There was darkness. Total darkness. And something wet, dense, holding him in a soft, cocoon-like embrace. There was movement past him, a slow, rhythmic pulsing. He could breathe, though the air—if such it could be called—was thick, warm, and oily.
They had thrown him overboard, at his urging. He had felt the shock of the cold seawater as his body struck the waves. And then something else, something horrible. As he plunged down and down into the black depths, the sea seemed to form itself into a giant maw, to rush up at him and gulp him down headfirst.
And the sea—or something—held him like that, in this place where there was no light, no sound, no freedom of movement—and where, it seemed to Jonah, there was no time. Was this death, then? Was this what he had asked for? If this was separation from God, then this was death. And here, Jonah felt, God was not. Jonah was alone. It would be too late now, he realized with a horror, to pray for death—too late for anything, but this!
But in this place, this tomb of eternal night and terror, Jonah began to remember.
There was his home, a place called Gathhepher, in the land of Samaria. There was his father, whose name was Amittai. Jonah’s people were of the ten tribes of Israel that had settled in Samaria. From the time he was old enough to understand, Jonah knew the stories, of their father Abraham, of Israel’s captivity in the land of Egypt, of Moses and of Israel’s deliverance from Egypt, of the land God promised to Israel. He knew of Israel’s first king, David, and David’s son Solomon, and Solomon’s son Rehoboam. It was during the reign of Rehoboam that Israel was divided, the tribes of Judah and Benjamin remaining in the cities of Judah, and the other ten tribes spreading out into the land of Samaria.
Jonah knew, too, that he was different. For as long as he could remember, he had felt that way. Others did not understand him. Often he did not understand himself. As a boy he learned that others did not see things he saw, did not feel things he felt. At times he felt he was watching the people and the things of his world through eyes that were not his own, eyes that somehow not only saw, but, in seeing, also heard and felt and, most of all, understood. There were yearnings in Jonah’s heart that, for a time, he did not understand. Sometimes they frightened him. Often when his heart was stirred so, he would go off by himself, into the hills or out into the desert.
His name, he had been told, meant “dove.” Sometimes he felt his heart to be like a dove, taking wing he knew not where—and he must follow, to find the place where it lighted. (“And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest”—Psalm 55:6.) In his wanderings, seeking the resting places of his heart, Jonah often felt that he was not alone. Like the dove, its wings gently pattering against the window of his soul … a voice was calling him.
And then one day Jonah found the resting place of his heart. The Dove had alit in his soul. Then Jonah understood, the Dove was a Spirit, the Spirit was a Word, and the Word now had a new voice—Jonah’s.
Then Jonah knew he had the same Spirit of the great prophets of God, Elijah and Elisha, who had lived just before Jonah’s time. The secret to the prophet’s power, Jonah understood at last, was an opened window to his soul. The Dove could go in and out as He chose. And the prophet’s heart—every beat of it, every drop of blood in it—belonged to the Lord, the Living God.
Jonah was such as this. He loved the Lord with all his heart, all his mind. He would talk with the Lord, share his deepest feelings with the Lord, his closest friend, his beloved brother, as well as his Master. The Lord, too, would whisper His secrets to Jonah and share His heart. Like the prophets Elijah and Elisha, Jonah could speak for the Lord, because he knew the One whose Voice, whose Word, had found a resting place in Jonah’s heart. …
Jonah’s deep-sea tomb seemed to shudder. Something like weeds or giant fingers squeezed him and then released him, squeezed and released. Suddenly his memories were gone, and the icy terror of this place gripped his heart again. He was weak. His breaths came slowly, painfully. His skin burned. And constantly something was moving around him, swimming past him, or crawling over him. The horror, the panic, that closed over his heart was so real that he could feel its talons, and the pain sent spasms up to his throat. Suddenly he could not breathe at all. He felt his mind going blank, his body growing numb. …
He remembered the call. The word of the Lord had come, as it had come many times before. But this one … this one was so different: Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and speak against it, for their wickedness cries out against them to Me.
To Nineveh! To the heathen! That great, evil city in the kingdom of Assyria! And the Lord God … a God of mercy … to speak a warning to the heathen … to use His own holy name among them. … Did God Himself wish to blacken His own name among the heathen? Jonah’s heart belonged to his God. But this word … so confusing, so frightening. Was it God’s testing of Jonah’s heart, of his devotion?
Many times in the past, he knew, the Lord would speak to His own people, through one of His servants such as Jonah. And whenever God’s people listened to the word of the prophet and repented, God would spare them the punishment He had warned them of. Now what if God warned Nineveh of its destruction? Could they, like God’s own people Israel, heed the warning and repent? Would God spare them? Then all the world—the enemies of God and of God’s people—would know, and would tell their children forever, that God’s word did not come true!
At this command, “Go to Nineveh,” Jonah’s heart failed him. He could not. Though all the world be a liar, let God be true! Then Jonah was afraid. He tried to run, to flee from the place where he had known his God, where the Lord had spoken to Jonah so many times.
He found a ship bound for Tarsus in Cilicia, a land outside of Samaria. Jonah would cut himself off from God’s people, would separate himself from God, even, rather than be the one to mock the name of God in the earth.
But then that awful storm, the hand of God against that ship at sea. And Jonah knew he could not escape. And now there was only this, this dark, terrible place that was—that must be—worse by far than death.
