This morning in worship we reflected on the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation...
signified by Martin Luther nailing his 95 theses to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral.
We thought about:
Luther's journey of faith,
pondered his understanding of salvation by faith alone,
sang a hymn he wrote, based on Ps 46 - 'A mighty fortress is our God',
and even had a wee visit from him and our own Scottish reformer, John Knox...both of whom were cheerfully perched on the pulpit.
Rather than a traditional sermon this morning, there were several shorter reflections
picking up on Luther's understanding of God, of faith, and of scripture.
Our readings today were: Jeremiah 31:31-34; Romans 3:19-28; Eph 2:1-10; and Ps 46
SERMON
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations
of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen...
Sometimes, it’s good to have a little mood music, to set the scene,
and what more appropriate background music than a little jazz – feel free to tap your toes...
Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho Joshua fought the battle of Jericho and the walls came a-tumbling down You may talk about your men of Gideon You may talk about the men of Saul But there's none like good old Joshua at the battle of Jericho ...
Actually, you may talk about a man like Joshua,
but the story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho is one that proves the saying that:
behind every good man... is a woman –
and, in the case from our bible passages this morning, that woman ...is Rahab.
But before we get to Rahab, a little recap of how we’ve got to her in the first place.
Last week, we heard Hagar’s story –
Hagar, the servant of Abraham and Sarah,
and mother of Abraham’s son, Ishmael.
Many generations have passed since then.
Abraham’s son, Isaac, the one he had with Sarah, has had children, notably, Jacob.
Jacob later fathers many children, but here again, notably, Joseph,
who manages to annoy his big brothers so much that they sell him into slavery –
and he lands up in Egypt.
Eventually, he saves that nation through a prophetic vision –
the Pharaoh is grateful and invites him to bring his people into Egypt.
Hundreds of years pass...and Joseph’s people find themselves under a less kindly disposed Pharaoh.
These Hebrew ‘foreigners’ are seen as a threat to the country –
‘taking our jobs’
‘taking our women’
‘taking what’s ...ours’
something needs done.
And so, Pharaoh forces the Hebrews into virtual slavery.
They’re worked punishingly hard, and, in the midst of their servitude, I wonder:
do they dream of freedom, and make up songs of liberation to sing quietly under their breaths,
while they work on pyramids, or other projects?
Eventually, God sends a deliverer, in the form of Moses –
a Hebrew who’d grown up in Pharaoh’s own court.
With God’s help, and, with Moses at the helm, the Hebrews make a bid for freedom.
Escaping the army chasing them, they cross the Red Sea, and go out, into the wilderness,
where they’ll spend the next 40 years wandering and wondering,
and learning to trust in God, as they, as our first hymn states:
walk like pilgrims, through this barren land.
At the end of 40 years, we find the Hebrews in a time of transition:
coming to the end of their wandering,
coming to a change in leadership –
from Moses, to Joshua;
coming face to face with the now real thought of stepping upon
the land they feel that God has promised to them...
They are on the cusp of being able to finally throw off the last traces
of the shackles of slavery -
on the edge of claiming, and living into, the liberation given to them by God;
they’re ready to freely embrace their freedom:
to have a place to call their own;
to settle, and to prosper, without fear of Pharaohs –
for their only master will be God.
They stand on the brink of new life, but before they enter that new life fully,
they decide to investigate a little further –
Two spies are sent out to investigate the land, especially the city of Jericho.
Jericho’s seen better days;
truth be told, both its inner and outer walls are already a wee bit crumbly in places.
Housed within the inner walls of the city,
are the wealthy –
the ruling classes,
the richer kinds of merchants:
the inner wall gives them an extra layer of protection from marauders...
and, helps keep out the riff-raff – the less desirable inhabitants of the city...
These folk dwell on the edge,
tucked behind the outer wall
yet caught in front of the inner wall:
fodder and first defence in the face of attack.
It’s in this edgy, in-between place, that we find Rahab –
a woman who makes her living in the oldest profession.
When the Hebrew spies head to Jericho, they find their way to Rahab’s house:
perhaps such a place is the perfect spot to hear stories, idle talk, the latest news;
perhaps, too, as strangers it’s easier to blend in at such a place;
perhaps they think they won’t be noticed.
