I am a liar.

If you asked me which Biblical character I relate to the most, I would most likely give you a facetious answer about Peter—redeemed during brunch with Jesus in the Gospel of John. I might tell you I’m a recovering Martha—worried more about proper preparations than sitting and listening. Or if I was feeling particularly cheeky, I might tell you I relate most to Deborah—singing songs about strong women and the folly of pride. But, as I told you before, I am a liar.

The Biblical character I relate to the most is Jonah.

I have been running from the Divine for the better part of seventeen years. I tried to placate the call with a M.A. in Religious Studies, an endeavor that allowed me all the joy of studying people and their beliefs without the messiness of being involved in their lives. I jumped into the boat of non-profit and community engagement work in Springfield, MO after grad school, seeking to empower others and create fun experiences for college students and donors. I bought into the image of who I thought other people wanted me to be.

But when my husband took a job in Kansas City, I found myself in the midst of a storm—wrestling with the fact that after a few months of unemployment my only viable job offer was working at a large church. In a dramatic night that makes Ted Neely’s version of “Gethsemane” look like Rodgers and Hammerstein, I decided to accept the job.

Having worked at The United Methodist Church of the Resurrection for over three years now, I recognize that this was where I needed to be all along. That hard-won inner honesty has given me a renewed sense of purpose. Working in the Mission Ministries department has shown me the value and potential the mainline church still has, and how now more than ever the church can work to equip its people for not only acts of mercy but for systemic justice work. I once again hear the call from God. It turns out my belly of the great fish was a beautiful sanctuary.

I believe the current pandemic and calls for racial justice will lead to lasting reformation within the Church. We are being called to repentance and re-envisioning. But none of that will stick without honesty—within ourselves and our community.

If we are honest with ourselves, maybe, just maybe we realize we’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the less-than-equitable status quo.

If we are honest with ourselves, maybe we realize we weren't listening when Jesus’ answered our question—“Who is my neighbor…really?”

If we are honest with ourselves, maybe we realize it’s time we stop doubting the call and actually do something.

Nineveh, here I come.