Standing on One Foot

I, I’m a new day rising // I’m a brand new sky // To hang the stars upon tonight // I am a little divided// Do I stay or run away// And leave it all behind? // It’s times like these you learn to live again// It’s times like these you give and give again // It’s times like these you learn to love again// It’s times like these time and time again.

Times Like These, Foo Fighters, (songwriters: Nate Mendel, Dave Grohl, Taylor Hawkins, Chris Shiflett), 2002.

Times like these. Indeed. I recently came across some notes from a series of lectures on the Babylonian exile and in them, Edwin Muir’s poem, One Foot in Eden (1956). It had been a while since I last read it and as I did so again, I found it striking many chords.

One foot in Eden still, I stand
And look across the other land.
The world's great day is growing late,
Yet strange these fields that we have planted
So long with crops of love and hate.
Time's handiworks by time are haunted,
And nothing now can separate
The corn and tares compactly grown.
The armorial weed in stillness bound
About the stalk; these are our own.
Evil and good stand thick around
In fields of charity and sin
Where we shall lead our harvest in.

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.
Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.
 

One Foot in Eden, Edwin Muir, 1956

I have written many times about the darkness that envelopes our lives – racism, violence, feckless politicians, ravaging unemployment and rising food insecurities paint a picture of bleakness and despair that we may be hard stretched to find a comparative experience.

And equally hard stretched to deal with.

It’s what makes me appreciate the story of the Babylonian exile all the more. You can get a good idea of it’s devastation in the book of Lamentations where you will read some of the most brutal and compelling writing about human pain and suffering that emerged from the ashes and ruins of Jerusalem. The psalms are no slouch in this department either.  Daughter Babylon, you destroyer, a blessing on the one who pays you back the very deed you did to us! A blessing on the one who seizes your children and smashes them against the rock! (Psalm137.8-9). That is deep anger born of a cavernous despair.

Israel’s story became especially poignant as I read through the horrors of the darkness and despair of the exile only to see hope and faith spring out of the ashes of destruction. If there was ever a time for Israel to not hope, it had to be then. Yet, the exiles did return and laid the foundation for a new temple and renewed life. The flowers of hope and faith, like the fire poppies that spring up after a wild fire, blossomed in dark valleys and burned fields.

As I witness a world that seems to be falling apart in madness with each passing day of violence and ever growing fear mongering, I am reminded by these horrors that we, like Israel, are in exile still, angry and isolated.

But yet, hope blossoms.

From Muir – “One foot in Eden still, I stand // And look across the other land. The world’s great day is growing late // Yet strange these fields that we have planted// So long with crops of love and hate // Time’s handiworks by time are haunted, // And nothing now can separate // The corn and tares compactly grown.”

Crops of love and hate tightly interwoven. Joy and tears coexisting. We have glimpses of how things ought to be only to have to struggle with the way things are. It’s no wonder that our feet stumble and slip.

But like our returning exiles, we too have seen the foundation of the new temple laid. Unlike the exiles though, our foundation is built in, on, and with material against which the gates of hell cannot prevail – Jesus Christ. Muir speaks to our hope in Christ, of the now but not yet: But famished field and blackened tree //Bear flowers in Eden never known.// Blossoms of grief and charity // Bloom in these darkened fields alone.// What had Eden ever to say // Of hope and faith and pity and love // Until was buried all its day// And memory found its treasure trove? // Strange blessings never in Paradise// Fall from these beclouded skies.”

As Easter people, we stand with one foot in Eden: the dawning kingdom of God. We are filled with enduring hope for the return of the greatest gift that ever was. We stand and blossom, fed and supported by our faith in that hope. Strange blessings? Perhaps. But blessings that call for singing a new song.

I waited patiently for the Lord // He inclined and heard my cry// He brought me up out of the pit // Out of the mire and clay// I will sing, sing a new song // I will sing, sing a new song // How long to sing this song // How long to sing this song // How long, how long, how long // How long, to sing this song// He set my feet upon a rock // And made my footsteps firm // Many will see // Many will see and fear // I will sing, sing a new song // I will sing, sing a new song.

40, U2 (songwriters: Adam Clayton, David Evans, Laurence Mullen, Paul David Hewson), 1983

Travel Plans?

Grace// She takes the blame// She covers the shame// Removes the stain// It could be her name// Grace// It’s the name for a girl// It’s also a thought that// Changed the world// And when she walks on the street// You can hear the strings// Grace finds goodness// In everything

Grace, from the album All That You Can’t Leave Behind, U2

The book of Jonah is perhaps one of the most familiar books of the minor prophets – after all, any Sunday school worth its salt includes the story of the great fish as part of its’ lesson plan at some point. The number of children’s books about the tale with the whale is countless, but I think too often, the lesson of Jonah is often missed and like the book of Job, this story is one that ends in a bit of a puzzle for many because of that.

Jonah is commanded by God to go to Nineveh, the ancient version of the ISIS caliphate, and warn them of their impending destruction unless they repent. Jonah would rather drink bleach and takes off in the other direction. It’s a downward spiral of futility that puts Jonah in a very precarious position. After all, I can’t think any place much darker and viler than the belly of a great fish – or the ISIS caliphate.

But to say this is a whale of a tale of a whale misses the point. While there may be some reason to commend the traditional view of equating Jonah and Jewish exclusivism, I believe that it is not the real point – it’s like the great fish – another red herring, no pun intended. After all, Jonah is not given a Jewish message of Yawehism – perhaps simply understood as the belief that ‘He Brings into Existence whatever Exists.’  Nor was Jonah’s message about Torah or monotheism for the pagan Ninevites. God commanded him to go and simply cry out “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” (Verse 3.2). We need to look a little bit deeper. I hope that you come to see that Jonah is first and foremost a book about God’s love and care for his creation, his freedom to act graciously and the relationship between justice and mercy. It is a narrative that is clearly controlled by God with the intent of demonstrating these attributes.