However, our two spies aren’t as subtle as they think:
they’re very much noticed –
and their appearance and location is reported to the king.
The king sends a message to Rahab –
basically: ‘bring ‘em out, we know they’re spies.’
And here’s where it gets interesting...
she doesn’t.
Instead, she does everything within her power to keep these two ‘enemies’ safe.
She’s already taken them up to the roof and hidden them;
She lies to the messengers,
effectively sending the king’s men off on a wild goose chase outside the city walls,
with the gates firmly shut behind them.
And then, we listen in on a conversation between Rahab and the spies – she says: ‘I know the Lord has given this land to you...’
Hang on:
not: ‘I know your God has given this land to you’
But: ‘the Lord’...
She’s identifying with the Hebrew God, not the gods of her own culture –
she’s already made a shift in her mind, in her spirit.
There’s an emerging faith here in the God who she’s heard stories about.
She, like all the inhabitants of Jericho,
knows the story of the parting of the Red Sea.
I wonder what it is about this God that moves Rahab to help those who should be her enemies;
I wonder what it is that causes her to cast her lot in with them, and follow their God?
Perhaps, given her line of work,
a dangerous, oddly lonely job,
perhaps...she understands the fickleness of the human heart only too well, and wants more than this.
Perhaps the story of a God who saves,
a God who uses strength to fight for the captives, the underdogs,
perhaps the story of a God who is ever-present,
who never abandons his people, who is faithful,
is a god worth following.
In a different way,
just as the Hebrews were trapped in Egypt,
she is trapped in her particular life situation:
if she chooses to follow the God of the Hebrews
might she, too, find rescue and safety, freedom and a fresh start?
Perhaps, she thinks it’s worth a shot
and as she waits in her house in the walls of Jericho, perhaps she sings, ever so quietly,
a small song of freedom, of liberation?
We know the rest of the story.
Jericho is attacked,
the walls come a’-tumbin’ down.
Rahab and all in her house are protected:
the promise is made good.
But what happens later?
How does the rest of Rahab’s story –
a story of a person living on the margins of society:
both physically on the outer wall,
and socially, with her line of work...
how does the rest of Rahab’s story pan out?
Well...having cast her lot in with the Hebrew God,
we hear of her again beyond the Book of Joshua –
she’s featured in the New Testament several times.
Twice, Rahab is held up as a hero of the faith –
she’s celebrated as an example to believers:
in the Book of Hebrews, chapter 11, she features in the great list
of those who made the Hall of Fame for faith...
this woman who has a dubious line of work is in there with folk like Noah, Moses, David, and Samuel...
She’s also mentioned in the Letter of James,
again held up as an example of being a person of great faith.
And then, there’s that other mention.
We find Rahab in the Gospel of Matthew.
At some point, Rahab, having chosen to make her future with the Hebrews,
settles down, gets married, has at least one child.
We know this, because there she is, listed in a long genealogy.
We find as we read that list of names in Matthew, that she becomes a mother –
to a son named Boaz.
Remember Boaz?
We were talking about him a few weeks back:
he’s the chap who married Ruth.
They have a son,
who has a son,
who is the father of King David.
Basically, Rahab not only helps the Hebrews move into the Promised Land,
it is from her that Israel gets a king.
Multiple generations later, in Matthew’s genealogy,
we discover that Jesus is a descendent...
of Rahab –
Rahab, an unlikely ancestor for a Messiah:
It’s a case of God, throwing a wee curve ball when it comes to expectations of acceptability;
God throwing a different perspective –
showing that all things are possible,
that all people are created in God’s image,
that God calls all kinds of people
however unusual,
however different,
whatever side of the tracks they’re on.
And, whatever you might say about Rahab,
she wasn’t on living on the so-called ‘right’ side of the tracks...
But God’s Spirit blows where she will and faith appears in likely and unlikely places:
sometimes among the palaces of the powerful,
sometimes in the in-between places populated by the underdogs,
the Ruths, the Hagars, the Rahabs of the world....
who quietly sing the song of God’s liberation,
just as those in slavery in Egypt did,
just as those in slavery in the American South did, when they sang songs like ‘Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.’
