Jonah: Prayer of Despair

Jonah 2:1-9

Then Jonah prayed to the Lord his God from the belly of the fish, saying, “I called to the Lord out of my distress, and he answered me; out of the belly of Sheol I cried, and you heard my voice. You cast me into the deep, into the heart of the seas, and the flood surrounded me; all your waves and your billows passed over me. Then I said, ‘I am driven away from your sight; how shall I look again upon your holy temple?’ The waters closed in over me; the deep surrounded me; weeds were wrapped around my head at the roots of the mountains. I went down to the land whose bars closed upon me forever; yet you brought up my life from the Pit, O Lord my God. As my life was ebbing away, I remembered the Lord; and my prayer came to you, into your holy temple. Those who worship vain idols forsake their true loyalty. But I with the voice of thanksgiving will sacrifice to you; what I have vowed I will pay. Deliverance belongs to the Lord!”

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First of all, it’s meaningful to see Jonah’s prayer as one about thanksgiving as much as it is about despair. Oddly enough, Jonah sees his place in the belly of that fish as a sign of God’s deliverance. What most of us would imagine as a great source of despair – being swallowed by a large fish and living in its gut for three days – was ultimately seen as a sign of his rescue, for Jonah.

His real fear … the great despair … to which he refers in the prayer we just heard, actually took place on the ship and in the storm that landed him in the sea in the first place. I’ve talked before about what a source of fear and punishment the sea was for ancient people – and for those in Jesus’ day, too. The sea and its depths were as unknown as outer space is – or has been – for us. Without means to deep sea dive, snorkel, or see beyond the depths to which even the best swimmer might swim on a single breath’s worth of air, what lived and moved beneath the surface of the sea was left to the imagination – and that was terrifying. (I’d still much rather swim in a pool than a pond, to be honest.)

And not only that, Jonah was under the impression that it was his own disobedience that caused the storm and upset the crew of the ship on which he had stowed away, and that got him tossed overboard into the deadly waters that closed over him, that surrounded him with weeds and darkness, until his life ebbed away with the waves that engulfed and threatened him.

In those moments Jonah sounds as desperate as Jesus on the Cross. He talks about being removed from the home and presence of God – the Temple in Jerusalem – where God was believed to live and move and breathe. He laments the prospect of never getting back there. And Jonah wails about the Sea, he bemoans the Pit, and he cries over Sheol – all expressions of utter lostness, insurmountable distance from the Divine, despair upon despair upon despair.

It reminds me of Jesus, dying on the cross, when he cries, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” The separation, the distance and the lostness sound familiar. And I’m always struck by the way Walt Wangerin describes that moment, which we’ll hear again on Good Friday. He calls it “obliteration,” says, “not even God was there,” imagines that Jesus had been “blotted out of the book of life,” and that “the universe was silenced” by Christ’s cry of despair.

So, as we gather on this last of our Wednesday worship services inspired by the prayers of our ancestors … with Holy Week on the horizon … as we wonder about what it means to pray while in the throes of despair … we are in good company. Not just that of Jonah, but of Jesus, too.

And, I want our feelings of despair – and our invitation to pray our way with and through that desperation – to serve as an expression of hope and as some inkling of the faith that may seem missing in our most desperate moments... days… seasons… whatever.

When the diagnosis seems like you’ve been plunged into the depths of the sea…

When the grief feels like you’ve been swallowed up and carried far from anything safe, or sure, or like home…

When the pain and suffering literally hurts, burns, and stings like Sheol…

When the fear, frustration, and stubbornness of whatever it is that just won’t give feels as insurmountable as the highest mountain or as deep as the darkest pit...

When the unknown wraps itself around your heart of hearts like so many weeds and refuses to relent…

It may help to know – hard as it is may be to see or celebrate in the moment – what Jonah trusted: that the same sea that caused his despair in the first place was also home to the fish that delivered him to dry land, in the end.

I don’t mean for this to sound like a platitude. I’m not implying that God gives us our troubles as a test of faith. I’m certainly not saying our despair is unfounded or unfaithful, or pretending that we don’t have a right to our desperation when it comes.

