Nineveh
I spare the city when they turn from sin, The threatened judgement I forbear to bring. I joy in showing mercy to these men: Should I not pity Nineveh? You loathe my mercy and pray angrily “I knew you’d do this, for you act graciously. I’d rather die than live—O Lord, take me.” Should I not pity Nineveh? You hope for judgement to the very last, Watching the city for what might come to pass. You wait with angry eyes for me to act. Should I not pity Nineveh? I make a plant to shade you from the heat. You’re glad, but then I send a worm to eat The plant, and sun and wind on you to beat. Should I not pity Nineveh? You long again for death when the plant dies, A plant you didn’t tend, its life a trice— Look at this teeming city through my eyes: Should I not pity Nineveh?
If you’re familiar with George Herbert, you’ll have realised that I modelled this poem on one of his. I wrote it quite a few years ago after another sermon on Jonah. The sermon would certainly have influenced my poem, although it’s too long ago for me to be sure now of the details of exactly how. I do know that what came through in that series on Jonah was God’s delight in mercy, his desire to save. God says to a small-minded, recalcitrant prophet “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take pity on these people.” To both his troublesome spokesperson and a city of idol worshippers, he is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.”1
1
Psalm 103:8 (ESVUK)