What about the Easter Bunny?

 In this seventh and final book in my Erik series, Erik wrestles with how to properly celebrate Easter. Are chocolate bunnies and Easter baskets displeasing to Jesus? Or does having a good time with family and friends please Jesus. (This book has yet to be published and can only be found here.)

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

I dip a hard-boiled egg in red dye and swirl the shell in purple. “Wow!” Chuck says. “That looks way better than the orange egg.”

Todd holds two decorated eggs against his eyes, pretending they are fancy glasses. “I look cool!”

Right in the middle of all the fun, a terrible thought strikes me and I say, “I wonder if it’s bad to celebrate Easter by dying eggs since there are no Easter eggs in the Bible?”

Chuck looks worried, “I hope not.” 

Todd rolls his eyes. “Let’s go see your new bunny!” 

While we’re petting Jack I remember something else. “There’s nothing about an Easter bunny in the Bible story. The only animal in the story I can think of is the donkey Jesus rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.”

The whole time we play outside, we talk about how God feels about Easter stuff that isn’t in the Bible . . . like Easter baskets. Chuck and I worry God won’t like it. Todd says Easter eggs and the Easter bunny are in the Bible. My eyes meet Chuck’s.

When we walk past the Easter lily on Mom’s dinning room table and I say, “No Easter lilies in the Bible story.” I pinch my nose shut so I won’t accidently celebrate by smelling the lily. Chuck holds his nose, too.

Todd leans over and sucks in a deep breath. I’m shocked. Sometimes I think Todd isn’t a very good Christian.

Later, we drag our sleeping bags to the middle of the family room floor for a

Good Friday sleepover. “Want to see what the true Easter story says?” I ask. I expect Chuck will say yes, but I’m surprised when Todd does.

We huddle around my Bible and read about Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey colt no one has ever ridden before. Crowds of common people wave palm branches (not lilies) and spread robes on the road for Jesus to ride over. They shout “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” They plan to crown Jesus king.

But it doesn’t happen.

Instead, a week later while Jesus is praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, one of his best friends leads a bunch of soldiers and people with swords and clubs and torches to find him. When Jesus steps forward and says, “I AM” to prove he is God, just that one powerful word knocks the whole crowd flat to the ground. Even though Jesus has already told the soldiers who he is, Judas kisses Jesus to identify him. Jesus doesn’t even try to get away.

For the rest of the night, leaders of both the Jews and gentiles mistreat Jesus. They spit on him, hit him, beat him with clubs and make fun of him. Church leaders sentence Jesus to death – even though he never committed a single sin in his whole life!

Another one of Jesus’ best friends, Peter, denies he even knows Jesus! Can you imagine how alone Jesus feels?

When it’s almost morning, soldiers take Jesus to the governor for one last chance. But when Governor Pilate offers to free him, the common people who waved palm branches at him just the week before chant, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

So Pilate shrugs, “Okay, fine. Kill him if that’s what you want.”

Soldiers nail Jesus’ hands and feet to a cross and he hangs with criminals on either side of him. Actual criminals! And Jesus never did anything wrong in his whole life.

The very moment Jesus dies the world goes as dark as midnight and the biggest earthquake ever shakes the whole earth. It splits huge boulders and rips the four-inch-thick curtain hanging in the temple straight down the middle.

Todd interrupts the story. “Even the earth knows Jesus is God! That’s the coolest!” 

I look at Chuck and wink. “That’s not the coolest,” I say. “Jesus makes himself come alive and rises from the dead. An angel who shines like lightning rolls the stone away from the tomb to prove Jesus is gone and the tough soldiers guarding his grave are so scared they faint like sissies.”

Todd says, “Wow! Jesus comes alive?! That’s the coolest part!”

“Not yet,” I say. “The coolest part is – he is still alive and forgives our sins.”

That should make us happy, but Chuck says, “I didn’t see any eggs or baskets or bunnies. None of the ways we celebrate Easter are in the Bible.” We all stop smiling.

Mom pokes her head in the door and flips off the light. “Bed time, boys!”  We crawl into our sleeping bags.

