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.
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