Jonah is one of the most well-known—and most misunderstood—figures in the Bible. We often picture him as the guy who got swallowed by a big fish because he didn't want to go to Nineveh. But Jonah’s story is so much more than a fish tale. It’s a story about obedience, mercy, frustration, and the depth of God’s grace. If I could sit across from Jonah and ask him a few honest questions, these would be at the top of my list:
1. What were you thinking when you tried to run from God? Let’s be real—how do you run from the Creator of the universe? Jonah knew better. He was a prophet of God. Yet when God told him to go to Nineveh, he got on a boat going the exact opposite direction. I’d love to hear Jonah’s heart in that moment. Was it fear? Anger? A deep resentment for the people of Nineveh? I wonder if Jonah thought that out of sight meant out of responsibility. But as we all learn eventually, God’s plans will chase us down—in love—because His purpose for us is always greater than our reluctance.
It’s sobering to realize how easy it is to justify disobedience when we feel our cause is righteous. Jonah didn’t run because he didn’t believe in God’s power—he ran because he did. He knew God’s compassion might override his sense of justice. That hits hard.
2. What did you pray inside the fish? Jonah’s prayer in chapter 2 is one of the most powerful and poetic in the Bible. But what was going through his mind in those dark, stinky, seaweed-wrapped days inside the belly of the great fish? Did he feel abandoned? Broken? Humbled? I think about all the times I’ve been in my own “fish”—those dark places where I had nowhere to go but up. Jonah cried out to God in his distress, and God heard him. That’s something I’d want to explore with him—how the lowest place can become holy ground when we finally surrender.
It makes me think of the seasons in our lives when we feel swallowed by circumstance. Those times when everything is dark and we wonder if we’ll ever see light again. And yet, often it’s in that very darkness that we return to God with full hearts.
3. Did you really expect Nineveh to ignore your message? After Jonah finally obeyed and went to Nineveh, something extraordinary happened. The people listened. They repented. From the king to the commoner, they turned to God. And instead of being joyful, Jonah was furious. He wanted judgment, not mercy. I’d ask Jonah if he really thought they wouldn’t respond, or if he feared that they actually would. Sometimes, we want to be right more than we want others to be redeemed. That’s a hard truth to swallow, but Jonah’s reaction reveals just how complicated the human heart can be—even a prophet’s.
4. Why were you so angry when God showed mercy? This question hits close to home. We all have people we struggle to forgive or believe are deserving of God’s grace. But Jonah’s anger over God’s compassion exposes something deeper: he didn’t want God to be merciful to them. I’d want to ask Jonah why he thought God’s grace should have limits. Did he see himself as more worthy? More righteous? Sometimes we forget that the same grace we desperately need is also extended to others—even those we least expect.
It’s a good heart check. How often do we get more upset over small inconveniences than we do about lost souls? How often do we pray for comfort instead of compassion? Jonah’s misplaced priorities highlight something we all need to remember: people matter more than personal ease.
5. Looking back, what would you do differently? If Jonah could reflect on the whole journey—from fleeing to preaching to pouting under a plant—what would he change? Would he still have run? Would he have let his heart soften sooner? Or would he tell us that the journey changed him, even though it didn’t end with a neat, tidy bow? The book of Jonah ends abruptly, with God asking Jonah a question: “Should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh?” (Jonah 4:11). We never hear Jonah’s response. But maybe that’s intentional—maybe it’s an invitation for us to answer.
Maybe he would still struggle. Maybe, like many of us, he would still wrestle with his call. But I hope he’d say “everything”—that he’d trust sooner, follow faster, love deeper. And maybe, so will we.