“After everything Jesus did, I don’t want to celebrate Easter wrong.” Todd has tears in his voice. Learning more about Jesus changed him.

“Maybe what we just did is celebrating the right way.” I say. “We read the Bible

and remembered Jesus. Easter is all about Jesus.”

“I’m thankful for Jesus,” Chuck says.

“Me too,” Todd whispers.

“Loving Jesus is the best way to celebrate Easter,” I assure them.

“But is it wrong to dye eggs and hunt for baskets?” Todd asks.

Guess who wakes us up the next morning? The Easter bunny! (It’s really my dad

wearing a bunny suit.) He gives us jelly beans and Peeps, but says we can’t eat them till after dinner. We forget it might be wrong to have fun with the Easter Bunny since he’s not in the Bible.

We pile into the car and go to the big Saturday-before-Easter egg hunt at the park. We are having a fantastic time when suddenly I shout, “I’ve got it!” and my friends come running.

“As long as we remember the true meaning of Easter, there’s nothing wrong with following Easter customs,” I tell them. “We’re having fun, and Jesus wants us to enjoy family and friends.” 

“So decorated eggs are okay?” Chuck asks.

“And chocolate bunnies?” Todd adds.

 “Yes. And I can’t wait to hunt for my basket early Easter Sunday morning!” I run and do a back flip. “And I know what we’ll do after that!”

“Meet at church and really celebrate Easter,” we all shout together.

           

­­­*****

Levy, David M., The Tabernacle, Shadows of the Messiah, Bellmawr, NJ, The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry, Inc., 1993

Lawrence, John L., The Six Trials of Christ, Portland, Oregon, Know Your Bible Hour, 1977

Jonah: A Follow the Leader Skit

This is an interactive Jonah story for use with a Sunday School class or your own children. 

One person reads the story aloud, another pantomimes

the instructions written in parenthesis and students follow.

God sent Jonah to Nineveh (Point into the distance.) to warn the people (Shake your finger.) of that huge city to repent (Place palms together in prayer.) and change their wicked ways (Wiggle fingers atop your heads like horns.) or die (Pretend to stab your heart.)

But Jonah did not want to go. (Cross your arms, shake your head, and frown.) He boarded a ship (Grab two oars and row.) traveling the opposite direction. (Look back over your shoulder toward Nineveh and frown. Then look ahead again and keep rowing.) He climbed down into the hold to take a nap. (Place your palms together, lay your head on them and close your eyes in sleep.)

God did not like that. (Put your hands on your hips and look angry.) He flung a strong wind over the sea (Make a throwing motion.) nearly sinking Jonah’s ship. (Sink slowly to the floor, looking desperate.)

In order to save their own lives (Look worried, tremble and point at yourself.) the sailors on the ship with Jonah tossed him into the sea. (Grab an imaginary Jonah and toss him overboard.) The storm stopped immediately. (Cover your mouth with your hands and look around in round-eyed shock and awe.)

Jonah sank deep into the sea (Pinch your nose and sink to the floor.) and a big fish swam up (Hold your arms behind you as fins and sway through the water.) and swallowed him whole. (Open your mouth wide and gobble up Jonah.)

For three days (Hold up three fingers.) and three nights (Hold up three fingers on the other hand.) Jonah prayed for help. (Put your hands together in prayer.)

Finally, (Wipe your hand across your forehead in a Whew! motion.) God told the fish to spit him out. (Put both hands around your throat and pretend to gag and spit.)

Jonah was so happy. (Jump around laughing and praising.) He walked all the way to Nineveh. (Walk in place.) He walked for many, many days. (Slump your shoulders in exhaustion and keep walking.) When he arrived in Nineveh, he warned the people to ask God for forgiveness and stop sinning. (Shake your finger sternly.)

And they did! (Fall to your knees and lift your hands in prayer.)

God forgave them and spared thousands of lives. (Leap around celebrating.)

The Roman Centurion's Son

An Easter story

© 2013 Jeannie St. John Taylor

The details about Roman society as well as the story and facts about Jesus are accurate. Quintus is fictional.