Let’s look at an often very overlooked part of this story – the qiqayon, in Hebrew; the plant in English. I think it is the hinge on which this whole story turns. The plant is introduced in verse 4.6 and it is the use of the compound divine name that serves to signal that there is much more going on here.

The ‘Lord God’ is used to announce the presence and activity of the plant. The key to the plant’s significance lies in understanding its role in the two-fold function of ‘Lord’ – justice- and ‘God’- mercy: that is, to be a shade from adversity and to rescue Jonah from his morally wrong attitude as displayed in his anger. The plant serves to bring forth the overarching theme and purpose of the book of Jonah: God’s freedom to act graciously and the relationship between justice and mercy. Further, the plant, as demonstrated in the analogy that closes the book, serves to show that Jonah equates with Nineveh: God is putting Jonah in Nineveh’s shoes if you will.

Jonah has an impeding ‘evil’ just as Nineveh does. For Jonah, the evil comes in the form of the sun and the searing wind. In Nineveh’s case, it is their anticipated destruction as foretold by Jonah. Both Jonah and Nineveh embark on actions to prevent any evil from befalling them: Nineveh repents and Jonah builds a booth. An act of divine grace supplements both efforts: God changes his mind about Nineveh and he appoints, that is, he causes a plant to grow over Jonah for shade. The kicker is the worm and the gracious act of God being revoked: the plant dies. Jonah feels the full force of his evil and it brings to bear the futility of his own efforts to protect himself with the booth.

The point is that the plant serves, in this context, as an object lesson for Jonah. At the onset of chapter four, we see that Jonah is angry with God when he perceives that Nineveh’s repentance was not sufficiently sincere to warrant God’s grace. The Ninevites “believed God” but there was no sign of any real repentance such as a conversion to Judaism, perhaps. All that we see is that the Ninevites engaged in some superficial ritual and lamented. That was enough for God: God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it (3.10).

By putting Jonah in Nineveh’s shoes, God does to Jonah, what Jonah wanted God to do to Nineveh. Jonah’s anger in verse eight stems from God’s unmerited grace not working for him (Jonah) but it did work for Nineveh when it was also unmerited. The issue at hand was not what Jonah or Nineveh deserved or did not deserve, but more importantly whether Jonah’s efforts were capable of providing relief and we see that they were not. In his own mind, Jonah’s anger was warranted anger on deuteronomistic grounds -Nineveh deserved it. God had applied the verdict and Jonah delivered it. The function of the unpredictable plant served to show Jonah that his was a theology of selfishness. He did nothing to create the plant, grow it or otherwise. Likewise, his efforts with the booth were no more effective than the shallow acts of repentance made by Nineveh whose condition remained wretched. As the closing verses and analogy make very clear, God’s right to bestow grace cannot be limited by anyone’s narrow theology- it was about God’s sovereign right to do so. 

Jonah was never about unblemished, perfect faith, or a condemnation of the attitude of Jews toward Gentiles and Jewish exclusivism. If that were the case, then the book might very likely have been about urging Jews not to act like Jonah and respond as Nineveh responded.

Repentance is not capable of providing deliverance by its own virtue any more than Jonah’s booth being sufficient for relief. It can stir God’s compassion which Jonah realized and why he ran away in the first place.  In these acts of grace, God is not compromised because the sin is not forgiven: it is merely postponed. Forgiveness would come later.

So, as one of the gentlemen in my Saturday morning men’s bible study group inquired as we concluded our study of another book of scripture – what does all of this mean for John Doe? What do we see when we gaze into the mirror of the book of Jonah?

I would suggest that we see people of faith disgusted with the course of world history in many ways and bearing resentment against God’s seeming lack of activity and forbearance of the evil that the world is drowning in. So very often we witness ourselves expounding scripture and simultaneously throwing our hands up in despondent resignation – O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live (4.3). A few days of vacation -time in the pleasant shade – and all of our worries about the world and God drift away.  The joy of being under the unpredictable plant is witnessed in the new car, the pay raise, the shopping spree – that is until the worm attacks and the plant withers: the car breaks down, the children need new shoes, the rent is due and the pay check has been spent on food.

Do you have the right to be angry about the plant? (4.9).  Nineveh, like folks that love our new cars and vacations, is part of creation, the great city in which there are more than 120,000 people who cannot tell right from wrong and many animals are there also (4.11). God values all of his creation- just ask Job. As he tells Job,  “I can show you and I can explain it ad nauseum, but you’re not going to get it – just trust me.” Or in the question posed to Jonah: “Should I not be concerned for that great city Nineveh?” The open ended question at the close of Jonah is much like that of never directly addressing Job’s lament. While God does not answer or leaves us with a question, he is at the same time, seeking our trust and agreement to engage and further the journey from the now to the not yet of the kingdom. The worm induced loss of the shade of the plant is to awaken us to God’s compassion for his creation and our grasp of that. Jesus said as much about our loss induced anger, when he taught how the people of Nineveh would arise and condemn the current generation of Pharisees and Sadducees. God arrives at his goal to save “Nineveh” with the deliverance of Christ – a goal of compassion and mercy that conquers death. Grace. She walks the streets and finds beauty in everything. It is to this hope that we who claim to be Easter people, have been called. But whether or not the Lord arrives at his destination with us, depends on where we choose to travel – Tarshish or Nineveh.