Sermon: "Conversion by Confession" (Jonah part 2), January 17, 2021
Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka
Scripture: Jonah 1:4-17
This is the second sermon in our 6 week series on the Book of Jonah.
This week we continue our sermon series on the book of Jonah. Last week we heard the beginning. God came to Jonah, and sent him to Nineveh, the capitol of the Assyrian Empire. Assyria was one of history’s most brutal Empires, and had invaded and destroyed Jonah’s homeland. Yet, God was sending Jonah to them anyway. To tell them to repent, to turn from their wicked ways. Instead of heading off to Nineveh, though, Jonah hopped a ship headed to Tarshish. Tarshish being a resort getaway town on the other side of the known world, away from Nineveh. Away from the presence of God.
This week we’re in the boat. But no sooner is the crew setting sail that God sends a storm so strong that it’s liable bust the ship back to lumber. Jonah thought he could run, but God’s in hot pursuit, threatening to tear the ship apart to get Jonah back on track. The crew’s terrorized, and tries everything to stop the storm or escape it. Eventually, they find out that Jonah’s the cause of the whole thing, and throw him overboard. And that’s when God sends the famous fish to swallow him up.
There’s so much going on in this text. I love it. There’s a sermon in just about every verse. The thing I found most fascinating about it, though, is the sailors. The sailors start out as non-believers, pagans. And by the end of the chapter they’re converted. They’re transformed into full-blown believers.
How does it happen? It’s not something you see every day. I mean, in my 6 years of preaching I haven’t seen any kind of turnaround like this. So how does Jonah pull it off in a mere matter of verses, considering who Jonah is?
After all, Jonah's a coward. While the sailors are trying everything they can to save the ship, Jonah’s hiding below deck. This multicultural crew prays to their multiple gods, hoping one of them can put a stop to the terror. They even sacrifice their precious cargo, tossing it overboard to lighten the load. Meanwhile Jonah’s in his cabin, quilt pulled over his head, hoping he can dream the whole thing away. The captain has to toss him out of bed and yell at him to get back on deck to help out. God came calling again, and Jonah ran, again. No doubt the sailors think he’s a real wimp. And call him all sorts of impolite names. Jonah’s a coward. They don't convert on account of his courage.
Not only that, but they know the storm’s all his fault. Being pre-modern people, they figure that the storm has some kind of moral meaning, somebody’s responsible. So they cast lots to figure out who. To cast lots you take a bunch of broken pieces of a pot, write each person’s name on a piece and toss them to see who gets chosen. I like to imagine it as the crew consulting a Ouija board. “Spirits, who’s fault is this thing?” “J-O-N-A-H.” This information clearly freaks them out. “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?!” they ask. “WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING?” “WHAT DID YOU DO TO BRING THIS ON US?” Jonah explains that he's Hebrew, that he worships Yahweh, the God of heaven, who made the dry land and the sea. This God called him and sent him, but he ran away. So not only is he a coward, he’s a coward that’s brought this tsunami on all of them and brought them a hair’s breadth away from a watery grave. Why would they want anything to do with this guy, or his weird Israelite religion considering his fear and incompetence is this close to getting them killed? They don't convert on account of his virtue, or his personal magnetism.
There isn’t much about Jonah that inspires the soul, really. He flees and hides from a problem that he's the cause of. And yet, the pagan crew converted. Why?
The answer comes to us in the final episode. But it’s a bit unexpected.
Once the sailors know Jonah’s to blame they interrogate him as to how to fix it. They tried everything, and the waves are just splashing higher and harder. “Pick me up,” he replies. “Pick me up and toss me overboard. Feed me to the sea. The whole thing’s my fault, you’re gonna die all because of me. So toss me over. There’s no other way around. Or out.”
Interestingly, they don’t immediately punt him into the surf. They jam the oars into the swelling water in the hopes they can paddle back to shore. It’s because they don’t wanna kill him. First, killing is bad, but they also don’t know what the right thing is.[1] But it’s eventually the only option. So as they dangle him over the deep, they cry out to God for forgiveness, “do not make us guilty of innocent blood, for you, Lord, have done as it pleased you.” If this guy’s wrong, then there's a good possibility they’re gonna be on the receiving end of a worse wrath.
But Jonah’s not wrong. As soon as his body splashes against the surface, the clouds break, and the boat drifts on a still sea. It’s at this moment, it says, that the storm stilled. The moment when Jonah was finally able to own his sin, and accept the consequences. And it’s at this moment that the crew stands in awe of the Lord, offering a sacrifice, and making vows. They dedicate gifts to God in gratitude, and commit themselves to his future service. One commentator describes this moment as one where the boat turns from fearful escape pod to a floating sacred temple.[2]
God stilled the storm. The crew is converted, this crew goes from pagan idolaters, to full-blown believers in the God of Israel. Not because Jonah was brave. Not because he was pious, or impressive, or charismatic in any way. But because Jonah accepted his condemnation. He quit running away, and instead offered himself up to save the ones who he endangered.[3] And to top it all off, Jonah isn’t punished. He's rescued. God sends a fish who swallows him up in an act of grace.