We worship a God who seeks liberation:
a God of justice,
who longs for his people to hear his call to freedom –
to shake of the shackles of all that holds them down,
of all that stops them from living fully,
from living abundantly.
Sometimes, it is the real, physical chains of slavery...
and sometimes it’s the stuff we live with
in our hearts,
on our minds,
that we can’t seem to let go of –
regrets, bitterness, guilt, unforgiveness,
particular patterns of behaviour...
We worship a God who seeks liberation for his people:
who calls us to rise up from the chains
that keep us down,
that keep us from following him,
the keep us from walking out of the wilderness,
and into new life with him.
We worship the God who told Joshua ‘be strong and courageous’
and the God who found a place in Rahab’s heart...
As we follow in the faith example of Rahab,
so we pray for the courage to follow God
wherever God takes us,
whoever God brings alongside us,
and whatever God asks of us on the way...
Amen.
Slightly belated Harvest note... Huge thanks to the many hands that helped make our Harvest a great success the other week:
the catering team;
the flower folk who decorated each of our windows and set up the harvest offerings around the Communion table;
all who donated various goods for the harvest which later went to Clannalba and to the Clydesdale Food Bank;
our five primary schools for their wonderful harvest banners which greeted everyone as they came into worship;
and to everyone who turned out to support our Festival in many other ways. Great team effort everyone - lovely!
This year, our special offering went toward the work of 'Farm Africa'. Our primary students were also undertaking various activities for Farm Africa, including the 'Great African Welly Walk', welly decorating, and participating in Harvest assemblies learning more about Farm Africa and who it helps. Wel oh
The pic's serve as a wee taster of some of the decorations and harvest offerings in UCPC
SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
Had she been with them, when Abraham had taken the plunge,
and moved out of his comfort zone in the city of Haran?
Had she known that he did so because he’d heard the voice of the Lord calling him
to leave his country, his people, his home...
and to go to an unknown Promised Land?
Or, had she been collected along the way, just another of the many possessions
being carried along in the wake of the Promise:
people and goods, all travelling along Abram’s journey of faith?
Did she know of God’s promise to Abram:
that he would be the father of a mighty nation,
that his descendants would be as numerous as the glittering stars in the sky?
...She did know that he and his wife, Sarah were childless...
Servants are unseen, invisible –
at least, they’re supposed to be.
They get the job done,
no fuss, no bother,
and fade into the background.
Servants are unseen –
unless something’s amiss.
And something is indeed amiss by the time we get to Chapter 16 of Genesis,
and the ongoing story of Abram.
The wait for God’s promised child has been stretching on, and on...and on.
Years have passed since God spoke to Abram of the blessing of a child,
of descendants without number.
Perhaps God expects them to sort a little something out?
And suddenly, out of the shadows, comes Hagar.
We hear her story –
the story of someone who, in normal circumstances, would be overlooked.
Suddenly, this formerly unseen servant,
steps into the light because Sarai and Abraham see her in a different way than they have before.
They are free to make use of her in whatever way they want,
and what they want is a child.
Surely God meant for them to sort out the matter themselves –
for doesn’t God help those who help themselves...
except, that’s never ever written in Scripture?
And so, trying to second-guess God’s plan,
they do a little micro-managing, to make sure it actually happens.
Sarah sends Hagar to Abraham.
A child is conceived....
Sorted.
Except it’s not.
Somewhere in the seemingly simple plan of micro-managing an answer to prayer,
human dynamics – emotions and feelings – are forgotten.
Having arranged for Hagar to conceive, Sarah is now filled with jealousy.
And Hagar...
well, her social status has suddenly gone up:
she’s not just a servant, she’s carrying the child of her master –
and because of this, Sarah really doesn’t have the same authority over Hagar as she once did.
So she makes Hagar’s life such a living hell that it seems better to Hagar to flee
into the wilderness, than to stay in that unhappy place of torment any longer.
Perhaps it’s better, after all, not to have been seen, not to step into
the drama that is Abraham and Sarah's?
But having fled, out in the wilderness, Hagar is seen –
by God.
The angel of the Lord tells her to return,
tells her that she, too, will have descendants without number, just as Abram.
