Abstract
Jonah is the most successful prophet in the Bible, and he is not happy about it. With a mere five words, he convinces all of Nineveh to repent—everyone from the king on down to the animals—to a God they do not even know. Jonah, finally revved up to prophesy, is out of a job. His is an unplanned obsolescence. The prophetic corpus would be far shorter had all audiences responded so quickly! Where divine judgment threatens, divine mercy can prevail.
It is an odd story—animals dressing in sackcloth, a begrudging prophet, pagan sailors who pray to God and, of course, the big fish. Everyone in the tale is more obedient to Yhwh than Jonah is, and yet Jonah is suffused by a divine mercy he himself cannot comprehend. The book of Jonah, then, teaches a lesson its own prophet cannot hear. It says a lot about humanity that we expect judgment in prophecy but find mercy odd. Jonah’s plight is a story of how odd divine mercy looks to us.
Like other late biblical tales from the diverse Persian period (538–323 BCE), such as the books of Esther and Ruth, Jonah takes place in strange lands. Even the environment is strange: a big fish that swallows him, a tiny worm that enrages him, and, the very last words of the book, “so many animals” (4:11). Jonah is out of his element. Jonah’s message is mixed. He has fled, hightailing it west, out to sea, rather than east, to Nineveh, as God directed. If Jonah thinks that he can outrun God, he has miscalculated. From Adam on, no one can hide from God, though lots of us try. While Jonah runs and then naps below-deck in a storm, the foreign sailors beseech Yhwh. They are a mixed lot of polytheists who switch immediately from their own gods to Israel’s God when choosing life over death for Jonah, until they are forced to throw him over to save themselves. Thus begins the practice of lifeboat ethics. They sacrifice, make vows, and revere their new-found God (1:14–16).
The Ninevites also take quickly to revering Yhwh, even adapting Israelite customs for mourning, fasting, sackcloth, and ashes. The king “rises” from his throne to sit down in ashes (3:6). Rising and going down are common actions in the book. God commands Jonah to “rise” and go to Nineveh (3:2), but at first, Jonah “rises” only to “go down” to Joppa (1:3), then down again below the deck of the ship (1:5). He descends even further down into the sea, and then, worst of all, down into the belly of the big fish (1:15–17; 2:3). “Rising,” or getting up, is something the foreigners also do better than Jonah. The ship’s captain calls on Jonah to rise from below deck and join everyone above, fighting for life (1:6). The king of Nineveh rises from his throne to lower himself before God (3:6). Most dramatically, God raises Jonah from the fish’s belly (2:10). Biblically, the concept of resurrection has not developed, yet. But these risings are nevertheless suggestive. They will become the gospel’s “sign of Jonah” heralding the resurrection of Jesus (Luke 11:29–30). Jesus even mentions the Ninevites arising with him, since they had risen in trust to God at Jonah’s prophecy (Matt 12:40–41).
The king of Nineveh orders fasting and sackcloth upon all, and even the animals obey (3:8). Nineveh is clearly a sincere community united in contrition before God, and the animals matter. They don sackcloth and cry out to God. This is generally understood to be humor, a contrast in reverence at Jonah’s expense. Yet, it also conveys an environmental wisdom about the naturalness of reverence. Awe for the creator comes so easily to animals, the mountains, and the stars: “Praise the Lord from the earth, you sea monsters and all deeps … Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Wild animals and all cattle, creeping things and flying birds” (Ps 148:7–10). Creation itself is fully at ease before God. Jonah could learn from nature: these repentant animals, the plant that shades him, and a giant fish who swallows him whole, yet allows him to live. God’s tender mercy is sustaining creation at every point. In fact, it is the many lives of Nineveh—citizens and animals both—that sway God’s decision for mercy (4:11). Divine mercy preserves so much life and is the Creator’s will. God is teaching Jonah, as he had Job (Job 38–42:6), about the mercy extended through all of God’s creation. But God is gentler with Jonah, letting him sit with a wisdom that is beyond his reach.
Everyone around Jonah, animals and foreigners, trusts Yhwh, except Jonah. After converting Nineveh, he leaves to go camp alone, outside the city. He builds a booth for himself (4:5). Booths (sukkoth) were communal sites of celebration during harvest time and the festival of Sukkoth. Later, Peter will want to build booths to prolong his time with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah all together at Jesus’ transfiguration (Matt 17:1–13). Peter was rash, but at least he knew booths were for social celebration. Peter’s heart, as always, was in the right place. Jonah’s heart, though, is out of sync. Jonah is a loner, wanting the booth as a way to escape others, outside the spared city. He is so cut off from others that his time spent in a big fish’s stomach seems in keeping with his demeanor. Even a tiny worm enrages him, though worms are insignificant, as the abject psalmist knows well: “But I am a worm, and not human” (Ps 22:6). Jonah is sealed off by his anger, and he would rather die (4:8). With his death-wish, he stands in good biblical company—Moses, Elijah, Jeremiah, Job, and Mrs. Job all reach a point in their exasperation and suffering of preferring death over life.
Jonah is mad that the worm ate “his” plant, forgetting that it is not “his” in the first place (4:6–8). He is mad that Nineveh was not destroyed. He prophesied divine judgment and now wants to see it happen. Jonah really belongs in the book of Nahum, where divine wrath smites Nineveh good and hard: “Devastation, desolation, and destruction! Hearts faint and knees tremble, all loins quake, all faces grow pale!” (Nah 2:10). Jonah is up for that kind of vengeance, and this enemy city surely deserves it. Though he would fit in so well in the book of Nahum, he is lost, adrift, and surly in his own story. He is angered by God’s mercy. It just goes too far.
Jonah’s isolation constricts his vision, and so he would prefer the spectacle of destruction over mercy. It is heartbreaking to see someone wishing for his or her own death. Jonah’s isolation is on full display—he is at odds with everyone surrounding him and with his own covenantal faith. In fact, Jonah’s self-imposed isolation is prophetic, a warning to us, God’s people, not to go it alone. We have all had those moments of isolation. Modern culture enables us with all of its individualized choices and devices. Cut off from others as we tune in to iPods, iPhones, and earbuds, we can forget that convenience is a gateway drug to isolation. And something about that isolation causes rage at the little things: a worm, weather changes, a driver in front of us. We grow uncomfortable in our skin and take it out on something outside of us.
The book of Jonah teaches a lesson the prophet himself has not learned, about God’s tender mercy. God makes good on the biblical refrain: “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exod 34:6). And this mercy is exactly what angers Jonah—that God turns out to be just this kind of loving God. Throughout his story, Jonah benefits from God’s patience, but he cannot concede it for others, not even a little worm. God’s mercy is radical, including even the animals and enemies of Israel. God remains patient with Jonah, letting strangers teach the prophet about his own faith. Jonah teaches us what “righteous Gentiles” are all about, boosting and correcting our faith when we need it, and showing us that mercy surrounds us in divine patience. This is useful for Christians living in the postmodern world, full of diversity, secularization, and other religions. Strangeness is no threat to faith but offers assistance. We are to be leaven to the world (Matt 13:33), mixed right into it, and rising along with it.