In fact, and this may sound harsh – and hard to hear or believe, coming from your Pastor – and I could be wrong. But I kind of think that if you haven’t found reason to despair at certain times in your life – if you haven’t lost or left your faith or felt lost or left by your faith or by our God at some point – maybe you’re just better than the rest of us; maybe you’re not watching the news; or maybe you’re not living in the same reality as so many of the rest of us.

And I’m fairly certain that – no matter how great your faith, how deep your trust – if it hasn’t happened to you yet, despair will find you. And you’ll feel left with nothing but the desire and need to try to pray your way out of it. And sometimes that kind of despair is exactly how, where, and when God shows up for us. In the emptiness. In the void. In the doubt and fear and uncertainty we’re running from or feel so self-righteously indignant about in those moments when we’ve given up, chucked it all, thrown in the towel, felt like our life, our purpose, our hope is ebbing away into oblivion.

And that kind of desperation is sad and scary, for sure. Not sinful, mind you. But sad and scary and lonely, as can be.

So tonight, let’s acknowledge the despair that has found us – or that will one day. Let’s not be afraid to give it a voice, like Jonah did and like Jesus does, too. And let’s be as patient as we are able, as faithful as God allows, and let’s let love hold us, until hope – however great or small – returns by the grace of God.

Because it’s also worth knowing that when Jesus cried “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” He was quoting Psalm 22. He knew his scripture, remember. So, in the depths of his despair, he was praying the prayers of his ancestors, much like we’ve been trying to do. And it’s believed Jesus latched onto that particular Psalm because he knew it ended with the kind of hope he was so desperately clinging to – or trying to find.

That Psalm starts with “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”; it begins with words of groaning, mockery, and sneering … it starts with feeling despised and scorned and in need of rescue (just like Jonah) … it points to Jesus feeling poured out like water, bones out of joint, a heart melting in his chest, and being layed out like the dust of death, surrounded by dogs and bulls and evildoers, and more …

But that Psalm – that prayer - ends, in spite of all that, with a request for – with hope that – with belief in – God’s capacity and desire for rescue. Hope for a God who will deliver and be worthy of praise. Trust in a God who does not despise… neglect… ignore… or hide.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Though I know you won’t forever!

May our prayers be as desperate and despairing; as honest and hopeless; as angry and afraid and as overwhelmed and underwater as we feel more often than we wish was true. And because of that – may they also be tinged with – and leave plenty of room – for God’s rescue to find us, for God’s love to win the day, for God’s grace to lead us to the dry land of our deliverance.

Amen

Love is Not Blind

John 9:1-41

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath.” But others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” His parents answered, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

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I’m not proud of it, but I binge-watched two-and-a-half seasons of the Netflix reality show “Love is Blind” over the course of two or three days, following my emergency gall bladder surgery in September. Again, I’m not proud. I confess. I repent. And I blame the pain meds.

The premise of this waste of time is that men and women go on literal blind dates, where they spend a period of time dating one another behind walls and closed doors, in private rooms. They sit in pods and have all manner of discussion about all manner of things and decide without ever seeing each other, that they are in love, or not. During all of this, the men live in one shared space and the women in another. So, there’s competition and gossip and lies and drama. Eventually, there are marriage proposals and then face-to-face meetings those who get engaged. Then the lucky, newly-engaged couples travel together for a group romantic getaway where there is lots of sunshine, beaches, swimsuits, hot tubs, and the like. And more competition, in-fighting, gossip, lies, and drama, of course.

All of this is build-up to each couple’s potential wedding day, the outcome of which is never known by anyone, for certain, until they reach the altar, dressed in tuxedos, wedding gowns and before very real pastors, priests, rabbis, and justices of the peace – according to their faith tradition, or lack thereof. Neither the viewer, nor the potential brides or the prospective grooms or their families, know for sure … until the very last moment … if the betrothed are going to say “I do.” Of course, the drama really comes when one of the two says “No” or “I Can’t” or “I Don’t” to their partner’s hopeful expression of love and commitment.

It’s terrible – once the meds wore off, the pain was gone, and I was on the mend, I didn’t even bother to finish that third season. It’s one of the many signs of the decline of western civilization, I’m sure. It’s one of many reasons, I suspect, that, if there is intelligent life on other planets, they’ve decidedly NOT bothered to make contact. All of this is mostly confession and repentance, but I’ll come back to it – however briefly – in a minute.