  

Nobody was stronger or braver than Qunitus’ dad. One hundred Roman soldiers obeyed his every command. If he told them to build a siege tower twenty houses tall, they did it. If he instructed them to crush a wall with an iron battering ram, it happened. He wore red under his heavy armor and never left the house without a dagger and a sword.

Quintus wanted to be just like him. That’s why Quintus followed him everywhere. And that’s how the boy met Jesus.

Quintus squatted on a boulder beside the road that drifted down the Mount of

Olives. Whispered rumors had tipped off his father that a man who claimed to be the Jewish Messiah planed to cause a riot during Passover. So Dad led soldiers carrying heavy shields and javelins to this spot to wait. And Quintus followed. Now he watched his father standing, feet wide apart and hands gripping a sword in front of him. Dad’s eyes scanned the area for problems. He’ll quash any troublemakers, Quintus thought. His heart swelled with pride.

For a while, everything seemed peaceful. Birds twittered in the trees overhead, a

cisium, an open carriage with two wheels, rumbled past.

Then Quintus heard the distant roar of a crowd. The sound grew louder and Jews waving palm branches spilled around a bend in the road. They spread coats of all colors on the pavement as they shouted, “Bless the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”

The soldiers lining the road raised their weapons, but Dad held up his hand, warning his men against acting in haste.

More men, women and children rounded the corner and excitedly spread along

the sides of the road. Soon, a man riding a donkey colt appeared. Robes thrown over the donkey’s back acted as a saddle and, because the donkey was not yet full grown, the man’s feet nearly touched the ground as he rode. The Jews – it seemed like millions of them – danced around singing “Hosannah!” as the ass with the young man on its back left hoof marks on their best clothes.

The whole thing looked so ridiculous that Quintus’s lips curled upward and he opened his mouth to laugh. Then he saw the man’s face and the laughter froze in his throat.

In that instant, Quintus knew he was looking in the face of a king. He wasn’t sure

how he knew, but he knew. What was it? The man’s eyes? The way he held himself?

“The sons of Israel’s kings have always ridden donkeys!” someone shouted, and the crowd cheered in agreement. Obviously, these Jews believed the man was a king.

Yet strangely, the man didn’t seem to care that people celebrated him on every side. He looked past the crowd at the city of Jerusalem and tears poured down his cheeks. As he passed Quintus, the boy heard him say, “But now it is too late . . .”

“Who is he?”  Quintus asked his father before dinner that night.

“Jesus of Nazareth.”

“I know. But who is he really? Some of the Jews said their prophets foretold that the Messiah would ride in from the east on a donkey colt. Jesus did that today. Right?”

“Right.” Dad unbuckled his dagger and set it on the table. “He started from

Jericho and that’s east of here.”

“Their Messiah is a god.” Quintus lowered his voice. “Is Jesus a god?”

Dad shot Quintus a sharp look. “We Romans have lots of gods, but Jesus of

Nazareth isn’t one of them. I expect you to stay away from him in the future. He’s a trouble maker.”

For the first time in his life, Quintus disagreed with Father.

The next time Quintus saw Jesus, night had fallen. With a man named Judas

leading the way, Dad and a battalion of soldiers marched across the Kidron Valley and climbed the Mount of Olives road. A silent mob that included temple guards and servants of the religious leaders strode along with them carrying torches and weapons. The flickering torchlight revealed faces grim with hatred. Only the sounds of labored breathing and the tromping of hundreds of feet broke the stillness.

Quintus hid in the middle of the throng where Dad wouldn’t see him. The boy knew these people intended to kill Jesus and he knew doing so would be wrong. Was there anything he could do to stop them?

Judas led the throng off the road and into a grove of olive trees where Jesus knelt

in prayer. Quintus slipped around the edge of the crowd to where he could see and hear without Father spotting him. Jesus stood and stepped forward to meet the mob. He looked tired. Upset. “Who are you looking for?” he asked. Yet Quintus felt certain Jesus knew exactly what was happening.

“Jesus of Nazareth,” someone said.

“I AM he,” Jesus answered.

An unseen force slammed Quintus like a fist and he fell backward. Flat on his back, he glanced around. Not a single person was left standing. The power of Jesus’ words had knocked everyone to the ground. Even Dad.

