I feel like Jonah in the belly of the whale ...

Today my dear friends Dorothy and Iris were admitted as Companions in the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross. I had the privilege of preaching! The lesson from Jonah and the story of the raising of Lazarus formed a rich counterpoint -- and gave me an opportunity to think about the Moby-Dick marathon from January 3 ...

Saturday before the Epiphany Jan. 5, 2008 Boston Chapter, SCHC
Jonah 2 Ephesians 6:10-20 John 11:17-27, 38-44

This week we attended the opening of the marathon reading of Moby-Dick at the Whaling Museum in New Bedford. It started with a lecture by a Melville scholar, who talked about themes in the novel that burst open the way Americans in 1850 understood conquest, environmental degradation, violence, bloodshed, the genocide of native Americans, race relations, white supremacy, sexuality. Who would have thought that Ishmael, clinging to Queequeg’s coffin, floating on that sea of destruction, would come to represent an America as a beloved community of diverse peoples from around the globe? Suffice it to say, it was quite a day, sitting there under the skeletons of two great whales, a group of strangers intently listening to a story 150 years old. What a curious lesson it is to read, on this day before Epiphany, this story of Jonah swallowed by the great fish, the leviathan. Jonah, sitting there in the belly of that fish, thinking new and deep thoughts he never could have imagined before. How can we imagine ourselves as Jonah, swallowed by some great fish beyond our control or comprehension? Look up, at the great ribs of the whale’s belly: with what words do we cry out to God? How is God answering us?

Being swallowed by a whale is a symbol of great isolation and loneliness – what a place for an enforced retreat! This image of a involuntary introspection stretches from pop culture to high culture. In the 1980s punk rockers sang, “I feel like Jonah in the belly of the whale,” lamenting a lost love:

somewhere the sun is shining
on this world but not for me
two lovers hearts are rising
ohh How long before I'm free

Or, more seriously, the poem “Jonah” by May Sarton:

I come back from the belly of the whale
Bruised from the struggle with a living wall,
Drowned in a breathing dark, a huge heart-beat
That jolted helpless hands and useless feet,

Yet know it was not death, that vital warm,
Nor did the monster wish me any harm;
Only the prisoning was hard to bear
And three-weeks' need to burst back into air . .

Slowly the drowned self must be strangled free
And lifted whole out of that inmost sea,
To lie newborn under compassionate sky,
As fragile as a babe, with welling eye.

Do not be anxious, for now all is well,
The sojourn over in that fluid Hell,
My heart is nourished on no more than air,
Since every breath I draw is answered prayer.

Perhaps you, dear sisters and Companions, feel akin to Jonah, after your long sojourn of discernment, prayer, testing the Spirit, waiting for this day of Admission to the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross..

Now, don’t get your hopes up. We as a Society are, collectively, no where near as colorful characters as Jonah. Committed as we are to social justice, we do share with Jonah the frustration that people just don’t listen to us (!), whether our issues are the trafficking of women and men or global climate change, in our day, or the issues of child labor, mine safety, civil rights or the war in the Philippines which were championed by Companions of 100 years ago. You, dear sisters, now share with us, in our commitment to social justice, the burden of Jonah, blessed (or cursed) with a God-given prophecy which we proclaim tirelessly to people who just won’t listen (!).

But, take heart, and hear again these words of May Sarton:

Do not be anxious, for now all is well,
The sojourn over in that fluid Hell,
My heart is nourished on no more than air,
Since every breath I draw is answered prayer.

You have also entered a Society of women dedicated to prayer, and we are ever enriched by the prayers you bring to our collective. At least while Jonah was in the belly of the whale he learned to pray, to be still, to be humble, to give thanks – I realize that once he was spit up on again onto the earth he resumed his stubborn and self-righteous ways -- but at least there, on that forced retreat, he was still enough to hear the voice of God. Like Lazarus, Jesus’ dear friend dead three days, Jonah came to know that even in our deaths God reaches out to us, God saves us, delivers us, has the power to spit us back out onto dry land, that God loves us nonetheless, even if, once spit out, we don’t always behave as well as we could. Spit back out, and breathing air, May Sarton reminds us, every breath we draw is answered prayer.

St. Paul reminds us that as Christians we are committed to a great struggle, against the forces of darkness which want to overcome the light and truth which is God, the light and truth we celebrate in this holy season of Christmas and Epiphany. Paul reminds us , as we engage in this struggle, that we are to put on the armor of God and the helmet of salvation. We are to take up the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word – the Word, which St. John reminds us, is made flesh, and lives among us. But beneath all of that, holding us up, filling us, sustaining us, is breath, the breath of prayer, the prayer that marks this Society, into which we today welcome you, as beloved sisters, Companions, and friends.