A New Nineveh: Waking up in the Belly of a Whale

Photo by Thomas Lipke on Unsplash

The sudden and complete isolation caused by Stay-at-Home orders this Spring was like a storm that caught us all unaware and unprepared. We struggled to find footing as the deck beneath us shifted restlessly. Restaurants leapt to “curbside pickups” and joined local delivery services. Schools pivoted to ‘virtual learning’ and handed classroom controls to parents. Individuals found new offices in their dining rooms and learned new methods to connect with colleagues and clients. As clergy, we quickly launched virtual services and began to find programming that could be altered to provide for the absence of a shared altar. It was, in so many ways, a terrific storm that came without warning and forced us into a mode of fighting for survival.

Over several weeks, each of us as individuals and as part of larger organisms began to find that footing. We began to see light at the end of the tunnel and even find moments in which the clouds broke and let some hopeful rays shine through. Some of us even found places of joy as we were forced to reprioritize certain aspects of our daily lives. We still could not join together physically, but all signs were pointing toward those restrictions loosening and meanwhile many of us had developed tools with so much potential they’ve already become long-term aspects of our ministry. We were starting to feel as though our isolation was nearing relief and had simultaneously revealed new opportunities for the future. The storm was receding and we began to relax.

Then George Floyd was murdered.

We collectively went to sleep on May 25th with various glimmers of hope. We woke up in the belly of a whale. In the wake of that horrific night, people of all races, creeds, and political viewpoints took to the streets to justifiably wail and gnash their teeth. They called for justice and reform. They gathered by the thousands in the hope that their shared lamentations would be loud enough that they would, at long last, be heard. Alongside that peaceful and righteous sorrow came thousands of others whose wailing took the form of fire; seeking retribution for what they had lost. Alongside that violence came administrative retaliation that sought to quell both sets of voices and maintain the tenuous and distorted “peace” they had constructed over so many years. And the majority of us, still reeling from months of assault from the last storm, found ourselves waking up in a world that was underwater.

As we look out into that world, we see all the dangers of the deep sea. We see strange and wonderful monsters lurking in the dark. We see the force of the water crushing in on us from all sides. We see the incredible distance between us and dry land. We see that the only thing separating us from those perils is several rows of strong, rough teeth that, even as they protect us, threaten to crush and grind us without a thought. And it is poetic that as we find ourselves in the belly of this great and horrible leviathan we notice that it is getting harder and harder to breathe.

There is no denying it; we are in the belly of a whale.

It is important to note that we aren’t the first to find ourselves here. Of course, Jonah experienced this same hardship on his circuitous path to Nineveh. Like Jonah, we’ve avoided the call to serve God’s people. Like him, we’ve imperiled our shipmates while avoiding His Will. Like him, we survived the storm through quick-thinking and reliance on those working the ‘front lines’ of our vessel. Like Jonah, we were tossed overboard into the chaos of the water and like him, we find ourselves inside a beast we can neither tame nor control. And we now are faced with a decision. We’ve reached a “rib in the road,” if you will. Should we rail against storm, sea, and beast as Pinocchio did, injuring each and leaving ourselves exposed? Or should we lie in the belly of the great fish like James Bartley and silently hope to survive longer than the whale? Or should we follow the path that Jonah walked, crying out to God with a voice of Thanksgiving?

They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy.*

As for me, I’m taking the latter option. I’ve shared more than just our current situation with Jonah. Lord knows I’ve hidden from the call to many a Nineveh. I spent years trying to hide amongst those who labor honestly in failed attempts to not be seen by Him. And I convinced those around me that my works were not the cause of the evils upon us. But, like Jonah, I’ve been found and must now cry out against great cities (and peoples, and societies, and structures,) whose wickedness has come upon God. For me, there is no choice left but to join Jonah (and so many others) in crying out with a voice of thanksgiving, and of sorrow, and of lamentation, and of hope. Hopefully, my reward will be a swift, if emetic departure, followed by a pulpit in this New Nineveh from which I can call out their lying vanities and encourage at least a few toward repentance and thanksgiving.

*The Book of Jonah 2:8