Grinning, Quintus scrambled to his feet and ran for home and bed. Jesus of Nazareth didn’t need Quintus. The man could take care of himself.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Quintus realized Father hadn’t returned

home after his watch. Quintus crept from bed and made his way to Castle Antonia. Inside, in the soldiers’ headquarters where Father worked, a shocking sight greeted him.

The entire battalion had gathered for a night of fun. Several soldiers crouched around a circle etched into the floor playing the game of Basilius, or King – using Jesus as the skittle. They had dressed a badly beaten Jesus in a purple robe and punctured his scalp with a crown of thorns. At every dice roll, men grabbed the stick “scepter” from Jesus’ hand and beat him on the head. They spit on him. They dropped to their knees, laughing in mock worship.

Quintus watched in horror as Jesus stood silently, refusing to defend himself.

Across the room, Dad looked on with crossed arms, observing everything. Except

Quintus. He didn’t notice his son standing near the large pillar.

But Jesus did. He turned to gaze directly at Quintus with eyes full of love. Quintus covered his face in shame ducked behind the pillar. During the long night, he imagined himself fighting the soldiers and saving Jesus.  

In the morning, when soldiers dragged Jesus outside and thrust the heavy cross on his shoulders, Quintus followed. He fought tears when Jesus stumbled and an African man helped carry the cross. With leaden feet, Quintus trailed behind Jesus all the way to the Skull Hill. A cold lump formed in his gut when Jesus refused the drugged wine intended to ease pain. Quintus looked away as his own father pounded long spikes through Jesus’ hands.

For three long hours, Quintus stood near the cross grieving for Jesus . . . and

studying his father. When passing mockers stopped to laugh at the sign on Jesus’ cross which proclaimed Jesus “King of the Jews,” Quintus saw Dad stare at Jesus with a strange look.  When Jesus promised paradise to the thief on the cross beside his, Dad looked astonished. Church leaders shot cruel words at Jesus and Quintus recognized respect for Jesus on Dad’s face.

Finally, gasping for breath Jesus looked around the crowd, then at Quintus, then at Dad. “Father forgive them,” he said, “For they know not what they do.”

Shock rippled through Quintus. Dad’s eyes grew wide and the dagger fell from his fingers. Suddenly Quintus understood.

Jesus was not just a king, not just a god, he was the Messiah, the Son of the Only

True God. And Jesus loved everyone – even the people who were murdering him. Even Dad. But, as Jesus had said when he rode past Quintus on the donkey, it was too late. Jesus would be dead soon and Quintus was helpless to stop it.

A short while later – precisely at noon – thick blackness fell over the land and silence shrouded the hillside. Terror slithered around Quintus. For three long hours nothing could be heard but sounds of suffering from the three crosses and the anguished weeping of women.  

Then Jesus cried out, “Father, I entrust my Spirit into your hands!” His head slumped in death. That very instant, with a loud roar the earth began to quake. Quintus tore his eyes from Jesus long enough to look in Dad’s face. It was filled with regret. And horror.

Rocks split open. The ground rose and fell like waves in a turbulent sea. Jesus’

cross swayed. Quintus screamed, struggling to stay on his feet. In a terrified voice Dad shouted, “Truly, this was the Son of God!” Boulders crashed down the hillside. It was the end of the world. The shaking would never stop. But it did stop. Silence smothered them like grave clothes.

Silently, Dad’s soldiers lifted Jesus’ body from the cross and gave it to a rich man who wrapped it in a long linen cloth and laid it in a tomb. If it wasn’t the end of the world, why did Quintus feel like it was? Why could he barely breathe?

The next day, Dad told his men to seal Jesus’ tomb and stand watch over it.

Dad’s eyes looked empty. Dead. Quintus decided to keep watch over his father.

That’s how Quintus happened to be shivering in the grass by the tomb when the earthquake struck on Sunday morning. And that’s why he saw the shining angel roll aside the boulder plugging the tomb’s entrance.

And then Quintus saw Jesus with his very own eyes. For the third time, Jesus looked directly at Quintus with love in his eyes. Then he disappeared.

