was running from something, but because he always
had a hankering to go. "Would you recommend it?"
I asked. "No," Walter answered, adding that it was
"pretty far ... pretty primitive ... pretty much the
end of the earth, really." For the record, Timbuktu is
in Mali, West Africa. But you probably knew that.
The fact
remains, Jonah never got there ... to Tarshish, I mean. That's
because a storm erupted. It usually does when you are running.
More to the point, a violent storm erupted. Which Jonah first
tried to sleep through. Ever done that? Sure, you've done
that. Can't face it? Sleep through it.
But it
doesn't work. Suddenly he's in it ... the storm ... the sea
... the depths ... the pits. You name it, he's in it. Whereupon
he is swallowed by a "big fish." Nowhere does it
say "whale." But my first grade Sunday school teacher,
the dearly beloved Mrs. Hemmingway, said "whale."
So whale it is. Where Jonah resides in the whale's belly for
three days and three nights. What's that about? Darned if
I know. But I'll tell you what I do know. I know that if you
spend most of your life on the run, sooner or later it's going
to eat you up.
Except,
there's something else you must not miss before we move further
into the story. Because I am willing to bet that, up until
now, we've read this all wrong. You've read it backwards ...
upside down ... wrong side up ... whatever. The whale is not
in the story for purposes of punishment. The whale is in the
story for purposes of grace. The whale is God's own subterranean
water taxi, sent to fish Jonah out ... dredge Jonah up ...
bring Jonah back. This is a sheltering whale ... a delivering
whale ... a guardian angel whale, if you will. Which is why
Jonah is delivered back home whole ... not all chewed up in
bite sized pieces. The text says that after three days, Jonah
is vomited out. But when he lands on the land, he lands intact
(with nothing more than a bit of whale spit on him).
I am told
that there are churches in Bohemia and Silesia where the pulpits
in the cathedrals are shaped like whales, stood on end. The
preacher preaches out of the belly, as it were ... telling
the congregation of the things that have eaten him, and the
things that have delivered him. Would that I could have a
pulpit like that.
But let's
move on. Cut to dry land. Hear God speak to Jonah a second
time. See Jonah packing his gear. Now see him down at the
ticket office, pondering his options.
Nineveh
... Tarshish.
Nineveh
... Tarshish.
Nineveh
... Tarshish.
Roll
the dice.
Cut
the cards.
Cast
the lots.
Flip
the coin.
One
potato, two potato, three potato, four.
Eeenie,
meenie, minie, moe.
Only this
time, every answer comes out ... .call it in the air ... "Nineveh."
So he
goes. Which is where the story gets interesting. And exaggerated.
Now I know that some of you don't like any hint from my lips
that some biblical narratives are a tad bit embellished. But
like preachers and politicians who never met a truth they
couldn't stretch, occasionally (just occasionally) you find
a Bible story so intent on making its point, that it puts
a few verbal pillows underneath it to fluff itself up. Such
is the case here.
The narrator
writes: "Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a
three days' walk across." So how big was that? Pretty
big. In the ancient world ... where nobody has a car ... and
where everybody walks ... a "day's walk" generally
means twenty miles. Meaning that the storyteller wants us
to imagine Nineveh as a city that is sixty miles across (sort
of like the distance between Birmingham and Frankenmuth).
The storyteller also wants us to envision a vast population,
thereby depicting Jonah's task as a most important one.
But even
here, Jonah's effort is half-hearted at best. We are told
that he "begins" to go into the city ... one day's
journey (or twenty miles' worth). He does not go to the center
of the city. He does not go to the heart of the city. Instead,
he goes just far enough so it will look like he has kept his
word. And when he finally speaks, he delivers an eight-word
sermon: "Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown."
Actually, his sermon is only five words in Hebrew. And while
you might like short-winded preachers, this is hardly worth
the effort.
But it
works. Jonah delivers it. The people get it. Everybody repents
... fasts ... dresses in sackcloth and ashes ... from the
king to the animals. I don't know how animals repent. Neither
do I know what animals have to repent of. But the story wants
us to see that nobody walks away from this sermon the way
they came in. Nobody!