She has not been forgotten –
nor, with so many descendants,
will she ever be forgotten:
her story will be told
and her name will live on for generation upon generation.
But, hang on, that’s not supposed to happen:
she’s a servant,
a woman,
a nobody.
Why is God bothering... with her?
Why is God promising her that she’ll have vast quantities of descendants?
Well, because, while she may be a nobody in terms of the human worth of the day,
the story demonstrates that God sees things a little differently:
God sees the ones who are unseen –
the least,
the lost,
the most vulnerable,
the ones who apparently just don’t matter.
God sees.
Not only is she seen,
Hagar is known, and named.
And something quite gob-smacking happens here:
Hagar, recognising that God sees her, names God:
gives God the name ‘el Roi’ – meaning ‘the God who sees ...me.’
Hagar is the first woman in the Bible visited by a messenger from God;
She’s the first woman to see and talk with God.
And, she’s the only person in all of scripture who names God –
sure there are men who encounter God, or messengers from God,
and who subsequently set up an altar at the place
and rename the place:
but Hagar ...names God.
She sees the God who sees her.
In response to the message she’s given, she returns back to camp.
Months pass, the child is born.
Abram is now 86.
Tensions still simmer.
14 years pass, and another child is born – this time to Sarah...
They name the child Isaac – meaning ‘God has brought me laughter’,
for, Sarah’s long-held wish has been answered.
But while there’s laughter for Sarah, there’s not so much for Hagar and her son, Ishmael.
Servants are unseen, invisible –
at least, they’re supposed to be.
And Hagar, the servant, and mother to Abraham’s child has not been invisible for a long time now.
Every moment of the day, she is a constant reminder to Sarah of what has happened.
Isaac is born, and Sarah makes plans:
for, clearly, with his birth, they are in the way,
and Sarah is determined that Isaac will not have to share his inheritance.
Sarah determines to get rid of them once and for all.
Eventually agreeing, Abraham gives Hagar food and drink and sends them away into the desert.
It’s horrific, and it doesn’t paint either Sarah or Abraham in
a great light – our heroes of the faith are flawed and fallible just like the rest of us.
There in the desert, the water soon runs out.
Hagar, the unseen,
Hagar, the exiled, unwanted, and vulnerable,
senses the end is near and cannot bear it.
She’s so distraught at the thought of losing her son, she walks a wee distance away from him.
She weeps –
it’s all that’s left to her in the barren desert wastes.
The boy also weeps.
And there, in the middle of nowhere,
God hears.
God sees.
And God answers their cries.
Water is given – life restored.
And they find, at this journey’s end, that the desert is their home, their place of refuge,
and that they are not forgotten.
Hagar’s story comes down to us through the generations –
a reminder to us of who God values:
who God sees.
History has a way of managing to record mostly the so-called ‘great and the good’ –
a king here, a general there,
perhaps an occasional queen.
Prominent, powerful.
People of status.
In this bible story about the not so invisible,
not so unseen servant, Hagar,
someone of seemingly no importance is raised up –
is shown to have value in God’s eyes,
is given life-giving water,
is given ... life.
I wonder, how often we feel like Hagar?
Deserted, walking in a wilderness,
feeling small, insignificant, invisible?
Living in and through the hardest of times that feels overwhelming,
that feels paralysing,
where the only thing left to give is tears?
Living a life where everything feels shrivelled and dry –
where’s the life-giving water,
the well from which to drink?
Where is God in the midst of the suffering?
Servants are unseen, invisible –
at least, they’re supposed to be.
But I’m so glad that Hagar is not.
As we see Hagar, the not so invisible woman,
as we hear her story,
we are reminded that, as God sees Hagar,
so too, God sees us.
God doesn’t watch from a distance, but is right in the midst of it.
The God of the resurrection sees us,
understands...us...
walks with us in the good places –
but also, in the hard.
Read Hagar’s story, if you’re feeling bereft, deserted, invisible:
be encouraged,
and know that God sees you,
is with you.
And it goes broader – beyond ourselves, this business of seeing:
I wonder, who are the Hagars in the world today?
Who are the ones we don’t see, don’t notice –
or who we try not to see?
What of the refugee – fleeing from war, wanting nothing but to live safely?
