The film ‘Crash’ which won several Oscars a few years back is a good example of great storytelling. The movie follows the interlacing strands of several people’s lives one evening in Los Angeles.
Early in the movie a wealthy black couple are fooling around as they drive home, and they’re pulled over by a couple of cops. The black woman gets mouthy, and one of the policemen starts to get heavy with them. He’s had a bad day. He forces them up against the side of the car and then molests the woman in full view of her husband who feels powerless to defend her. After all, these are cops.Later in the movie the same woman is in a terrible car crash and gets trapped in her vehicle as petrol spills out all around her. A police car arrives and one of the cops rushes over to help her out of the smashed car. It’s the guy who molested her. But by now we see him in a different light. We know a little of his story, and our view of him changes even more when he risks his own life to save hers.
The writers of Crash played beautifully with our preconceptions, and so does the writer of the book of Jonah.
This is how it begins:
1 One day the Lord spoke to Jonah son of Amittai. He said, “Go to Nineveh, that great city, and speak out against it; I am aware how wicked its people are.”
So who’s the good guy? Jonah, clearly. The prophet of God. And who are the baddies? The Ninevites. They’re the big power in the middle east. They’re the folk who walk in and plunder your home, empty your fields, rape your women and steal your children.
So far so conventional. But by verse 3, the narrator is already starting to mess with our heads:
3 Jonah, however, set out in the opposite direction in order to get away from the Lord. He went to Joppa, where he found a ship about to go to Spain. He paid his fare and went aboard with the crew to sail to Spain, where he would be away from the Lord.
So Jonah, the prophet of God, the one who’s supposed to have an intimate relationship to the Almighty, a direct line to thoughts of God, sticks his fingers in his ears and does the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing. And we’re not told why.
People often assume he resisted out of fear, but that’s not the case. We’ll find out the true reason later. But whatever the reason – he runs. But you can’t run from God for too long.
4 But the Lord sent a strong wind on the sea, and the storm was so violent that the ship was in danger of breaking up. 5 The sailors were terrified and cried out for help, each one to his own god. Then, in order to lessen the danger, they threw the cargo overboard. Meanwhile, Jonah had gone below and was lying in the ship's hold, sound asleep.
So in this crisis, who turns to prayer? The pagan sailors! And what’s Jonah doing? He’s snoozing.
There’s a theme in the Hebrew which can get a little lost in translation and it’s around the word ‘down’. Jonah goes down to Joppa, down into the hold of the ship, now down into the depths of sleep.
He’s doing his level best to hide from God, while the sailors are doing their best to be heard by their gods! The business of tossing the cargo over the side might be seen a sacrifice to angry gods rather than a purely practical measure. And they can’t believe that Jonah’s not helping out, so the captain goes below decks to see what’s happening with him:
6 The captain found him there and said to him, “What are you doing asleep? Get up and pray to your god for help. Maybe he will feel sorry for us and spare our lives.”
And there’s the irony – how can you pray to a God you’re trying to run away from?
And does Jonah pray? No. The prophet of God is prayerless.
Meanwhile:
7 The sailors said to one another, “Let's draw lots and find out who is to blame for getting us into this danger.” They did so, and Jonah's name was drawn. 8 So they said to him: “Now then, tell us! Who is to blame for this? What are you doing here? What country do you come from? What is your nationality?” (did you pack your bags yourself? Did you leave them unattended at any point?!)
9 “I am a Hebrew,” Jonah answered. “I worship the Lord, the God of heaven, who made land and sea.” 10 Jonah went on to tell them that he was running away from the Lord.
And again – there’s an irony there that wouldn’t have been lost on the hearers. In those days people associated gods with particular places – there were mountain gods, and forest gods, and river gods and sea Gods.
Who does Jonah worship? The God of heaven who made land and sea. The God who is everywhere. And what’s he trying to do? Run away from him. Kind of an Irish thing to do. And I can say that as an Irishman.
The sailors were terrified, and said to him, “That was an awful thing to do!” The storm was getting worse all the time, so the sailors asked him, “What should we do to you to stop the storm?”
12 Jonah answered, “Throw me into the sea, and it will calm down. I know it is my fault that you are caught in this violent storm.”
Now I wonder how he says those lines in verse 12?
Is this an act of self-sacrifice for Jonah? Is he giving himself up so that others can be saved?
Or is it one last act of defiance against God – is this Jonah’s ultimate ‘No’ to God’s command to go to Nineveh?
Either way, the sailors don’t want to know….
13 Instead, the sailors tried to get the ship to shore, rowing with all their might. But the storm was getting worse and worse, and they got nowhere. 14 So they cried out to the Lord, “O Lord, we pray, don't punish us with death for taking this man's life! You, O Lord, are responsible for all this; it is your doing.” 15 Then they picked Jonah up and threw him into the sea, and it calmed down at once. 16 This made the sailors so afraid of the Lord that they offered a sacrifice and promised to serve him.
