Greetje: New page: {{info}}The son of Amittai was old,
And his gray-bearded face was fold
On fold of furrows, from his brow
Down to his neck, as if a plow
Had carved and harrowed in his skin
(...

Greetje — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 12:12:36 GMT

New page: {{info}}The son of Amittai was old, And his gray-bearded face was fold On fold of furrows, from his brow Down to his neck, as if a plow Had carved and harrowed in his skin (...

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{{info}}The son of Amittai was old, And his gray-bearded face was fold On fold of furrows, from his brow Down to his neck, as if a plow Had carved and harrowed in his skin (Like conscience in the quest for sin) The lines of seven decades, but For one long, smooth and vivid cut Across his cheek, the famous scar, That others might have thought would mar Their countenance, but Jonah wore With quiet modesty, and bore As if it were a sign of grace, From lip to ear across his face. 

Now forty years had passed since he Had left Gath-Hepher, near the sea Of Chinnereth, and then returned, A different man. Once he had burned With fire and jealousy, because The word of God and all His laws Blazed like an all-consuming flame Of holy fury for the name Of Israel's God within his soul. Thus he had spoken of the bowl Of burning wrath that God had stored For Nineveh, and would be poured Someday, upon that wicked place, To wipe out the Assyrian race. But when the son of Amittai Came home from Nineveh, the cry Of his disfigured lips was not The same. The fire was just as hot, But now it seemed to melt instead Of boil, and burn a glowing red, Like coals beneath a crucible, To make the gold more beautiful.

At seventy he was a kind Of legend in the land. Behind The furrowed face and silver beard, And lacerated lips, appeared A man whose eyes were softer than The feathers of a dove, a man Whose heart seemed large enough for all The world, whose patience bore the gall Of brazen youth, and whose sweet tongue Gave songs to those who'd never sung.

And almost every evening when The sun went down, the bold young men, With dreams of speaking mightily For God, the sons of prophecy, Whose fathers knew Elisha, and Sat daily at his feet — this band Would gather in the garden of The one they called "the wounded dove," This Jonah, son of Amittai, And they would ask him questions, "Why?" And "How?" and "What?" and "When?" and "Where?" And he would lean back in his chair, And sometimes stare a long time toward The Western Sea, as if the Lord Had wisdom stored in some deep place About the treasures of his grace, Beyond the bounds of Israel. And then, as if he heard a bell To bring him back, the prophet would Take every question that he could, And tell them what he'd learned.

This night a daring lad, who spurned The usual decorum, raised His hand and said, "The Lord be praised, Good master, for the wisdom He Has given you. May I please be Permitted one small question here Before my elder brothers steer Us into deeper things?" The old Man smiled with tenderness, "Be bold Young man, perhaps the thing That you consider small will bring To light more truth than you expect. Great things are often the effect Of little cause: the leaves that hide The key to life are swept aside By breezes you can scarcely feel, And yet all heaven may reveal. Sometimes we learn not more but less, By crafting questions to impress. So, yes, young man, you may indeed Ask your small question here." "I plead Your pardon sir, if it seem trite: Would you recount for us the fight, When you received that scar across Your face?" The men were at a loss For what to say at this, and shocked. Did he not know that Jonah's pocked And scar-drawn face was not the yield Of triumph on a battlefield?

But Jonah, feeling for the boy, Replied, as if it were his joy To willingly recount the deed: "My lad, it was a fight indeed. But not the kind you might have thought. Some forty years ago I fought A fearsome foe — a foe that none Should ever fight at all, for one Can never win, nor ever does One have just cause, nor ever was A fault found in this foe, or chink In his bright armor. If you think My scar was given by some dread And awful enemy, who fled Defeated at my prophecy, You see a truth, but partially: The enemy awakened dread, It's true, but 'twas not he that fled."

The lad then said to Jonah, "How, Can such an enemy allow That you should live, if he is right, And cannot lose, and yet, despite All this, you fought?" "Well," Jonah said, "Because this enemy of dread And might did not count me his foe, Nor seek to take my life, although His blows were no less sharp than had He meant to kill." "But why," the lad Asked, with bewilderment, "Why would You fight, if he is always good, And did not count you as his foe? Was it because you didn't know?"

The son of Amittai sat still And silent in the garden, till The tears rolled down his furrowed face From all the memories of fear and grace. "I knew," he said. "I knew that he Was good. And that he did not see Me as his enemy. But when Unholy hatred rises, then A man must either die beneath The weight of conscience and the teeth Of truth, or by some fatal act Of treason, sign a deadly pact With blind absurdity, and make A foe out of his God, and take The wings of feigned escape to fly As far from God as such a lie Will let him fly, and there be found, Or die." The boy looked at the ground In Jonah's garden, fearful now To ask the obvious. Somehow Though, Jonah's face bid him Continue bravely with the grim Conclusion: "So You mean," he said, "The foe you fought, from whom you fled, And got that scar, was God?" "The Lord Commanded me to leave my sword, And go to Nineveh to preach The word of God, and there beseech That they repent. But I knew in My soul that if I went, He'd win Them to Himself, and all my zeal For holy wrath he would reveal As nothing but unholy hate. So, like a fool, I headed straight The other way — to Joppa by The sea. And there, with wings to fly Away from God I thought, I found A ship with open space and bound For Tarshish far beyond the eye Of God — so blind the mind to try And flee from God.

"And then he fought With me, and made the sea distraught With great upheaving waves and wind, That made the sailors ask who sinned, Then ordered by his sovereignty The dooming lot would fall to me. And finally when all else failed - Or so they thought — then they availed Themselves of one last hope. They threw Me in the sea."

"But, Jonah, you Are still alive," the boy replied. "How can a man survive the tide And depths and monsters of the sea?" "Because a great fish swallowed me." The boy sat with his lips agape. "The mouth of death was my escape. God sought me, as it were, in hell And swallowed me for three days' spell In acid, meant to cleanse my soul. From death to death, God's gracious goal Leads back to Nineveh and life. And on the way, as with a knife, One razor tooth slashed through my face And gave me this sweet sign of grace."

The evening now was overspent, And it was late. "Do not lament Your question, son. Of course, there's so Much more that you may want to know, But this will have to do tonight. Rest well, your God does all things right."

As we light Advent candle one Learn how the work of God is done. That there is fierce and stormy grace With wind and waves and mangled face, And sailors with condemning dice, And demons waiting sacrifice, And giant fish with slashing teeth, And gasping, acid graves beneath. Yet none of this is to destroy, But to restore the prophet's joy, And not his merely, but the throngs Of Nineveh will sing their songs. And Jonah, in the coming years, Will say with tender heart and tears, Along with each whom God will call, The price was high and worth it all. The pain of being loved by God Is great, so let us kiss the rod.

Jonah, Part 1 - Revision history

Greetje: New page: {{info}}The son of Amittai was old,And his gray-bearded face was foldOn fold of furrows, from his browDown to his neck, as if a plowHad carved and harrowed in his skin(...

Greetje: New page: {{info}}The son of Amittai was old,
And his gray-bearded face was fold
On fold of furrows, from his brow
Down to his neck, as if a plow
Had carved and harrowed in his skin
(...