The Earthy Divine
Sermon by Bethany E.M. Davey
Sunday, November 10, 2024
During class a few weeks ago, a seminary professor reminded us that those who are preaching the Sunday after the U.S. election ought to be prepared for quite an experience. I looked around the Zoom room, feeling a bit sorry for those jokers who’d have to navigate the layers of this particular Sunday, only to realize that I, too, am one such joker. I am CMC’s pastoral intern this year, and as it has been set on the schedule since August, it is me who preaches today, the Sunday after the U.S. re-election of former president Donald Trump.
There are many emotions present in this moment. There are many emotions present in our individual bodies and the body that is our community. There are many emotions present in this physical space, even, I am confident, in the soil itself. These complex and even seemingly contradictory emotions, these multiple realities, can exist at once. We can feel gratitude in the midst of despair, can belly laugh in the midst of profound grief, can feel tender in the midst of fury.
So much is present in this room.
Deep breath.
Deep breath.
Deep breath.
May we be comforted by our shared anabaptist, Mennonite, Christian rituals across space and time. May we deeply know our interconnection with one another, and with all human and Earth siblings.
Our congregation is following the narrative lectionary, and Jonah isn’t such a bad spot to land the Sunday after an incredibly divisive election. This story tells of the prophet Jonah, a person in the throes of his own contradictory emotions. A person deeply unsettled by the task at hand. A person distraught by the restored fate of his perceived enemies. A person who feels complex things and makes complex choices. A person a lot like me, like you, like us. We can connect to this story of Jonah when we recognize our unsettledness and distress at the successes of those we perceive as Other or enemy, when we recognize our complexity in emotion and action, both as individuals and as a community.
And yet, God speaks.
We enter this story witnessing a prophet resisting his post. Growing up, I understood Jonah as a coward, hiding to avoid his job. And not just any job, a job assigned by God! Now, I perceive Jonah’s storied actions as deeply realistic. God directs Jonah to what would certainly be a death sentence, entering the city of a violent superpower, a known enemy, and proclaiming God’s forthcoming wrath. Now, Jonah seems less the disobedient rebel of my youth, and rather deeply attuned to the likelihood of violence or death, deeply distressed by his directive, deeply conflicted and deeply complex. Deeply, deeply human.
And yet, God speaks.
We witness Jonah’s resistance as he boards a boat headed in the opposite direction. I appreciate this detail in chapter 1, verse 3 of the text, “…so he paid the fare and went onboard.” To me, it seems the writer(s) wants to convey the intentionality of Jonah’s choice. Not only did he flee, but he paused to pay for his mode of escape. He had the wherewithal to consider his choice, and he made it again and again en route.
And yet, God speaks.
Nearly immediately in the story, we are told God shows up in the water: “But the Lord hurled a great wind upon the sea” (Jonah 1:4). This holy storm rages, and everyone is afraid. Those on board wonder whose deity has roused such calamity. Turns out, as we are told, it is Jonah’s god and Jonah’s deliberate hiding that is creating this climate chaos. Jonah tells the others that in order to quiet the waters, they must throw him overboard! Though they do not want to, eventually his fellow passengers acquiesce and into the depths goes Jonah. In response, the seas are immediately stilled, and those present on board understand this to be God’s divine work.
And yet, God speaks through the waters.
The story goes that Jonah was indeed tossed out to sea, and as the waters stilled, he was swallowed by a large fish, ironically enabling him to survive the ordeal. One of the most memorable Bible stories of my childhood, Jonah’s days in the belly of the whale mesmerized me. I imagined God must be quite angry with Jonah to send him into such a fate; the worst time-out in history, survived in the stinky, bile-laden interior of a whale! No wonder Jonah came out with a changed attitude, I thought. Though adult me recognizes the satirical elements of this wildly woven story, my imagination continues to be enthralled. What a story! What a way for God to show up, both saving and directing Jonah in such an outlandish way!
And yet, God speaks through the sea creatures.
While floating in the stomach juices of the fish, Jonah is changed—who wouldn’t be?! By the time he is spat upon the shores of Nineveh, we witness a prophet willing to engage his impossible task. He sets out on his journey, and the results are unbelievable: having completed only a third of his intended trek, the entire kingdom of Nineveh believes Jonah’s prophetic message of God’s impending wrath. All who hear—animals included!—vow to grieving and correcting their old ways and taking up new, godly ways of being. The entire kingdom—animals included!—will fast. The entire kingdom—animals included!—will cover themselves in sack cloth, signifying their repentance. In this picture of sack-laden, grieving animals, we feel the exaggeration of the text: even the animals are mourning their ways! Even the animals vow to restore themselves to God! Such is Nineveh’s commitment to repair that God does not destroy them.
