When Pagans Panic Righteously Text: Jonah 1:10-14
Introduction: The Fear of God in a World of Terrors
We live in a world that is terrified, but it is terrified of all the wrong things. Men fear economic collapse, political instability, viruses, and the disapproval of their peers on social media. But the one thing they do not fear, the one thing they ought to fear above all else, is the living God who holds their very breath in His hands. The fear of man is a snare, the Proverb says, but the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. In our story today, we see this principle played out in the most dramatic fashion. We have a prophet of God, Jonah, who began this whole misadventure by not fearing God enough, and we have a crew of pagan sailors who are about to get a crash course in what true, holy terror looks like.
The scene is one of utter chaos. The Lord has hurled a great storm at the ship, not because He has a chaotic nature, but because He is a God of meticulous order, and His prophet is out of order. God is not like the pagan gods, who were born out of chaos and were constantly battling it. No, our God creates the storm, directs the wind, and commands the waves. He is sovereign over the tehom, the deep, that the pagans thought was a rival deity. For God, it is a tool. This storm has a purpose, and that purpose is to corner a disobedient prophet. But in the process, God is going to reveal Himself to a boatload of pagans, and their reaction is a profound rebuke to the prophet and, often, to us.
We see here the collision of two fears. The sailors begin with a natural fear of the storm, a fear for their lives. But as the story unfolds, that fear is transformed into something else entirely. It becomes a holy dread, a fear of Yahweh. And in their newfound fear of God, they begin to act with more righteousness and compassion than the man of God they have on board. This passage is a stark reminder that disobedience doesn't just affect you; it creates chaos and consequence for everyone around you. It puts others in jeopardy. And it shows us that sometimes, the most profound theology comes from the mouths of those who, just moments before, were praying to idols.
The Text
Then the men became greatly fearful, and they said to him, “What is this you have done?” For the men knew that he was fleeing from the presence of Yahweh because he had told them. So they said to him, “What should we do to you that the sea may become quiet for us?”, for the sea was becoming increasingly stormy. So he said to them, “Lift me up and hurl me into the sea. Then the sea will become quiet for you, for I know that on account of me this great storm has come upon you.” However, the men rowed desperately to return to dry land, but they could not, for the sea was becoming increasingly stormy against them. Then they called on Yahweh and said, “Ah! O Yahweh, we earnestly pray, do not let us perish on account of this man’s life, and do not put innocent blood on us; for You, O Yahweh, as You have pleased You have done.”
(Jonah 1:10-14 LSB)
The Dawning Dread (v. 10)
We begin with the sailors' reaction to Jonah's confession in verse 10:
"Then the men became greatly fearful, and they said to him, “What is this you have done?” For the men knew that he was fleeing from the presence of Yahweh because he had told them." (Jonah 1:10)
Just a moment before, in verse 9, Jonah had identified his God. "I am a Hebrew, and I fear the LORD, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land." This was a direct theological assault on their entire polytheistic worldview. Their gods were territorial. Baal might handle the storm, and Yam the sea, but here was a God who made both. He wasn't a departmental manager; He was the owner of the whole firm. And the moment they hear this, their fear graduates. The text says they became "greatly fearful." This is not just being scared of the waves anymore. This is theological terror. This is the dawning realization that they are caught in the middle of a dispute between a man and his Creator, the very Creator who is currently dismantling their ship plank by plank.
Their question is dripping with horrified astonishment: "What is this you have done?" They are not mariners talking to a passenger; they are pagans rebuking a prophet. They grasp the insanity of Jonah's actions immediately. "You are running from the God who made the sea... on a boat?" It is the height of cosmic stupidity. You don't try to escape the artist by hiding in his painting. Their pagan common sense is more spiritually astute in this moment than Jonah's prophetic rebellion.
Jonah's sin has been exposed, and the consequences are sloshing over the deck. This is always how it is with sin. We think our disobedience is a private affair, a secret transaction between us and our desires. But sin is never just personal; it is always corporate. It leaks. It contaminates. Jonah paid the fare to go to Tarshish, but everyone on the ship was bearing the cost. His rebellion endangered the lives and livelihood of these men. When you disobey God, you are throwing a lit torch into a crowded room, and you have no right to be surprised when everything starts to burn.
A Desperate Question and a Stark Answer (v. 11-12)
The situation is getting worse, and the sailors are desperate for a solution.
"So they said to him, “What should we do to you that the sea may become quiet for us?”, for the sea was becoming increasingly stormy. So he said to them, “Lift me up and hurl me into the sea. Then the sea will become quiet for you, for I know that on account of me this great storm has come upon you.”" (Jonah 1:11-12 LSB)
Notice their question. They don't ask, "What should we do?" They ask, "What should we do to you?" They rightly identify Jonah as the problem. The storm is not an impersonal force of nature; it is a personal, targeted judgment from Yahweh. And Jonah, to his credit, finally steps into his prophetic office, albeit in a grim fashion. He doesn't offer to pray. He doesn't suggest they try to ride it out. He pronounces the sentence upon himself.
"Lift me up and hurl me into the sea." This is the central point of the passage. Jonah understands that the wrath of God, embodied in this storm, is directed at him. And for that wrath to be appeased, a sacrifice must be made. He must be cast out. This is a raw, Old Testament picture of propitiation. Propitiation means to turn away wrath by means of a sacrifice. The sea is raging because of one man's sin, and it will only be calmed when that one man is given over to the judgment he deserves.