What of all those people caught up as victims in human trafficking – modern-day slavery?
What of those who have lost all hope,
have nowhere to go to,
have no one who sees them?
God sees the forgotten,
the lost,
the invisible,
the ones whose names we don’t know,
but whose names God knows.
In the story of Hagar,
we see the God who sees say to such a one:
‘I see ... you.’
And, in the seeing, demonstrates that they matter.
In a sea of human need, so often brought about by human greed,
we too, can choose to see;
we too, can choose to say:
‘I see you: you matter.’
And as we open our eyes and look, really look,
we will be following in the footsteps of the One
who knows us,
and who sees us,
and who calls us by name...
we will be following the One
who came to help ‘the least of these’,
and in so doing,
we’ll be bringing in God’s kingdom,
in which all are seen –
all are loved,
and all are valued. Amen.
Our annual Harvest Festival will be held on Sunday 8 October.
This year's chosen charity for our Harvest Festival is Farm Africa.
There's a little information about them provided below, and, you can also visit their website here
Having given a wee challenge of collecting change in empty jars a month ago, with only a few days left, how are you doing? There's still a little time to add your loose change to a jar and bring it along in aid of Farm Africa...every little helps. Our five primary schools have been busy preparing as well, by doing their own version of the
Great African Welly Walk, and by making some fabulous Harvest banners which will be on show on Sunday.
Who is Farm Africa?
Farm Africa is an international organisation working to build a prosperous rural Africa.
We help farmers to increase their harvests, build their incomes and sustain natural resources, partnering with governments and the private sector to find effective ways to fight poverty.
closely with local communities, who actively participate in all the decisions about our work. Typically, our staff are from the local area, can speak the local language and have a deep understanding of the local context. Farm Africa works in four countries: Kenya, Uganda, Ethiopia, and Tanzania What Farm Africa does:
Farming doesn’t just provide food, but income and prosperity. Good agriculture can change lives. Farm Africa focuses on transforming agriculture. We help farmers to increase their harvests, protect the environment and sell their produce in thriving markets.
By providing support, training in effective farming methods and links to markets, we help to build more profitable farming businesses so that whole communities can lift themselves out of poverty.
Crops
Eight out of ten rural Africans scrape their living from small plots.
Soils are often poor, drought ever near. Farm Africa brings in the smart crops, drought-busting techniques and marketing skills that make such tough farming viable, profitable and sustainable.
Livestock
Where land is arid and crop cultivation hard, many farmers make their living by keeping animals. Animals are generally the family’s most valuable possession and Farm Africa helps with basic animal health services.
Fisheries
Pollution and overfishing have put wild fish stocks under pressure. The price of fish has rocketed, hitting people hard. Farm Africa is pioneering fish farming in Kenya, which ensures sustainable protein supplies and a major new source of income.
Forests
Deforestation destroys wildlife and dehydrates soil. We help forest communities replace traditional tree-cutting and wood and charcoal selling with new eco-friendly enterprises that protect biodiversity and provide a sustainable income for future generations.
Climate resilience
If the current consumption of fossil fuels continues, global temperatures could rise by
as much as 4⁰, which would have a devastating impact on farmers' livelihoods.
Farm Africa helps smallholders to farm in ways which don't damage the environment,
and to build resilience to future climate shocks.
A lovely surprise today in worship, as we received the gift of music, by Stuart, from Leadhills - who turned up to play the organ. Our digital hymnal does the job, but wow, how wonderful to have 'real' live music.
Huge thanks, and haste ye back!
Love a bit of spontaneous organ playing, we do...
READING: today we read through the Book of Jonah
SERMON:
May the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
Shortly, we’ll be singing the hymn:
‘There’s a wideness in God’s mercy’.
It’s probably one of my favourite hymns, and, given our text for this morning,
it’s hugely appropriate as we consider the story of Jonah. ‘There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, like the wideness of the sea; there’s a kindness in his justice, which is more than liberty.’
I said earlier that the Book of Jonah is a fun story -
the fun can be found in the extreme responses and situations that our friend Jonah experiences.
And, it’s a story told each year to Jewish children, at Yom Kippur, as a type of comedic ‘fairytale’ –
fun, and with a seriously good point to make.