But first, this miracle story, which is a doozy … and a well-known one at that … the spit, the dirt, the mud pie – and this guy who’d been blind his whole life – who gets his eyesight back. And there are so many others … miracle stories, I mean, in Scripture: the little girl who gets up from a death-bed nap; Simon Peter’s mother-in-law, whose fever breaks; the demons who leave from that guy in the synagogue; the woman who had been hemorrhaging for years, the leper who’s made clean, and so on.

And you can’t help but wonder about all those people – in Jesus’ day and in our own – whose healing never comes: the demon that never leaves; the fever that never breaks; the blindness that never goes away, the cancer, the diabetes, the dying that seem to win the day.

And because of all that – because so many of us go without the miracles we long for – I can’t help but believe Jesus’ willingness and ability to heal doesn’t have as much to do with ridding people or the world of sickness as much as we’d like to believe or pretend. Just like the Pharisees, we get caught up in the “who, what, how, when, and where” of what Jesus did for this blind guy and we ignore or don’t care so much about what Jesus tells us – right at the beginning of it all – about the WHY of what he had done that day.

This guy had been born blind, remember. And to his parents, to his neighbors, to the Pharisees, certainly, and even to the blind guy himself, that meant he was sinful in some way. As we know, medical science back in the day wasn’t what it is for us now – so many generations later. When someone was sick or even just different somehow – whether it was leprosy, leukemia or whatever it is that makes a lame person unable to walk – their difference was understood to be proof that they were being judged by God and punished, then, for some kind of sin.

You can hear it in the disciples’ question to Jesus, before the healing occurs: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” (Apparently, on top of all the rest, your physical diseases and differences could also be the result of another person’s sins, as well as your own.) But Jesus doesn’t break out the medical books, give the man an eye exam, make a diagnosis, or chart a treatment plan. He says, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” (Not only does this imply that there’s nothing wrong with being blind, but it lets us know God was up to something more than just a magic trick.)

So, Jesus gets to the business of doing “God’s works,” by way of a little mud and some spit. And if “miracle” means supernatural, irrational, unexpected, unexplainable – or something like that – here is where the real miracle of this morning’s Gospel occurs. The miracle of what God accomplishes through Jesus, not just for the blind man on the roadside that day so many years ago, but for every one of us – and our neighbors out there in the world, too – isn’t so much that God cures blindness; it’s that the eyes of those who can already see are opened to a God who loves without measure and promises eternal life, on this side of Heaven.

What the disciples, the Pharisees, the blind man and his family, friends and neighbors were meant to witness that day wasn’t just a physical healing. The real joy for this man who once was blind but now could see, wasn’t that he could throw away his walking stick or go get a driver’s license. The real miracle and true joy for the blind man who received his sight was that God transformed what had been called Sin, into forgiveness; God turned judgment into freedom; God made what was supposedly broken, whole; God made one who was unworthy, worthy – and loved and liberated and allowed to experience the fullness of the Kingdom, just like the rest of his friends, family, neighbors.

And that’s supposed to be our miracle, too.

The miracle of Jesus Christ is that God’s grace is big enough for all people – and especially for the sick, sinful, broken, needy, or just plain DIFFERENT by the standards of the world. That’s miraculously good news for the gay or trans kids too many pretend are sinful or broken for being born a certain way. This is good news for Jewish people in our day and age, being targeted and terrorized – still and yet again – by a world that can’t appreciate their status as God’s children. This is the Gospel for anyone who faces bigotry, discrimination, exclusion, or injustice because they don’t measure up, fit the mold, or walk, talk, live, move, or breathe like the masses – or to the liking of the powers that be.

What the world calls unworthy, God claims and cherishes. What the world can’t overlook, God forgives. What the world considers unlovable, God loves. What the world nails to a cross, God raises from the dead.

The most amazing miracle is that God’s love is most decidedly NOT blind. God sees all of us from the inside out – the broken and the beautiful; the sinful and the sacred; the holy and the horrible – and God loves us, still … and always … and commands us to do the same for one another, in the name of Jesus. And it’s no small miracle when we get it right.

Amen