So at the end of this section of the story, who’s seeking God? Who’s in prayer? Who’s promising God their service? These pagan sailors.
And who’s given up on God? Who’s prayerless? Who’s needing saved? Jonah – the prophet of God.
All the old categories we think we know are being broken down in this story; and the point the narrator wants us to get is that the world isn’t as black and white as we’d like to believe. Things are more complicated than we’d thought.
Now let me offer just a couple of reflections on what we’ve heard to earth this story a little for us.
I wonder how you feel when you read verses like verse 1 – ‘One day the Lord spoke to Jonah’. Maybe you’ve just skimmed over that in the past without thinking about it.
I can’t hear those words without feeling a strange mixture of longing, inadequacy and scepticism. I wish I could hear as clearly from God. I wonder if I’m even capable of hearing him speak above the din of my life. And I wonder why God should speak so clearly to some people then when he doesn’t seem to do the same now.
That’s a months-worth of sermons right there.
But let me make this one point. Maybe we ought to be thankful that we don’t hear God’s voice as often as we’d like. Because more often than not, when God’s voice comes to someone in that dramatic way, it’s asking them to do something that’s difficult and completely counter-intuitive.
“Abraham” - says God. “I’m choosing you to be the Father nations. Your descendants will be numberless as the stars. Now go and circumcise yourself and get ready to sacrifice that son you’ve been waiting for your whole life.”
“Moses” – says God. “I have heard my people’s cries. I know you’re on the run, and there’s a death sentence on your head, and that you can’t string two words together without stuttering, and that Pharaoh’s invincible, but get back to Egypt and set my people free.”
“Hannah” – says God. “I know you’re desperate for a child, and I’m going to bless you with a son. But when he’s old enough, still a young boy, you’re to dedicate him to my service and send him to live in the temple. For the rest of his days, that’s going to be his home. You’ll see him once a year.”
“Mary” – says God. “You are highly honoured. You’ve been chosen from among all women to bear my son. You’ll get pregnant before you’re properly married, the man you love will want to divorce you, the town will scorn you, and what they do to the child you bear will break your heart.”
“Jesus” – says God. “You are my beloved son, the Messiah. The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. And you will be misunderstood, pursued, threatened and betrayed throughout your ministry. And you will die the cruellest, most tortured death possible for wrongs you haven’t committed.”
“Jonah” – says God. “You are my prophet. I entrust you with my words. So leave your comfortable existence and go preach to your bitter enemies in their seat of power. Go to Nineveh.”
Is there a theme emerging, do you think?
Is there anyone who’s ever achieved anything for God who hasn’t had to go places they didn’t want to go, metaphorically or literally?
Isn’t it the case that the very start of Christian discipleship is a trip to the place of self-surrender that none of us want to visit? The place where we’re forced to acknowledge, with all the reluctance in the world, that we are not the centre of the universe, and we are not the rightful custodians of our own lives. The Scriptures tell us that we were bought at a price. We are God’s and not our own.
And the track record of the God we worship is that our character matters more to him than our comfort. He will send us to Nineveh for our sake as much as for theirs, because in going to our own personal Nineveh, we become the people God wants us to be.
Nineveh is the place we least want to go, but where God would have us go.
So what does Nineveh look like on your landscape this morning?
Maybe Nineveh’s the place where you have to revisit that relationship that’s gone wrong, and all the hurt and bitterness that’s festered there over the years. You’d rather run a mile. But that’s where God wants you to go today.
Maybe Nineveh’s the place where you find yourself having to make some countercultural choices. The place where you choose to no longer keep up with the Joneses. To no longer work for a firm that demands that you sacrifice your family life on the altar of success.
Maybe Nineveh’s the place where you have to admit that you were wrong and make some apologies.
Maybe Nineveh’s the place where you realise that all this churchgoing over all these years has been so much play acting. You know God is calling you to a deeper commitment of faith, but you’ve stuck your fingers in your ears and gone down to Joppa; down into the ship; down into a sleep. You’re trying to flee from the God of heaven who made the land and sea, but he catches up with all of us eventually. What will you say to him on that day? What will you say to him now as he gives you one more chance to respond to him with everything you are?
Nineveh is the one place we don’t want to go. But if we do go, God goes with us.
Abraham becomes the Father of Nations; Moses the saviour of Israel; Hannah bears the Prophet Samuel, Mary the Messiah. Christ defeats sin and death; and Jonah – well, we’ll see what happens to Jonah next week.
But in the week to come, if you shun the ship and pack your bag for Nineveh, I want you to know that God journeys with you. And blessings will follow.
Amen
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