The more I read Jonah, the less like a historical account it seemed. The tie-in between ‘Jonah son of Amittai’ of this book and the individual in 2 Kings 14:25 was not necessarily conclusive; the height of Nineveh’s power came a century or so after the events of 2 Kings 14, and the book could easily have used Jonah pseudonymously. Moreover, the events were so melodramatic – the lament from inside the fish, the repentance of an entire capital city overnight (even the animals wore sackcloth!) and the miracle of the rising and dying plant – that they seemed almost theatrical. Maybe the Book of Jonah is, in fact, a play; a sharply satirical parable belonging more to Wisdom literature than Prophetic.

So what is the parable? The first episode (Jonah’s flight, the storm, his eventual confession to the crew and his plea to be thrown to the waves, whereupon a giant fish swallows him whole) raises disturbing questions. Why would Jonah refuse God? How could he hope to escape, given his theological views? More surprisingly, why does the story cast the Gentiles (foreign idol-worshippers) as spiritually sensitive, compassionate men while Jonah is self-absorbed and oblivious to his shipmates’ fate? This is decidedly odd, given most prophetic books’ round condemnation of other nations.

The fish both saves and humbles Jonah. He composes a rousing hymn of praise and repentance (which is nonetheless tinged with nationalistic and religious pride). Finally he is deposited on land and once again commanded to go to Nineveh. This time, Jonah obeys. Journeying for a day into the vast city’s interior, he appears to intone his given message before turning on his heel and marching back out of the city to await its fate. Instead, the city crumples to its knees in full-blown sackcloth-and-ashes penitence. God relents and spares Nineveh from its fate.

This act of divine mercy unleashes the inner struggle in Jonah that finally uncovers the reason for his initial flight. “How dare you!” Jonah rants at God. “I just knew you’d decide to forgive them. That’s why I ran away in the first place! I am angry enough to die”. God offers a mild rebuke; “What right do you have to be angry?” What is God saying? This is Nineveh – symbol of Israel’s doom. For most of the prophets, God may stretch to using a foreign invader to teach Israel a lesson – but eventually his just anger at these superpowers will be avenged. And here God is taking their side, against his prophet! How utterly unexpected.

To prove his point, God causes a plant to spring up overnight, providing shade for Jonah as he sits waiting for Nineveh’s destruction. Then, just as Jonah has become attached to this newfound parasol, God sends a worm to destroy it and leave Jonah exposed. This further enrages him. God challenges him over his attachment to the plant – why should he, God, not feel greater affection for such a mass of humanity who are helpless and ignorant?

And there the story ends. Right there. No final repentance on Jonah’s part; no tearful apology or restoration. God’s challenge to Jonah is left hanging, echoing into the silence as if to say, “And what about you, dear listener? Do you wish to challenge God’s capacity for mercy?”

And it is this aspect of the story that I find most astonishing. How did this satire get past the censors? In the middle of a series of profoundly Israelite-centric prophetic writings, the book of Jonah shows its Gentile characters to be sensitive, penitent, compassionate and the object of God’s affection, while his prophet is moody, vindictive, self-pitying and at the last, unrepentant. In his proud, self-righteous Jewishness, Jonah cannot recognise God’s generous embrace.

The book of Job explores the eternal dilemma: How can God allow misfortune to occur to good people? By contrast, the book of Jonah reveals a God desperate to show kindness to undeserving people; rough, idol-worshipping sailors; fearless and invincible invaders. The book compels us to laugh at the ridiculous spectacle of this, the least holy and most successful of prophets, and then to inhale sharply as we feel the force of the satire. For we are Jonah.