Quintus wanted to jump around shouting for joy. So he did. The noise awakened his father who, along with all the other soldiers, had fainted at the sight of the angel. After Quintus explained everything he had seen, Father grabbed Quintus and bear-hugged him.

“We’re going to find the disciples and learn all about Jesus,” Dad said. His eyes shone with hope. “We won’t worship our Roman gods any more. All we need is Jesus. He proved he is the only True God when he rose from the dead!”

Quintus agreed.

This book by Jeannie St. John Taylor will reassure children how much God loves them.

The Big Fish and Jonah

© Words and picture Jeannie St. John Taylor

The  big fish swam back and forth searching for food. Her tummy growled. “I’m hungry. I need a BIG

meal to fill my BIG belly,” she said.

Up above, the fish saw a splash and a strange creature floated down toward her. The fish drifted over to take a closer look, swimming in circles around it.

The creature opened its eyes wide and wiggled its arms and legs.

“That looks yummy,” thought the fish. “It’s bigger than a shrimp. It’s bigger than a lobster. It’s just the right size for my lunch.”

After making one more circle around her lunch, the fish opened her mouth wide and swallowed the whole creature in one gulp. She felt it wriggle all the way to her tummy. “Yum,” said the fish. She smiled. “Now it’s nap time.”

The fish sighed contentedly and closed her eyes to sleep. She could feel the creature squirming, but she knew that would stop soon. Then she heard a voice from way down inside her tummy. “God, this is Jonah,” the voice said. “Please help me!”

The fish’s eyes popped open.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t obey you,” Jonah said.

The fish’s tummy hurt. Just a little.

“I didn’t go to Ninevah, but I should have,” Jonah said. “I should always obey you.”

The fish’s tummy ached.

“Please make this fish spit me out,” Jonah prayed.

The fish pressed her lips together and dived to the bottom of the ocean to watch the octopus play. She knew she should let her lunch go, but she didn’t want to.

“If you get me out of here, I promise I’ll tell all the people about you,” Jonah said.

The fish really felt sick now. She moaned in pain. “Do I have food poisoning?”
 she wondered. But she wouldn’t spit out her lunch. She floated to the surface for a deep breath and swayed back and forth in the water, trying not to throw up. She got sicker and sicker.

Near the end of the third day, the fish spotted land. “I can’t stand any more pain,” she thought. “I think I’ll beach myself.” She swam over, gave one great push, and landed on the shore.

As soon as her tummy smacked the sand, she felt a big burp and the creature tumbled out onto the beach jumping around and praising the Lord. “I got myself into trouble and you got me out,” it shouted. “Thank you Lord.”

The next wave lifted the fish and swept her back into the sea. She didn’t feel sick any more. She whirled in a circle and slapped her tail on the water. “I ate a bad lunch and you got it out!” she said. “Thank you Lord.”

You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail. Proverbs 19:21 NLT

Samuel Hears God's Voice

 © Jeannie St. John Taylor 

Samuel settled onto his sleeping mat and spread his blue coat over him for nighttime warmth. Through a narrow opening in the thick linen curtain, he watched light flicker from the gold candle stand in the nearly-empty tabernacle behind him and dance across the Ark of the Lord just beyond the curtain. On the lid of the golden box, the cherubim’s wings of hammered gold seemed to move with the shimmering light. 

 

Sighing, Samuel pulled his knees to his chest and tugged his new coat up over his chin. He could still smell his mother’s scent on it. And he missed her, though not as much as he used to. When he was smaller, he cried himself to sleep every night for weeks after his family’s yearly visits to the tabernacle at Shiloh where he lived and worked with Eli the priest. Every time they returned home to Ramah without him, he would sleep near the ark and cuddle the new coat his mother had brought, tears dripping onto the floor beneath him.

Tonight, raw loneliness drove him to sleep near the ark for comfort once again.

Samuel knew God’s presence dwelt on the Ark of the Covenant between the cherubim—or at least it used to. Eli often told stories of God speaking from the ark many years ago when God’s children wandered through the desert. But no one had heard from him for a long, long time, not even Eli. And certainly not Samuel, though he longed for God’s voice.

