September 24, 2023

Jonah 3:10-4:11; Matthew 20:1-16

[G]od said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.”

There are many ways of understanding Jonah. As a prophet. As a man chosen by God. As someone who has gone through a great ordeal. But when we hear him complain about dying because the sun is too hot, we might think of other names for him. A complainer. A whiner. Or perhaps even a drama queen.

Jonah was angry. He was angry with the people of Nineveh. Why? Because they had repented their sins. They had avoided God’s judgment and instead were forgiven. They were not wiped out by divine retribution. And this made Jonah furious because he wanted the people of Nineveh to be destroyed.

Nineveh was in the Assyrian Empire, which had conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel. And so, Jonah had a fresh grievance with these people. And when there was a chance for them to be punished, he did not want to be the one to help save them. That is why he famously runs away.

He goes off on a ship to Tarshish, which in the Biblical mindset is the edge of the world, probably somewhere in Spain. His ship nearly sinks in a storm and the crew throws him overboard. Jonah is swallowed by a great fish that swims the length of the Mediterranean, only to spit him up on the shores of Syria.

Jonah finally follows God’s instruction and calls out to the people of Nineveh that they are doomed. Not that they should repent, by the way. That they were doomed.

The people and the Assyrian king figure out that they needed to change their ways, no thanks to Jonah. They make elaborate efforts of fasting, wearing sackcloth and ashes, and declaring that they have sinned. And so, God forgives them, which leads to Jonah’s temper tantrum under the hot sun.

[T]he LORD said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night.

And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left…

This is where the book ends. Jonah does not repent his anger. Jonah does not forgive the people of Nineveh. They survive, but Jonah sits in the dust, angry at them and maybe angry with God.

Today’s sermon is about drama, which fit perfectly in my mind when I reread the encounter between Jonah and God. Now a drama is supposed to be performed, like a play or an opera, though the term has been applied to other art forms. The symbol of the two masks of drama, one smiling and the other weeping, represent the elements of comedy and tragedy. And comedy and tragedy were two main themes of such performances.

For any English majors out there, you might remember the classic division of Shakespeare’s plays into the comedies and the tragedies. In the comedies, the play has a happy ending and generally concludes with a wedding. In the tragedies, the play has a dark ending and generally concludes with almost everyone dying.

However, Shakespeare’s later plays are often classified as romances. A romance is different than a comedy. It frequently spans a longer time period and will have some elements similar to a tragedy though it all turns out in the end. Harrowing circumstances like a shipwreck in a storm, difficult journeys with lives on the line.

The best-known example of a romance by Shakespeare is the Tempest. This is the story of the magician Prospero who plots to gain revenge upon those that had wronged him. He had been the Duke of Milan until his brother Antonio deposed him. He left Prospero on a leaking ship so that he might die at sea, with his young daughter Miranda. But Prospero and Miranda survived.

Years after this betrayal, the new Duke of Milan, Antonio, is sailing past the island upon which Prospero was shipwrecked. He is on a ship with King Alonso of Naples, Alonso’s son Ferdinand, and other nobles and servants. Prospero had his servant Ariel, a spirit, sink their ship but ensure that everyone survived. By the way, King Alonso was involved with the plot against Prospero. However, another person shipwrecked was Gonzalo, a kind man who had saved Prospero and Miranda by assuring that they had food and water on that leaking ship, resulting in their survival.

Prospero manipulates the stranded passengers in various ways, moving steadily toward some long-planned version of revenge. He isolates Ferdinand, who comes upon Miranda and falls immediately in love with her. Prospero is fine with this sudden romance, but he nonetheless decides to mess with his future son-in-law by taking him prisoner and making him do manual labor. Swell guy, Prospero.

The Tempest is an unusual story compared with other plays, even those by Shakespeare. There is no life and death struggle. There are no twists and turns of fate. Prospero is in charge throughout the play. Any schemes by the other figures are quickly detected and easily foiled with magic and the handy efforts of the spirit Ariel. So where exactly is the sense of drama?

The Tempest could have easily been a tragedy, with the all-powerful magician destroying those that had wronged him. Call that justice if you like. At the end of Act 4, Prospero declared:

At this hour, lies at my mercy all mine enemies.  

Shortly shall all my labors end…

Prospero wanted vengeance and, I should note, his brother Antonio had not shown himself to be a better person. At one point, he schemes to kill the King of Naples, though that does not pan out. Antonio is not a likely candidate for forgiveness.

As events progress, there is an exchange between Prospero and his servant spirit, Ariel. Ariel describes the condition of the shipwrecked men, which is rather pathetic. In particular, though, is poor Gonzalo, the man who many years before had saved Prospero and Miranda. Ariel describes Gonzalo as follows:

His tears runs down his beard like winter’s drops
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works
’em
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.