So, let’s have a wee look at this story.
It’s a funny old job, being a prophet.
You’ve one thing you basically have to do –
just the one –
which is to be a messenger.
God says ‘x’, and your job is to go and tell folk just what it is that God’s saying.
And here, in our story, is a prophet who will do anything –
seriously, anything else but that one thing he’s supposed to do.
Within the first three verses you have: ‘the word of the Lord came to Jonah… “Go to Ninevah, go and tell them that their behavior is pretty much out of line.”
And without skipping a beat, Jonah skips off…in the entirely opposite direction.
In fact, he goes to quite extreme lengths, for Tarshish is not merely the opposite direction,
it’s at the uttermost end of the then known world.
Seriously, Jonah does not want to go to Ninevah.
So here we have a case of a reluctant prophet,
refusing to do that one thing that a prophet is basically meant to do.
And we already have a sinking feeling that things are not quite going to
go that well for our man Jonah.
Off he heads to Joppa, a sea port on the Mediterranean.
He finds a ship bound for Tarshish and he’s away.
In next to no time, however, Jonah’s plans begin to come unstuck.
A storm at sea;
a ship at threat of breaking up;
a crew imperiled,
each one crying out to their god for help.
In the midst of the noise,
the waves,
the storm,
Jonah… is below-decks sound asleep.
Reminds me a tad of Jesus, asleep in the boat on the storm-wracked Sea of Galilee,
except in Jonah’s case, unlike Jesus,
he doesn’t have the power to command the wind and waves to be still.
The only way that lives will be saved and that peace will prevail is if he throws himself overboard:
for it’s recognized that it’s Jonah’s presence that’s putting everyone else in danger.
A nice touch, in the midst of the horrific storm:
even when Jonah has told them to throw him into the sea, those on board don’t, initially.
Basically, these folk who pray to different gods, are decent folk.
Instead, they do the best that they can to row back to land.
We all know it doesn’t work.
And so, reluctantly, Jonah goes for a long walk off a short plank, and into the sea…
and, immediately, all is calm.
Those left on the boat don’t know who Jonah’s god is, but they are mightily impressed,
and try to honour God through prayer and sacrifices.
Meanwhile, Jonah effectively gets the equivalent of a time-out on the naughty step –
except, in this instance, the naughty step is a rather large fish who happens to swallow him whole.
There he is, in the belly of the fish for three days and three nights,
with nothing else to do but cool his heels and take stock of the events
that have led to this…fishy situation.
He prays:
for God’s help,
acknowledging that the God he worships is one who hears the cry of distress;
he prays:
for God’s mercy,
recognizing that the God he worships is one who is compassionate;
he prays:
asking forgiveness for being so reluctant
to follow the one that he’s called to serve;
the one he remembers who has rescued his people,
the one who is holy;
the one who can restore him to life.
And hearing Jonah’s cry,
God is indeed merciful,
forgiving,
and rescues Jonah from the mess he’s managed to get himself into.
The God of the second chance gives Jonah another opportunity to live into his calling –
to go to Ninevah and bring God’s word to them.
This time, Jonah heads off in the right direction.
He gets to Ninevah – and we discover just how vast a city it is:
it takes Jonah a full three days to get around it.
And the message he brings is stark:
they have forty days until they’re destroyed utterly.
So just who are these Ninevites?
They are part of the bigger, Assyrian Empire:
an empire that, like other empires, has been throwing its weight around,
making war upon its smaller, surrounding nations –
and, they are fierce, both in battle, and in victory,
determined to make those around them know just who is in charge,
determined, by sheer strength and brutality, to keep their neighbours in their place.
And, one of their neighbours happens to be Israel.
Jonah knows this people, their tactics;
has very possibly suffered, or, has friends who have suffered at their hands.
He is initially reluctant to go to them because he hates them,
in fact, he’d be quite happy for God to annihilate them.
Perhaps, even as he walks around the vast city of Ninevah, he’s imagining their destruction
and maybe, even enjoying the thought.
The message provokes an immediate response, from the Ninevites, however.
Unlike Jonah, the disobedient prophet,
the seemingly wicked Ninevites
hear the message,
take it on board,
and respond immediately.
