Day 1
Beyond my lines
But the Lord said, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals” (Jonah 4:10-11)?
Some time ago, driving on a small neighborhood street, I came upon a most heart-wrenching scene. A squirrel lay dead in the middle of the road, apparently run over by a passing vehicle. In my neighborhood as in many others, this is not, unfortunately, an uncommon scene in the ongoing conflict between "progress" and nature.
What was unusual about the scene, though, was the presence of another squirrel hovering over the poor broken body of its dead companion. Head down, paws clasped, it stood, immobile, with the most hauntingly woebegone expression I have ever seen in an animal.
As I slowly approached it did not budge, even as I crossed over to the other lane so as not to add to the tragedy. My last glimpse through a tear-fogged scan of my rearview mirror showed the creature lost in uninterrupted mourning.
The scene haunted my mind for days. The combination of woe, vulnerability, and helplessness was a stark picture of loss, and grief and despair—jolting—because I hadn't expected its intensity in these small creatures.
Of course, like many others, I have experienced grief at the loss of a pet; and my native sympathies are always stirred by stories of harm to any one of God's creatures. But I can't honestly say I had spent more than a passing thought, or had experienced more than a vague sense of sadness at the numerous instances of "roadkill" I had encountered before.
My sudden awareness of "squirrel-grief" challenged me to think of all the areas where I am inert to the pain and need of others. Of course, I am fully in tune with my own circles, but how far am I willing to extend?
Obviously, I am not called to shoulder the pain of the whole world. Jesus—the Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3 - NKJV), the Sustainer of all things (Hebrews 1:3) has already done that. But am I so wrapped up in only what concerns me that I cruise through life—at worst uncaring—at best sparing only a passing thought or a vague sense of sadness at the "roadkill" around me?
God gave the prophet Jonah an object lesson about this very way of thinking. In the midst of the prophet’s sulky fit over a dead plant, God reproved him for his warped priorities.
God had sent the prophet to Nineveh, the capital of the ancient world power, Assyria, to warn them that He would judge the city unless the people turned from evil and violence.
But Jonah hated the ruthless Assyrians and found the assignment completely objectionable.
From his perspective, Nineveh was undeserving of God's compassion. He'd be fine if God destroyed them with no warning. But in “battling” with God over the assignment, the reluctant prophet had painfully discovered he could not outrun God.
He had found that not even the vast ocean was beyond the reach of "the Lord, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land” (Jonah 1:9). So he finally obeyed. But he became angry at the outcome of his mission when God showed mercy to Nineveh.
In his anger the prophet retreated to a place east of the city (Jonah 4:5) and took shade from the scorching heat under a leafy plant God had provided. But when God caused the plant to wither, and the heat became unbearable, Jonah became so angry he wished he were dead (Jonah 4:9). God challenged his attitude:
The Lord said, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals” (Jonah 4:10-11)?
I don't believe the greater lesson in that reproof is much about the plant. It was Jonah's outlook that God corrected. Everything—from his animosity towards the Assyrians, to his temper tantrum about the plant—was about Jonah. His likes and dislikes, his reasoning, his sense of justice, his outrage, his comfort.
It's not that God wanted Jonah, or us to neglect personal affairs or live "spartan" lifestyles. Scripture is full of instruction about wisdom, and prudence, and Scripture clearly states that God...richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment (1 Timothy 6:17). But when we become so wrapped up in our own views, our own boundary lines, our own comforts, our own agendas that we cannot see God's greater horizons, then our priorities may need some adjustment.
Jonah saw the Assyrians as "the contemptible enemy"—God saw them as lost and disoriented souls. That challenges me to think of how I view the world. Where might I, consciously or unconsciously, use labels to justify animosity, indifference, inertia? What will it take for me to recognize my "mere squirrel" mindset, and understand that for all humanity, “If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
C.S. Lewis wrote, “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal.... But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit..." (C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory).
Yet, how influenced am I to look through lenses of human "lumping" at "competing powers," "third world", "refugees," "immigrants...?" The very ones that Jesus calls "the harvest field?"
God, open our eyes to see how we can minister in Your harvest! Thank You for the lessons You teach us from dead plants. And dead squirrels.
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