Prospero asks, “Dost thou think so, spirit?”

And Ariel says, “Mine would, sir, were I human.”

If I were human, my affections would become tender. My heart would soften. Ariel would forgive them. Ariel would forgive the men for trying to kill Prospero and his daughter many years before—which is admittedly easier for Ariel to say. This is the moment in the story when the arc of Prospero’s vengeance is interrupted. He turns away from his anger and says:

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th’
quick,
Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury
Do I take part. The rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance. They being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further.

Not a frown further—the drama in the Tempest is not about sword fights and daring adventure. It is about the change of heart experienced by one man. A man who in more typical storylines would have been expected to mete out some justice. As one of Shakespeare’s later plays, and possibly the last one he wrote, it is a more circumspect brand of drama, one unexpected and therefore challenging to its audience’s sensibilities.

In the Book of Jonah, we do not get this same moment of reflection at least in the stated ending. We do not hear that the prophet turned from vengeance toward virtue and a deeper sense of humanity. And yet, one might argue that this was the entire point of the story of Jonah. Even though the prophet refused to forgive, God was willing to forgive. And the feelings of the prophet are not what matters, even as he sits in the dust fuming under the hot sun. Vengeance is not what God wants, but repentance and forgiveness.

When I think about drama, I often imagine a story with a strong protagonist working against some injustice or overcoming great adversity. This form of drama is sometimes known as the hero’s journey. Someone must go on a quest of sorts. It is like the story in the Lord of the Rings. The fellowship of would-be heroes sets forth under the guidance of a mentor, in that case the wizard Gandalf, another characteristic of a hero’s story.

And then there are enemies and hardship. Then there is a descent into some kind of underworld, like a cave or the literal underworld. Then, of course, there is success or victory because it is about a hero and heroes always win, don’t they?

But the hero generally becomes more and more isolated, more and more distant from those he once knew. The strength gained from the journey makes them more remote from the people around them. In many versions of the hero’s journey, the hero can never return to their old life. They have changed too much through their experiences.

A few years ago, I came across a description of another form of dramatic story, the heroine’s journey. It was a term coined by a therapist named Maureen Murdock who was also a feminist scholar. Murdock practiced Jungian psychology, which tradition relies upon archetypes of human behavior to help understand emotion and relationships.

Even as the hero’s journey generally leads to independence from others and therefore growing isolation from others, the heroine’s journey leads to a return to or a rebuilding of relationships. You leave home for the great journey and eventually make it back home. And the heroine ultimately realizes that the goal of their journey cannot be achieved without the help of others: friends and companions, family and loved ones. One hero does not save the day, but the many friends that the heroine has found along the way.

Now this breakdown between hero and heroine is pretty binary. As if men did not need the help of others or women do not ever find themselves growing more isolated. Like any binary, we need to realize that such a spectrum only makes sense when we realize that true wisdom lives somewhere in the middle. We cannot exist solely as rugged individualists. And we should not live solely for the needs and expectations of others. There is more to life than living into old stereotypes.

Think about those original forms of drama, the comedy and the tragedy. In a comedy, someone gets married and everyone is reconciled. In the tragedy, pretty much everyone dies but evil or hubris has been punished, even if the only one left to see it is the narrator. Is it any wonder that these are no longer pure forms of drama? They are unrecognizable in our experiences and therefore hard to embrace as a story.

The Book of Jonah is a Biblical version of a more complex drama. There is a journey to far off Spain and then an unexpected return inside the belly of a giant fish. The people of Nineveh are to be destroyed, oh dear! But they finally reconcile with God and are saved. Hurray!

That leaves grumpy old Jonah to complain about God being too merciful. The story ends with Jonah still upset, but God has clearly pointed us in the proper direction. Reconcile with God and reconcile with each other and always be ready to forgive. As Biblical stories go, this is much more modern in its message, far more so than the typically smiting with fire and brimstone. It is not a tale about the people being punished, but about them realizing their mistakes.

Think about the parable from the gospel. Workers are hired throughout the course of the day to work in a vineyard. The first group put in a full day’s work and get a full day’s pay. The later groups do less work but still get paid the same amount. The last group does little work and still gets full wages. And the early folks are grumbling about that. Mumbling under their breath as to the unfairness of it all. Sounds like Jonah.

And the vineyard owner says to them, why are you angry? What claim do you have against my generosity? What would be the correct outcome? The earlier group gets more than a day’s wage or the later groups gets less?

Let me ask you all: do you think this story seems fair? Should the vineyard owner have paid them less, maybe just by the hour? Bear in mind getting a harvest completed has a value over and above one person’s sense of an hourly wage. And, to follow the underlying religious message, reconciling people with God is far more important than assuaging the wounded sensibilities of self-righteous people.