They believe;
they make a fast of repentance;
they put on sackcloth garments –
a symbol of humility…
all of them:
the greatest to the least –
even the beasts –
and the king goes even further,
he gets off his throne and sits in the dust.
This is not a leader who goes off to play golf while his people face peril,
he is there with them, as one of them.
He issues a proclamation –
a lament calling on all his people to repent,
to pray to Jonah’s god.
They have nothing to lose:
maybe this god will listen…
maybe this god will change his mind…
maybe this god will show mercy
and let them live.
And the God who heard Jonah’s cry
hears the cry of the Ninevites;
God is indeed merciful,
forgiving,
and relents.
Back to the words of the hymn: ‘There is no place where earth’s sorrows are more felt than in God’s heav’n; there is no place where earth’s failings have such kindly judgement giv’n.’
The God of the second chance extends that second chance
even to… Ninevites
and gives them another opportunity to live.
In doing so, the God of grace challenges Jonah’s sense of exclusiveness:
here is a God for all people, not only one small group.
The door to the kingdom is swung wide open
and all who want, are welcomed in…
and Jonah hates it.
Let’s be frank, Jonah doesn’t come out of this story well:
his response to God’s compassion?
He sulks. ‘It’s not fair, God. I knew you’d do that. How dare you be gracious and compassionate? How dare you love those people?’
And off he flounces in a huff.
He’s outraged.
Jonah’s angry that God would have the temerity to demonstrate
the very same compassion, grace, forgiveness, and love,
that have been given to him.
Our pouting prophet takes himself out of the city and finds a place to rest.
As he sits and waits, and watches, to see what will happen to the city,
God causes a vine to grow by him to provide shade, to give him comfort.
Jonah likes this vine – it’s a fine vine.
And then a worm comes, and makes a wee meal of it:
the vine withers.
Jonah is angry again. ‘Why’d you kill the vine, God? Seriously, I’m so angry I could die.’
He does come across as a bit of a drama queen, does our Jonah.
And then, God tries to gently put things into some perspective:
Jonah’s more upset about a vine dying
than he is about the potential deaths of one hundred and twenty thousand people.
Where’s the grace?
The compassion?
Where’s the mercy that’s been shown to him?
He’s so fixated on one way of seeing things
that he can’t move beyond it,
can’t see a new way forward,
can’t see God’s love
even when it’s staring him right in the face.
‘For the love of God is broader than the grasp of mortal mind; and the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind.’
Sometimes, as the church, we look around at society, at the world,
and shake our heads while quietly closing the doors of our hearts
and, sometimes, our buildings, to those who might not be quite like us…
to those whose presence might mean
rethinking the way we understand God,
the way we approach God…
the way we do things
the way we be the church.
As we hear the odd, and sometimes funny tale of Jonah,
we hear of the God who challenges our preconceptions;
we hear of the God who extends compassion and love, mercy and grace,
far wider than we might expect.
This is the God who hears our cry,
the God who is merciful, forgiving,
and who rescues us from the mess we sometimes manage to get ourselves into.
This is the God of the second chance, who gives us –
like Jonah,
like the people of Ninevah –
the opportunity to live,
and, in living,
to share the story of God’s wide love –
a love that’s more than enough for all.
Earlier, in setting the scene for worship,
I asked these questions:
What’s the size of a fish that swallows a prophet?
What’s the size of a city that takes
three days to walk through?
What’s the size of the grace
that forgives that city,
that prophet and the whole world?
In the story of Jonah, the answers are:
big;
verrrrry big;
and, bigger than we can ever fully imagine. ‘If our love were but more simple, we would take him at his word; and our lives be filled with glory from the glory of the Lord.’
Let’s pray:
Creator God,
thank you for a faith that is
more of an adventure than a declaration,
more of a journey than an arrival,
more of a question than an answer.
May we live within the dynamism of belief
that takes us and shares with us experiences yet unknown,
that opens our eyes to what is yet to be,
that stirs our souls with longing and intent.
Thank you for a faith that is
open to renewal,
willing to journey,
that dares to believe that not all things stay the same
and that you, O God, are in the changing –
and that wherever we go,
wherever we are,
you are with us on the journey, loving us without limit. Amen.