Jonah knows this. "For I know that on account of me this great storm has come upon you." He takes full responsibility. There is no blame-shifting, no excuses. He understands that he is the lightning rod attracting the fury of the storm. This is a moment of clarity for the prophet. He has been awakened from his spiritual slumber in the hold of the ship, and now he sees the terrible reality of his situation. The only way for the many to be saved is for the one to be condemned.
And right here, we cannot help but see a shadow, a type, of a greater Jonah to come. Jesus Christ, on the cross, was willingly hurled into the ultimate storm of God's wrath against sin. He knew that the storm of divine judgment was raging against us, and He said, in effect, "Hurl me into it. Cast me out, so that the sea may become quiet for them." Unlike Jonah, who was the cause of the storm, Jesus was the innocent one who took the storm upon Himself. He was the substitute. Jonah is a reluctant picture of substitutionary atonement, but a picture nonetheless.
The Righteous Struggle of Pagans (v. 13)
What happens next is truly remarkable. Given a direct, prophet-sanctioned solution, the sailors refuse.
"However, the men rowed desperately to return to dry land, but they could not, for the sea was becoming increasingly stormy against them." (Jonah 1:13 LSB)
This is astonishing. These are hardened, pagan sailors. Their lives are on the line. They have been told exactly what to do to save themselves. And yet, they hesitate. Why? Because they have a conscience. They recognize the horror of what Jonah has proposed. To throw a man overboard, even at his own request, is a terrible thing. They have a greater respect for human life in this moment than the prophet of God did when he bought his ticket in Joppa, caring nothing for the Ninevites God wanted to save.
They "rowed desperately," the Hebrew says they "dug" into the water. They fought against the will of God, not out of rebellion, but out of compassion. They were trying to save the man who had nearly gotten them all killed. The irony is thick enough to walk on. The pagans are displaying more mercy and righteousness than the prophet. This is a recurring theme in the book of Jonah. The pagans, the sailors, the Ninevites, even the cattle, are more responsive to God than the man who knows Him best. It is a severe warning against religious formalism and ethnic pride.
But their efforts are futile. "They could not, for the sea was becoming increasingly stormy against them." You cannot fight the sovereignty of God with good intentions. God has a purpose in this storm, and that purpose includes Jonah going into the water. Their compassionate struggle only serves to highlight the severity of the situation and the absolute determination of God. The storm is not just a storm; it is "against them." God is ratcheting up the pressure, making it clear that there is only one way out.
The First Prayer to Yahweh (v. 14)
Finally, their strength fails, their oars are useless, and they turn to the only option left. They pray.
"Then they called on Yahweh and said, “Ah! O Yahweh, we earnestly pray, do not let us perish on account of this man’s life, and do not put innocent blood on us; for You, O Yahweh, as You have pleased You have done.”" (Jonah 1:14 LSB)
This is a landmark prayer. These men, who started the chapter by crying out "each to his own god" (v. 5), now call on the covenant name of God, Yahweh. Their theology has been radically reoriented in the space of a few hours. They have moved from polytheism to a practical monotheism. They are not hedging their bets anymore; they are appealing to the one God who made the sea and the dry land.
Their prayer is beautiful in its simplicity and theological depth. First, they plead for their own lives: "do not let us perish." Second, they show a profound concern for justice: "do not put innocent blood on us." They are about to execute Jonah, and they are terrified of being held accountable for it. They are asking God not to count this act against them as murder. They are appealing to God's own justice to protect them as they carry out what they now understand to be His will.
And the foundation for their plea is the absolute sovereignty of God. "For You, O Yahweh, as You have pleased You have done." This is high-octane Calvinism from a crew of pagan sailors. They understand that this entire situation, from the storm to Jonah's presence on the ship to the demand that he be thrown overboard, is all from the hand of God. They are submitting to His sovereign decree. They are acknowledging that God is in complete control and that their only hope is to align themselves with His purpose, however terrifying it may be. They have learned the lesson that Jonah, the prophet, is still struggling with: God will accomplish His purposes, and you can either submit to them or be broken by them.
Conclusion: The Reluctant Sacrifice and the Sovereign God
In these few verses, we see a world turned upside down. A rebellious prophet speaks a word of judgment on himself, and compassionate pagans try to save him. They fail, not because they are weak, but because God is strong. And in their failure, they are brought to their knees, not before their dumb idols, but before the living God, Yahweh. They learn to fear Him, to pray to Him, and to submit to His absolute sovereignty.
This story forces us to ask who the real pagans are. Is it the sailors who, when confronted with the raw power of God, repent and call on His name? Or is it the man who has the Scriptures, who knows the law, who has heard the voice of God directly, and yet stuffs his fingers in his ears and runs the other way? It is a sharp rebuke to all of us who have grown comfortable and complacent in our knowledge of God. It is possible to have a perfect systematic theology and a heart that is fleeing to Tarshish.
But the central point is the storm and the sacrifice required to quell it. The only thing that can appease the righteous wrath of God is a substitutionary sacrifice. Jonah had to be thrown into the sea to save the sailors. This points us inexorably to the cross. We were all in the boat, in a storm of our own making, with the wrath of God raging against us. And there was nothing we could do. No amount of desperate rowing could save us. The only solution was for the perfect Son of God to say, "Lift me up and hurl me into the sea of God's wrath."
And when they lifted Him up on the cross, He was plunged into the abyss of judgment that we deserved. And because He was thrown in, the sea is now quiet for us. The wrath of God is satisfied. Peace has been made. And our response should be that of the sailors. We should be "greatly fearful," not with a slavish terror, but with a holy awe and reverence. We should abandon all our other gods. And we should confess with our mouths the glorious truth that they stumbled upon in the storm: "For You, O Yahweh, as You have pleased You have done." He has done it all. Amen.