I do not mean to suggest that income inequality is a good thing. But one person receiving more than I think they deserve is not necessarily inequality. If we assume that everyone has the right to live, to have food to eat and a place to stay, is it unfair that one person worked more for it? What does that mean in a world filled with people doing vastly different things? Should I pay more to the electrician and the plumber, the landscaper and the farmer, than the accountant, the lawyer, or the banker? Shouldn’t we reward physical work more than office work?

What about people’s respective circumstances? One person right now might be unable to work. A person with young children, with an illness or a disability. And what do you do with the person who for some reason cannot work? Should they be left to fend for themselves or should they be made to suffer in some way to warrant being allowed to live?

That was literally the case in the past. Those who received support from the government in workhouses had to do meaningless work, like walking on a treadmill all day, to justify a bed and a meal that day. We do not require that anymore, but we also do not always provide the bed and the meal.

Because some Americans do not want to support people who by some definition are “freeloaders” on society. The logic being that they will eventually work, which is honestly not always the case. And so, people are left struggling in poverty, struggling with homelessness to fit into some story that we tell ourselves about what it means to be deserving. Deserving of what? Deserving of our help, our compassion, our mercy.

God asked Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry?” And so, I will ask, is it right for anyone to be angry in this way?

I had a discussion the other day with someone about immigration. This person was upset. They were upset because they thought that it was unfair that some people followed the rules and were waiting in line while others were jumping the line. This person was furious at the notion of someone gaming the system as they saw it.

Honestly, I do not see any difference between this response to immigration and the story about the vineyard. There is a perception of unfairness, but is that really what is going on? There is a sense of aggrievement, but who is losing out?

I do not think it is about the niceties of procedure. It is an affront to someone’s sense of order. Like Jonah, people are upset with something they see as wrong. But at least Jonah was upset about the conquest of Israel rather than the sanctity of often arbitrary rules and proper queueing for gaining asylum.

Like drama is no longer simply about comedy or tragedy, many social problems are not simply black and white matters about following the rules and everything will work out. Yes, it would be good to have an orderly system for immigration, but Congress has been unable to make any headway because no one is willing to take any practical steps for decades. I am guessing this is because there is a sense that disagreement is more useful for political purposes. Not useful for the nation, mind you. Useful for people trying to get reelected.

More concerning than a political logjam is the blatant disregard for human beings. The vast majority of people trying to come to the U.S. are looking for a better life. Many of them are also fleeing from dangerous situations. Wars, social upheaval, natural disasters, etc. I am the grandchild of immigrants from Italy, of people who were trying to overcome crippling poverty and stifling social inequality. And so, I find it unbelievable that many Americans now want to shut the door on the same sorts of people just because they are coming from new places.

Most of the people I grew up with were first- or second-generation Americans. And many of those immigrants did not receive a warm welcome. Not the Italians or the Irish, not the Poles or the Lithuanians, not the Germans or Chinese. And now that the West Africans and Central Americans and South and Southeast Asians are coming, somehow those old prejudices have been recycled. It is hypocrisy of the rankest sort.

Drama can take many forms. In the hero’s journey, the hero undertakes a long and difficult voyage, succeeding and yet transforming into something else. Estranged from others by the experience and alone in their victory. They are changed and sadly they become isolated. That’s a story I would not wish upon anyone’s life. In the heroine’s journey, there is a long and difficult voyage. But it ends with a return, it ends with a reconciliation. It ends with a wedding of sorts, as people come together again.

Who are we going to be in our story?

Are we going to be like Jonah, furious that someone has been forgiven? So mad that he would rather have died than see people reconciled with God?

Are we going to be the disgruntled workers. Those who were upset by the generosity of others. Those who refused to empathize with those willing to work, those willing to contribute, but who were less fortunate in their timing, less fortunate in their lives and circumstances.

Or are we going to be like the vineyard owner, generous and welcoming? Are we going to follow the example of God and forgive again and again?

No one deserves the suffering of others. No one should therefore expect suffering and struggle and misery to justify feeding and clothing and caring for others. We are not being asked by God to forgive the neediness of the poor or the sick, the isolation of the alien or the stranger. We are being called upon to ask for God’s forgiveness for our failure to care for others when we refuse to help the poor and the sick, when we refuse to embrace the alien or the stranger.

There is no guaranty that we will be the heroes in a story. We might be like Jonah, complaining that someone else has been shown love and forgiveness. We might be like the workers concerned that the generosity of others somehow hurts us rather than helps someone.

And let us be honest. There is no need for us to be like the heroes in our stories. Instead, there is a need for us to be good, a need for us to be decent. A need for us to become reconciled with the people around us. God is not asking us to be perfect, but we are being called to better than we were so that no one hungers and no one thirsts ever again. That is the journey we are called toward. That is the journey of following Jesus and finding our way back to God. Amen.