And yet, God speaks through the sack-cloaked land animals.
In the final chapter of Jonah’s story, we once again witness Jonah’s very human complexity. God has spared Nineveh, in effect making successful Jonah’s prophetic task. But Jonah is angry. We get the sense that he is angry with God for saving Nineveh after all. I can imagine his desperate need to know, what was all that for, if you were going to save them all along? Jonah then heads out of the city and settles in to watch Nineveh’s fate from afar. It seems he is hoping to glimpse destruction. Initially, in Jonah’s vigilant stewing, God supplies a plant that protects him from the sun’s heat. But by the next day, God has allowed this plant to whither and sends an unbearably hot, hot wind. Jonah can hardly tolerate his physical discomfort and begs for his own death. God’s response to Jonah’s plea is one of challenge: Jonah, how can you be so grieved by the destruction of this plant, which you did not yourself create and grow, yet expect me to be unaffected by the destruction of Nineveh, replete with humans and animals that I did create and grow?
And yet, God speaks through the plants.
And yet, God speaks through the wind.
The text ends somewhat abruptly, with God’s challenging question to Jonah—a divine mic drop, if you will. We are left to guess at Jonah’s response, at Jonah’s next move. Perhaps this ambiguity offers more for our thoughtful reflection than a clear resolution or directive. And it is in curious, thoughtful reflection that we can recognize ourselves, our communities and our own unsettledness in what is said—and left unsaid—in the text.
And yet, God speaks.
As a peace church, the text invites us to consider the ways that we, too, may be distressed at destruction in some contexts and relieved by it in others. Too often I dissociate from those I consider to be violent, oppressor, enemy, Other, rather than recognize the violence and oppressor within me. Too often I imagine that hatred exists in someone else, in some other community, in some far off Nineveh, rather than right here, in my body, in our collective body, in our community, in the Ninevehs here and now. Hatred—in any form, in any body—harms us all. We are interconnected, and dependent upon the well being of all for our own well being.
And yet, God speaks.
As those committed to peace-building, we cannot sit back to gleefully watch the destruction of Nineveh without signing off on our own destruction. And, what are we to make of it when we are someone else’s Nineveh, either as a nation-state, a community or individually? Perhaps it is that, as Nadia Bolz-Weber said in a recent blog post, “what’s hard about reading Jonah – [is that] I have to look at how maybe I too need my enemies to stay my enemies, since it’s hard to know who I am if I don’t know who I’m against.”[1]
And yet, God speaks.
In some ways I long for my clear-cut childhood perceptions of Jonah, the prophet who angered God in his bumbling, avoidant, terrified ways. And yet, to revisit this story as an adult asks something else of me. It asks me to be utterly aware of the complex humanity in myself that lends itself to complex emotions and complex choices. This same complex humanity is present within Jonah, within each of us, within our communities and beyond.
And yet, God speaks.
And when I am honest about our complex humanity, I can be honest about the humanity of even those I consider—in the hidden parts of myself—enemy and Other; I can recognize myself and our communities in Jonah. This whale-ejected prophet no longer feels so far removed from our realities, but intimately close. I am reminded of my own avoidance, my own fear, my own self-righteous understandings of who and what ought be saved from suffering. This is a painful and necessary mirror into which each of us, and all of us as a community, must look.
And yet, God speaks through the water.
And yet, God speaks through the sea animals.
And yet, God speaks through the land animals.
And yet, God speaks through the plants.
And yet, God speaks through the wind.
God is here. God shows Godself in Earth and is present in Earth.
And yet, God speaks through the soil, itself holy.
The Divine is in us, in all. May we have the courage and clarity to recognize God’s presence within and around us. Even when—or, perhaps, especially when—we are called to see God in that and those we consider enemy and Other.
And yet, God speaks.
Are we listening?
[1] Nadia Bolz-Weber, “Election year wisdom (or lack thereof) from a biblical anti-hero,” from The Corners (blog), September 19, 2024, https://thecorners.substack.com/p/election-year-wisdom-or-lack-thereof.
