Jonah takes a trip

 

A drawing given to us by an artist friend got me thinking and wanting to know a bit more about the subject – Jonah.

Michael's drawing itself is curious – it's a drawing of the act of drawing, in which the observer/creator himself is playing a part, his hand occupying a large area of the paper as it produces the rough waves – even to the extent of the nib of his pen giving shape to the jaws of the devouring fish.

At which point (no doubt like Jonah himself) I begin to feel a bit dizzy, tossed between the intriguing ancient story, the immediacy of the event with its storm and terrifying drastic action, the observation of the artist and my own fear as I imagine the scene – all the while conscious that the whole episode has been, and is actually being, made up.

Having read it up, I realised it really is quite a story – one rich in lessons about obedience and disobedience, mercy and justice, repentance and compassion, weakness and power, the predictable and the totally unexpected... its morals so well known, well drawn out and turned to down the centuries.

And still relevant.

But drawn in by this drawing, writing my poem like Michael drew his drawing, I found myself interested in and focusing on the man – rather than the prophet – himself.

Jonah Takes a Trip

 

We live in difficult times.

Horrible places and evil men.

Who needs God to tell them?

Not me – I don’t need to be told

to go to some godforsaken place

to sort things out. No that would be asking

for serious trouble

 

so off I go in the other direction

getting the hell out of it.

But things went seriously wrong

at sea – everything slipping

in the storm they had to let stuff go.

Me – I crashed out down below

till the boss woke me up

 

come and do something useful

he said you could even pray.

OK perhaps but then they decided

it was all my fault – weird I thought

the rules of this game I didn’t get

so couldn’t begin to play.

Of course I lost.

 

So who on earth was I then

where was I from and what had I done?

Things were turning ugly.

I came clean and began to explain

I was on the run and disobeying

doing wrong escaping orders –

well that did it –

 

you may as well chuck me out

I told them. Obviously

it was me that was the problem.

They tried to help but nothing worked

so there was nothing for it

but for them to go ahead

and overboard I went.

 

I don’t know what happened next

while I was somewhere else

dreaming. I was in a monster’s guts

for God knows how long begging

Get Me Out Of Here – I’ll do

anything to be myself once more.

whoever whatever that is

 

then a belch and I woke up in daylight

on dry land like a little boy

I did what I was told. Life’s going to be hard

yes bad places and bad men just as I said

though they may get away with it.

It’s not fair life’s not fair

like that game I told you

 

they were going to get away

with it again I knew they said

they were sorry. It got to me

those difficult times. I watched and

waited – losing my rag almost

time to call it a day – game over.

Well after a while

 

I chilled out you know

you don’t have to take everything

on board with all those nightmares

in fish stinky dark in baking sun and

trips with giant veggies worms and

angry bosses who think they know

so much better than you.

 

But that was all a long time ago.

Now I don’t do any trips

not even fishing – just stay at home

minding my business. I ain’t

going nowhere keeping away from the sea

and digging my garden. To be honest

I’m still claustrophobic.

We're never told what happened in the end.

I don't mean to trivialise or minimise Jonah in my last verse; I just wanted to return to his humanity.

To try to understand a bit how this likeable man, who'd have almost certainly suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, might have felt up to, during and after that near-drowning time.

To be sure, he was a prophet who turned out to have the power to turn an entire city around.

But at the same time here's a man with a tendency to run away from trouble – just like you and me. Me, at least.

Well, after all that, I suggest that the man, if not the prophet, managed to salvage a sense of humour.

I hope so anyway.