Stories of conversion don’t usually sound like this. You see, we tend to think that people come to faith primarily through our goodness or our piety. Maybe it’s through our wise arguments: here’s a diagram, or here’s the five arguments that prove the existence of God. Or we believe that faith is inspired through example: like the old quote often misattributed to St. Francis of Assisi: “always preach the gospel—if necessary, use words.” That the world will see our good works and say “wow! I wanna be like that.”
And sometimes, people are brought to faith like that. I mean, one of my first stepping stones was Marcus Borg’s book Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time that plotted out the intellectual argument for a progressive faith. I could believe and take science seriously. And there have been countless saints on my journey that have paved the way, people who showed me the depth and beauty of God’s love. Some of them in this church.
But here Jonah reminds us of a whole other virtue that has less to do with the good we’ve done, and more to do with owning our imperfection and finitude: the virtue of humility. Here Jonah’s humbled by the awesome power of the Creator. And in the process he reminds us of a compelling instrument in the toolbox of sharing the good news that we’re inclined to forget. And that tool is confession. The willingness to own our faults and failures, in trust that they won’t lead to our destruction but our salvation. No matter how deep or terrifying the sea of consequences may be.
I remember a couple of years ago in a church membership course, we were doing a little icebreaker. Going around the circle and introducing ourselves, and one of the questions was “was brought you to St. George’s?” Usually someone says the came because of the United Church’s stance on LGBTQ inclusion. Another says they went to a United Church in Ontario before they moved here. Or Richard Topping, principal of VST told them to come.[4] That sort of thing.
But one person’s answer I’ll never forget (and you know who you are). This person said, “I was brought here because I’m a hypocrite.” I was a little confused. “Could you say more about that,” I said, hoping to get a clearer answer. “I decided to come one Sunday,” she said, “because of the church sign. The sign said ‘Church is full of hypocrites: and there’s always room for one more.’ I’m a hypocrite. I’m not perfect by any means. So when I saw the sign I knew it was the place for me.”
We don’t have to look very far to see that our culture is dominated by the need for self-justification. When ever a storm hits—whatever crisis it may be. Whether it’s of our own invention or someone else’s, we hit social media to make sure everybody knows that we’re on the proper side, that we hold all the right opinions, that we’re for all the right things and against the wrong ones (myself included). But not only is our own righteous perfection untrue—it’s a truly exhausting thing to maintain day after day after day. And it’s absolutely freeing to have the option to do otherwise.
One of the greatest gifts we have to offer the world is being able to opt out of this game entirely. To be truthful about our lives without the fear of destruction or death. Like the sailors drawn to God through Jonah, this person was drawn to the church, not through our righteousness, our goodness, or our liberal social awareness. But she was converted through our humility. Our willingness to admit our hypocrisy, to confess our sins, to throw no one but ourselves under the bus. Over the side of the boat knowing that the only thing we’ll drown in is the gracious mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ. Who, in being consumed by death on the cross, has swallowed all sin in his resurrection.
Friends, brothers and sisters. We may be cowards on most days like Jonah. We may be uninspiring individuals who often have little to show for in terms of showcasing our spiritual skills or strength. But we’ve still been given a power just as potent. We’ve been given something that can be just as compelling in our witness to the world: the gift of God’s grace. We know that we can screw it all up, suck everyone else into the vortex of our guilt and shame. And yet still find ourselves freed and others saved by loving-kindness of Christ, who even the winds and the seas obey.[5]
So, no matter the storm that surrounds you—may you face up to your own finitude and faults and failings, resting easy in the sea-stilling knowledge of God’s grace. And may your humility be a witness to everyone you know. May you share the great news of forgiveness in Word and indeed, often in spite of yourself. Because in this boat we call the church we’re all hypocrites. And there’s always room for one more.
AMEN.
[1] “The sailors view their plight as a double jeopardy. If Jonah stays on board, they perish; if they throw an innocent man over board, they perish. [In their prayers] they return that power to Yahweh.” See Phyllis Trible, "Jonah," in the New Interpreter's Bible Commentary, vol. VII, gen. ed. Leander Keck (Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), 500.
[2] Phillip Cary, Jonah: the Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2008), 79.
[3] “[Jonah] lets himself be put in question in the totality of his life; it is a life and death matter. He is ready to be completely condemned for his unfaithfulness and to lose his life. He thus becomes the witness, the martyr. This is what is really needed.” See Jacques Ellul, The Judgment of Jonah, trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1971), 31.
[5] Mark 4:41.