A runaway prophet on an angry sea,
A man who says, “I fear the Lord, the God of heaven”
Yet “rose to flee” from His presence.
And worried, terrified sailors with their own impersonal gods
“Arise, call out to your god!” they demand of the prophet
For their gods are failing them.
They refuse to still this storm, perhaps lack the ability altogether.
Perhaps don’t exist?
And the prophet confesses.
It is on his account the mighty tempest has endangered their nautical voyage.
His disobedience called for some action,
For God’s purpose is quite steadfast.
“Hurl me into the sea, then the sea will quiet down for you” the troublemaker proposes.
The sailors ignore him, row harder, believe harder
And the unthinkable happens.
“O Lord” they say.
“O Lord” yet again!
And finally, somewhat shakily and regretfully and peacefully all at once,
They hurl the prophet into the swirling mess
Of what is sure to be a watery grave.
“And the sea ceased from it’s raging.”
Men left stunned.
And the real miracle:
“Then the men feared the Lord exceedingly,
And they offered a sacrifice to the Lord
And made vows.”
They belong to Him.
He belongs to them.
The dead are brought to life
By whatever means He sees fit.
And the prophet continues to be gracefully pursued
By the One worthy of fear
Until he fears once again
And can truthfully say
“I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land.”
the great fish is at hand.