“You belong to God, Samuel,” his mother told him each year when she saw him. Only this morning she had said, “You were my miracle baby,” as she lingered behind after his father and siblings started down the dirt road toward home. She stroked first one cheek then the other with the back of her hand. “For years I couldn’t get pregnant, but I begged God for a child and he gave you to me.” Her eyes gazed into his. “You are chosen. Special. The gift God gave to me. The gift I promised to give back to him. That’s why you live here with the priest. And God.”

Not God, Samuel had thought. God isn’t here.

She leaned forward and he felt her lips brush his forehead. Tears dropped onto the new coat, momentarily beading up on the tightly woven wool. She dabbed at the wet spot, then adjusted the coat over his linen ephod, the priestly garment that identified him with Eli and God instead of her. “I spun every thread in your coat with my own spindle. When I dyed it with pomegranate rinds, I didn’t care that it stained my hands blue. I wove my love into it.”

Smiling, she drew back and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, never taking her eyes from his face. “So handsome.” Her smile cut into his heart. He noticed that the top of his head already rose higher than her shoulder, but instead of the rush of pride he expected to feel, sadness enveloped him.

“Every time you slip your arms into your coat, feel my love wrap around you.” She turned abruptly and hurried down the road, never looking back until she caught up with the rest of the family and they turned to wave goodbye. Even from that distance Samuel could tell she was crying.

His heart twisted with longing, and suddenly he wondered: Why couldn’t he live with his family? Why had his mother had left him here for a God he’d never met?

As he lay on the floor tonight, tracing the carvings beneath the rim on the Ark of the Lord with his eyes, the questions still haunted him. Did God really care about him? Did God have a purpose for him? Did God even know where Samuel lived?  Did God know he slept alone in the tabernacle at night? The fragrance of sweet spices, resin and galbanum mixed with frankincense, drifted over from the incense in front of the ark. Samuel closed his eyes.

“Samuel!”

Awakened from a deep sleep, Samuel bolted upright, his heart racing.

“Samuel!”

“Yes?” Samuel answered. “What is it?”

No answer. Was something wrong with Eli? Samuel bounded from his mat and raced out to the old man’s bed. “Here I am. What do you need?”

Eli shifted his bulk and turned toward Samuel, his voice thick with sleep. “I didn’t call you.” Samuel noticed Eli didn’t bother opening his eyes. Nearly blind, he couldn’t have seen Samuel in the dim light anyway. “Go on back to bed.”

Samuel hesitated a moment, waiting for the sound of Eli’s regular breathing to resume. Then he walked back into the tabernacle, past the lamp stand with its seven hammered-gold almond blossoms holding seven oil lamps, past the knee-high table of pure gold with the twelve loaves of showbread arranged in two rows across top. He lay on his sleeping mat again watching the shadows cast by the ark’s two long carrying poles wiggle on the floor.

“Samuel!” the voice called again.

Surprised, Samuel leapt up and rushed to Eli again. “Here I am. What do you need?”

“I didn’t call you, my son.” Eli’s voice held an edge of confusion. “Go on back to bed.”

Once again, Samuel lay still on his mat. Wondering. If Eli hadn’t called him, who had? Eli acted as though he hadn’t heard the voice!

“Samuel!”

The voice seemed to come from inside the tabernacle. But he couldn’t see anyone. It must be Eli. The boy jumped up and ran to the old man again, who else could be calling? “Here I am. What do you need?”

Eli lay very still for a moment without answering. Then Samuel saw him clasp his hands and press them against his chest.  “Go and lie down again,” Samuel heard quiet awe in Eli’s voice, “and if someone calls again, say, ‘Yes, Lord, your servant is listening.’”

As always, Samuel obeyed. He stretched out on his mat, eyes closed, trembling, clutching his coat around him. What was happening?

“Samuel! Samuel!”

The voice came from behind the thick linen curtain with cherubim embroidered in rich gold, purple, and red. It came from between the hammered gold wings of the cherubim on top of the Ark of the Lord, just as it had in the stories from many years earlier. Samuel knew it without a doubt.

