Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale

My friend Deborah Leiter sent me this poem when I was in a period of discernment a few years ago. It strikes me as the perfect poem for the quarantine of 2020. 

Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale
Dan Albergotti

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.

This poem names pretty well my current state of being. We are facing down a pretty unprecedented calamity and I want to fight or flee, but fight what and flee to where? I want to prep and prepare, but prep and prepare for what and how? The feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming. The poem names pretty accurately the activities that we can undertake: marking the long days; looking for blue sky; calling old friends; I think this blog might be my version of smoke signals.

The whale in scripture is a powerful metaphor for chaos and disorder. It is this vision of the whale that Herman Melville reflects on in Moby Dick—the whale evincing all that is perilous about our world, all that is dangerous and ungovernable, all that humans cannot control. The only thing that is more perilous in Scripture than the Leviathan is the murky depths of the sea itself—these primordial waters of chaos. These are the waters that God hovers over in Genesis. 

In the story of Jonah he is stuck between Leviathan and the deep blue sea. This might be where we are as well, the only thing worse than being quarantined in the belly of the whale is to not be in quarantined. The writer speaks powerfully about such a state: we should be thankful that we are not 

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

What can we learn while we are in the belly of the whale? People have lots of ideas—the dangers of social isolation and our increasingly atomistic society. That we can face other collective dangers—especially climate change--with bold and concerted action. The problems intrinsic in a for profit medical system. The more liberal among us will see a call to social justice and the more conservative a call to return to God. Many will see calls to frugality or simplicity or nurturing the good of family. 

This is good work to do when you are in the belly of the whale. This is certainly a time for “reviewing each of life’s ten million choices and enduring moments and for some self-loathing.”

But what is demanded of us right this moment: I think a one thing above all else: What are we going to do for people still stuck in the deep blue sea.

For today, right now, we need to be asking: who is not in the belly of the whale? Who doesn’t have a place to go? Who cannot shelter in place? 

How can we work to get everyone to a place of safety? I think particularly of the calamity that faces the homeless if something isn’t done immediately!

I confess that Jonah is about the last biblical character that I want to identify with in any way whatsoever. He is miserable and petty. It doesn’t matter to me that he is reluctant to do what God is asking of him—that is true of all of the prophets. It is the reason! He hates the people of Nineveh so much that he doesn’t want them to repent. Jonah is enraged that God might want to show mercy on his enemies. Jonah discovers in the belly of the whale that he is just as dependent on the grace of God as the people of Nineveh. This is an impossibly difficult lesson to learn, but once we have learned it, we no longer possess anything in the same way quite again. Understanding God's grace always leads to a different understanding of economy. 

To learn this lesson is to become swallowed up in the uncanny hope of the Gospel. That we can exist for others and not just for ourselves.