Preaching like a Good Samaritan

Review and Expositor, 90 (1993)

Jonah's assistance. And who knows? Might it be that Jonah doubted his own
abilities to carry forth the message from God; from the sound of it, he certainly
wasn't much of a public speaker!
God held out a task for Jonah; the task was clear. Jonah didn't trust God.
Sometimes we don't either. Sometimes, we don't trust that God did in fact know
what he was doing when he placed us in this particular church or ministry, with
this particular people. We don't trust that God sees beyond the immediate
circumstances, even the conflict or the crisis or discouragement, and will see us
through to the other side. Some days, we just don't trust that God can and will
use us to work redemption and healing in a broken world, and will give us the
strength and the words we need. Too easily we forget that the God who calls us
is the God who desires for us, our very best, and wants for us, joy.
Jonah chose not to trust, that is, until he was plummeted into the depths of the
sea. From the belly of a fish, he lifts a prayer of trust. There, he remembers:
"But thou hast brought up my life from the pit, O Lord my God ... Salvation is
from the Lord" (Chapter 2:6,9). Sometimes I, too, find myself in the depths
before I look up to remember God's steadfast, trustworthy love; to remember
that the task before me is much more than a task—it is grace upon my life; that
proclamation is more than words—it is a sign of God's Spirit alive and moving in
me, around me, for the redemption of the world.
There in the darkness, Jonah remembered;
At least for the moment.

IV.

You might think Jonah would be a changed man after such a harrowing, near-
death experience and such a miraculous rescue. You might think he would see
the error of his ways and decide to trust God's plan after all. Not so—in spite of
his beautiful prayer from the belly of the fish. Oh, he decided to obey all right:
when the call came a second time, Jonah went to Nineveh. But he went stomping
his feet and muttering under his breath the whole way. He had a word to
proclaim and, by golly, he would proclaim it. (In fact, he'd do just about
anything to avoid ever seeing inside the belly of a fish again!) But he didn't have
to be happy about it. And he wasn't.
Jonah's attitude is evidence of his refusal to identify with the people to whom
he was sent. Perhaps if he had acknowledged his own need for repentance, his
own need for God's grace, the task would not have been such a chore. He would
have seen it for the privilege that it was.
Some days we preachers, we ministers in general, get carried away with this
business of being "set apart," actually convincing ourselves that we are set apart
from many of the sins and needs to which we preach. Are we so arrogant to
believe, with Jonah, that we are better than the Ninevites? Or have we bought
the myth of the pedestal on which we have been placed? It is a subtle seduction,
that pedestal, but to buy into it is not only blasphemous and idolatrous, it is a
dangerous set-up for a great and far-reaching fall. Listen, my friends, we must

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not fool ourselves. When Jesus Christ the Lord said he came to preach to the
poor, to release the captives, to restore sight to the blind and to free the
downtrodden, he wasn't just talking about the people in your congregation. He
was talking about you—and me, about our grief, our broken hearts and broken
dreams, about our lack of vision, our weariness, the sins that enslave us. And
until we can hear that redemptive word of the Lord for us, we will always resent
the task of carrying it to anyone else. When we cannot hear the Word for
ourselves, proclamation is reduced to semantics—religion without a heart.
Watch Jonah; listen to his words. Much of the time, he says therightthings:
explaining to the sailors that he serves the Lord God of heaven—Creator of the
sea and the dry land, offering praise in a beautiful prayer, proclaiming the
specified words of judgment to the Ninevites. But, as James Limburg has said,
Jonah's religion was only "word-deep".2 Look at the Ninevites—even the sailors,
the "heathen," do more than talk about religion; they act, they pray, they repent.
They change. Truth be known, for those of us who trade in words, word-deep
religion can be a real trap. The words spill out, sometimes beautifully
articulated, but some days, they can't touch us, can't heal us. Why, some
Sundays, we've been working all night just to put them together! It's all we can
do to get them said; how can they reach our hearts?
Is there a word from the Lord for the proclaimers? Are we too busy about our
own agendas, or even about the business of doing ministry, to recognize our need,
and receive the comforting, healing, confronting Word of the Lord for our own
living? Some days, we are. Some days, I am. It's no wonder we get so empty, so
tired — depressed.

V.

What's missing? Bottom line, what's missing in Jonah's story, in Jonah's heart,
is missing some days in ours, too—compassion. Jonah was called to preach to the
enemy. Let's face it; some days, we are too. Jonah couldn't care less about the
enemy. How about us? "The enemy" takes a variety of interesting shapes and
forms in the modern congregation, ranging from the tyranny of the apathetic
who stifle any real growth or outreach, to the power-brokers whose goal is to
control, to the old guard who will not change, to the very real expectations of
some that we become everything for everyone, to the unexpected crises that push
at one's schedule and cut into much needed time off, to direct confrontations
over personality, control, theology, denominational controversies, or the color of
the carpet in the new church parlor. The enemy may or may not be out to
intentionally undermine one's personhood or ministry, yet the enemy is
unavoidable, and surprisingly powerful. We may feel strong in several areas,
but an attack in a weak spot leaves us on the ground, with the wind and almost
any semblance of compassion knocked clean out of us. To these folks, too, we
are called, Sunday after Sunday, to proclaim the Good News, the very best of
news. But, some days, lying on the ground looking up, it can be pretty hard to
care—easier to pout, to blame, to run.

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