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I’m sure you are familiar with the 23rd Psalm.

The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.

The imagery is warm and peaceful.

But there is one part that sounds a bit… I don’t know, harsh?

“HE MAKES ME LIE DOWN”

We taught my dog how to lie down on command. Basically, we would make a pointing motion toward the ground and say in a commanding tone, “LIE DOWN!”

It seemed like she never wanted to stay there. She was always looking for her opportunity to get back up and run.

Rest is an important part of a healthy life.

God doesn’t want us full of activity 7 days a week. He commands rest.

Interestingly, in the 23rd Psalm, being made to lie down comes first…

And after that rest comes:

• Being led to new places
• A refreshed soul
• And being guided in the right direction

I really believe hearing from God comes out of a place of rest (and sometimes forced rest).

Jonah was heading the wrong direction. He was on the run. He was focused, determined…

And God made him lie down—not exactly in a green pasture, but in a green seaweed-lined belly of a whale.

When we find ourselves in that uncomfortable place of forced rest, we should remember: now is a good time to listen.

What is God saying?

What is He doing in me?

What does he require of me?

My parents took me to swimming lessons when I was little.

The first few lessons were cake: putting sunscreen on my nose, bobbing, blowing bubbles, holding the edge of the pool and kicking…

But then it happened.

We moved to the deep end.

I was terrified and completely stressed out.

The teacher explained how to tread water. He demonstrated.

And then he told us to do it. In the deep end of the pool.

The other kids gave it a go. They looked like a bunch of drowning people, trying not to drown.

Seeing them splash around with their faces barely above the violent ocean waves (OK, the calm pool waters) freaked me out even more. I was about to have a panic attack.

Gripping the edge of the pool, I tried to be invisible so the swimming instructor wouldn’t call me out.

That’s exactly what he did though. He said, “Brian, let go and tread water”.

Usually, I was a quiet kid. I didn’t do much talking. Not a lot of words coming from me….

But I was in panic-mode and I needed to talk my way out of this.

I spit out words rapid-fire, like bullets flying from a machine gun:

“I can’t. I don’t know how to do it. Give me a minute. I have a cramp. My lungs are burning. I can’t breath. My legs hurt. I’m going to drown—don’t you care? I think my mom is calling me. Isn’t it time for the lesson to be over? I’ll do it in the shallow end. Let’s go over there now. Please! Is that a fire over there? How do you do it again? Can you show me one more time? Maybe I can try next week…”

I talked so fast, my teacher had no time to respond. He just stood there while I pleaded.

Then he bent down, grabbed my arms, picked me up out of the water, looked me in the eyes, and said…

“Shut up!”

I was in shock. Can a teacher say that to you?

Then he did the unthinkable…

He threw me in.

The deep end.

With no floaties.

Sinking into the water, I was still talking—but quickly realized that wouldn’t work.

So I shut my mouth and started to tread water.

I could hear the instructor telling me to relax and slow down.

I did what he said and it worked.

I didn’t drown.

And I learned how to tread water.

This story reminds me: It’s almost impossible to listen when you’re talking.

When we’re in a difficult or uncomfortable place, we tend to get worked up, stressed-out, and go into panic mode. The problem is, frenzied attempts to rescue ourselves never seem to work.

Sometimes, we just need to be reminded to stop talking and start listening.

“For he is our God. We are the people he watches over, the flock under his care. If only you would listen to his voice today!” —Psalm 95.7, 8 (NLT)

Here’s Dan Albergotti’s poem, Things To Do In The Belly Of A Whale…

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.

Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires with the broken hulls of fishing boats.

Practice smoke signals.

Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.

Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach.

Look each way for the dim glow of light.

Work on your reports.

Review each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments of self-loathing.

Find the evidence of those before you. Destroy it.

Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound of gears and moving water.

Listen for the sound of your heart.

Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope, where you can rest and wait.

Be nostalgic. Think of all the things you did and could have done.

Remember treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.

I recently saw a T-shirt with a man in the belly of a whale—sending a smoke signal that said, “Send Wi-Fi”.

Jonah spent 3 days in the belly of a whale.

What did he do with his time there?

The Bible only gives us Jonah’s prayer—7 verses (takes about 30 seconds to read).

So what else did he do?

And what should we do when we find ourselves in an uncomfortable place?

I’d like to suggest something from one of the lines in Albergotti’s poem:

“Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope, where you can rest and wait.”

 

Be thankful.

You’re still alive.

And although this might be uncomfortable—there is still hope.

Rest and wait.

There’s a word that appears in the Psalms 71 times…

Selah.

It’s not easy to translate. There isn’t an English equivalent to Selah.

The Amplified Bible translates Selah as “pause and calmly think of that”.

Usually when we’re in a difficult or uncomfortable place, we get worked up, stressed-out, and go into panic mode.

The problem is, frenzied attempts to rescue ourselves never seem to work.

Instead, we need to Selah.

Pause and calmly think.

Rest and wait.

Reflect.

Listen.

What is God saying?

Let it sink in.

Be thankful.

You’re still alive.

And although this might be uncomfortable—there is still hope.

Selah.

Some stories have multiple heroes…

Like this year’s The Avengers movie—featuring Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, Thor, Captain America, Hawkeye, and Black Widow. It was a who’s who movie of Marvel Super Heroes.

Honestly, it was a bit overcrowded. They could barely fit all those heroes on the movie poster.

The biblical story of Jonah has only One Hero.

You’ve probably already figured it out…

Jonah isn’t the hero.

He’s a piece of work.

He runs from God.

And when he finally obeys, he “celebrates” by throwing a temper tantrum.

Meanwhile, the Hero of the story is constantly at work—rescuing, saving, and bringing about His good plan.

Our tendency is to paint ourselves as the heroes of our own stories.

But the truth is, we’re not.

For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him. —Philippians 2.13 NLT

This story—your story, and my story—has only One Hero.

When we see ourselves as the heroes of our own stories, we’re giving too much attention and credit to ourselves.

It’s easy to judge where others are at, thinking, “They’re getting what they deserve”.

Watching Jonah get tossed into the sea and immediately swallowed by a great fish, you might be tempted to think, “He’s getting what he deserved”.

But Jonah wasn’t getting what he deserved.

He was getting redirected.

He was getting rescued.

He was getting a second chance—by the Hero of the story.

The bottom line: We’re not the heroes of our stories, because this story has only One Hero.

Jonah ran from God.

“Jonah got up and went the other direction… running away from God. He went down to the port of Joppa and found a ship headed for Tarshish. He paid the fare and went on board, joining those going to Tarshish—as far away from God as he could get.” (Jonah 1.3 MSG)

I can relate to Jonah, because I tried to run too.

Having grown up in a Christian family, I knew about God and the plans he had for me.

But in my teen years, I decided to try things my way.

I ran from God. I joined others—as far away from God as I could get… kinda like Jonah.

And like Jonah, I found it impossible to successfully run from God.

I mean, really—how do you run from the omnipresent One?

God was there when I was using drugs.

No matter how far I thought I got from him, he was there.

My moment of awakening came when, on the run from God, I heard him whisper to me…

“You know I love you—and you know you can’t run from me.”

The Psalmist wrote,

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalm 139.7-10 NIV)

On the worst day of Jonah’s life, God was there.

Even though Jonah was running from God, God was still there—still rescuing, and still working in him.

In Eugene Peterson’s introduction to the book of Jonah, he says, “The whole time, God is working within and around Jonah’s very ineptness and accomplishing his purposes in him.”

Maybe you, like me—and Jonah, have attempted to run from God.

But really, how do you run from the omnipresent One?

Just know this…

He loves you. And you can’t run from him.