I do find
it interesting that the king cues the repentance ... meaning
that the turnaround starts at the top and filters down. Which
makes this unknown monarch a wonderful mentor for persons
presently in power.
What a
sermon! From a half-hearted, going-through-the-motions preacher,
no less. It's amazing what God can do with us, even when we're
not at the top of our game.
Cast
it out there, Ritter ... without apology. You never know
who's gonna bite.
Or when.
I think
one of the problems with today's preaching is that we who
do it expect too little from it. But here's Jonah. Eight words
and he's got the king at the altar and the cows on their knees.
Memo to my colleagues:
Stop
apologizing, for God's sake. Mull it over. Pray it through.
Write it down. Shout it out. And expect to change the world
... or least shake it up a bit.
Which
Jonah did. Making him ecstatic ... right? Wrong! Making him
miserable. Why? Because, as a preacher, he was better than
he thought. And as a redeemer, God was better than he thought.
That's because God changed his mind about the Ninevites ...
about what He was going to do with them ... how He was going
to have his way with them ... .have his day with them ...
mop the floor with them ... do `em in ... grind `em down ...
fry `em up ... finish `em off.
Instead,
God said to himself: "These Ninevites aren't half bad
folks. Let's see what might happen if I go back to the drawing
board with them." Which was why God was so insistent
upon Jonah's preaching at First Church, Nineveh in the first
place. Because God can't abide the thought of not going back
to the drawing board with anybody. God can't abide the thought
of not starting over ... starting fresh ... starting clean.
I mean, if God could send a subterranean water taxi for Jonah,
surely he could send a reluctant country preacher to the people
of Nineveh. That's God all right. Just when you think He's
gonna zap `em, He redeems `em.
Which
should make the preacher happy, wouldn't you think? But it
doesn't. By this time in the narrative, Jonah is so mad, he's
spitting nickels. That is, before he pouts. Which is just
before he begs to die. That's because Jonah was looking forward
to the "frying," don't you see. Which is hard to
believe. But true. I hear some preachers talk about hellfire
and damnation as if they can't wait for it to happen ... to
you. Is that harsh? Am I being chippy? Maybe so. But every
time I meet people who use religion ... who use the Bible
... or who use Jesus to paint me on the other side of whatever
line happens (on that day) to be their line of choice, I sometimes
get the feeling that they don't really want me to cross back
over to the good side ... the right side ... their side. Oh,
they may smear a little grace-grease over the last five minutes
of the sermon. But their heart isn't in it.
Jonah's
heart wasn't in it. He had gone to Nineveh to preach doom
and damnation. But now he was being denied the opportunity
to see doom and damnation. He figured God had made a fool
out of him. So he sat down under an overgrown houseplant to
mope. But the plant died, leading Jonah to make one heck of
a fuss ... that is, until the sun scorched him and the heat
zapped him. Whereupon God said: "Jonah, you feel terrible
about the demise of the plant ... which you didn't create
... and which you had but for a day. So why shouldn't I feel
even worse about the Ninevites ... who I did create ... and
who I have had for a lifetime?" It's a good question,
methinks. Unfortunately, the storyteller does not record Jonah's
answer.
*
* * * *
Zeno Windley
was driving across South Carolina last week. I don't know
what he was doing in South Carolina. But he got to fiddling
with the radio dial until he settled on a little country music
station out of Asheville. Which was when he heard the lyric:
"Jesus loves me ... but he can't stand you." Zeno
wasn't familiar with the singer. But I think it was none other
than that old South Carolina hillbilly, Hank Jonah.
But there's
hope for our boy, yet. I've gotta believe there's hope for
our boy. For if God could turn things around for 120,000 Ninevites
and much cattle, who (the story says) didn't know their right
hand from their left, I think God can do something for those
of us who can't tell our heart from a block of ice. Leading
me to ponder: "Which heart poses the bigger challenge
for God? The one He has to turn? Or the one He has to melt?"
*
* *
Note:
I am indebted to the creative biblical scholarship of my Texas
colleague, Dr. David Mosser, and his treatment of similar
themes under the title "When Grace Smells Fishy."
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