Samuel squeezed his eyes tighter. He didn’t want to look. He just wanted to to listen. To learn. To obey. Already he could sense a mighty Presence melting his loneliness, filling him with love greater than any he had ever felt from hugging his mother’s coat, or even from his mother’s kiss.

“Speak,” Samuel whispered, “your servant is listening.”

Jonah Rescues His Enemies . . . Eventually

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

God said, “Jonah, get up and go to the huge city of Nineveh! Tell them I have seen how wicked they are. If they don’t repent, I will punish them.”

Jonah squinted into the hot sun, toward the desert where Nineveh was located. “Nineveh is an Assyrian city and they are the cruelest people on earth,” he thought. “The Assyrians  want to destroy my people and take our houses. If I warn them, they will repent and God won’t destroy them.” He crossed his arms, pushed out his lower lip and turned his back to Nineveh. “But I want him to wipe them out. I’ll run away.”

 He started walking in the opposite direction toward the Mediterranean Sea. At the port of Joppa he bought a ticket on a boat headed to Tarshish, a city as far away from Nineveh as he could get. He boarded the ship and climbed down to the dark hold to take a nap. He didn’t know God had been watching him the whole time and could see him in the dark bottom of the ship.

While Jonah slept, the LORD flung a powerful wind over the sea. It whipped up the water and terrified all the sailors. They pulled against the oars trying to row ashore, but they couldn’t. They threw cargo overboard. That didn’t help. Wild waves tossed the boat.

Finally, the captain woke Jonah so the sailors could cast lots to find out who had offended God and caused the storm. When the lot fell to Jonah, he hung his head in shame. “This terrible storm is my fault,” he admitted. “I am running away from the LORD. You better throw me overboard.”

“We don’t want to cause your death,” the sailors told Jonah. They tried even harder to row ashore. Rain drove against their faces. Waves crashed over the sides of the ship. “We’re going to die!” shouted the sailors.

“If you throw me overboard,” Jonah said, “the storm will stop.”  He felt hands grab his arms and legs as the sailors picked him up and pitched him into the air. Jonah flew over the side of the ship and plunged into the cold water. Immediately, the storm stopped.

Water closed over Jonah’s head. He held his breath and churned his arms and legs, but he sank down, down to the heart of the sea. His lungs felt as though they would burst. Swaying seaweed wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and tried to claw it away from his face. “I’m trapped,” he thought. “I’m going to die.”

Something bumped him. He opened his eyes to see a huge fish gliding past. The creature circled then swam back toward him, it’s mouth a gaping black cave. “Dear God, help me!” he prayed just before he passed out.

Jonah awoke coughing and choking in a cramped cave that smelled of decaying fish. The cave swayed sideways. “Is this how it feels to be dead?” he wondered. Jonah reached out to steady himself and his hand sunk into the soft wall of the cave. He was inside the fish! The fish hadn’t killed him, it had saved his life!

For now.

From his dark prison, Jonah cried out to the Lord. “Oh, LORD my God, you have snatched me from death!” Hours passed and he continued to praise the LORD and beg for mercy. He knew now that God could see him and hear him even in the dark. Even inside the fish. But would the LORD rescue him?

“Only you can help me, LORD,” Jonah begged. “Please save me.”

Three long days dragged by while Jonah called to the LORD. Not a single ray of light penetrated the darkness around him. He wondered how long it would be before his air ran out or the stomach juices of the fish started eating him alive?

Unexpected, the cave convulsed violently and the fish spit Jonah onto a beach. Jonah collapsed onto dry ground laughing and praising God.

That’s when Jonah heard God’s voice giving him a second chance. “Arise, go to Nineveh, and call out against it the message I gave you.”

“God sent a fish to save my life when I disobeyed him,” thought Jonah. “And he’s sending me to save the lives of the people of Nineveh even though they are disobeying him. Even though they may continue to be the enemies of my people.”

Jonah walked many miles across the desert to the city and warned the Assyrians of Nineveh to stop their cruelty and wickedness. All the people – even the king -- listened to Jonah and repented. Everyone in the city fasted to God, turned from violence and stopped doing evil.

Because Jonah warned his enemies of God’s wrath, God relented and spared the lives of thousands of men, women and children.

 Jonah painting above from Free Clip Art