Dear one,
Whether or not a sign of changing seasons, or a change within my own rhythms, once again I draw your attention to my little world just beyond our study window. Thus, I have alerted you to the changing colors and leaves of autumn; to the beauty and contrast of a scarlet cardinal gliding to a perch upon a snow laden bough; and to the fresh, radiant varieties of springtime: a deep azure sky providing a canopy for an abounding manifold green of trees and grasses.
Ah, but from this memory of abounding green, my eyes now turn only to be disappointed. From my perspective, ours was a cool June, which meant that the greens of spring lingered, and yet our lawn became a motley green tending toward brown, with a creeping, sordid, “monster” grass, like a virus, overtaking the “good” grass. As a result, I’ve given thought and energy to the eradication of this insidious, monster grass, and yet, I have known that its elimination means ripping out the old only to invite the monster grass’ return in five or six years. And then, with this realization, I remember Jonah.
Over the years-now-decades, I have known of the concerns and debates surrounding “Jonah and the fish,” and whether this account is historic or parabolic. In my own mind, it is both; but if both or either, the debate tends to miss the mark: Fundamentally, the four chapters of Jonah are about the LORD God of creation who, in Jonah’s own words and anger is “a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:2). That is, Jonah admits that he fled, taking passage on a ship to Tarshish and away from Nineveh, because he knew his LORD to be gracious and forgiving—even to those most dreaded, most barbaric, most monstrous peoples of the ancient world, the Assyrians (e.g. they “invented” crucifixion). Jonah did not want to bear a message of judgment, because he knew his God to be gracious—and Jonah didn’t want the Assyrians to be forgiven. No, he wanted them to be punished—and if possible, to be annihilated—but instead, they repented.
Given that they were forgiven, angry and depressed, he retreated to the east of Nineveh, and built a booth, where a bush grew and provided him shade—only to wither and die. With its demise, Jonah wished the same for himself, whereupon he heard a word of the LORD: “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush”, which you neither planted nor nurtured, “[and] should I not be concerned about Nineveh” (Jonah 4:9-11)? Of course, the LORD’s question is rhetorical—and concludes the narrative account, except for this provocative question: “What will Jonah do—and those of faith, whom he represented? Will they be gracious?
Recently I shared with you my need to reprioritize, to reevaluate what is important, and then I gaze upon our lawn and wonder: Am I more concerned about monster grass than I am about the billions on earth—those I’ve seen and their pastors—who daily wage an often-losing war against starvation and disease?
Blissfully?
Stan