When the Inside is Wrong ...

A young preacher once took his first church in East Tennessee, not far from where Oak Ridge would soon explode into growth because of atomic energy development. Practically overnight, that quiet area turned into a bustling, crowded place. People came from everywhere—workers, families, children—living in trailers, tents, wagons, anything they could manage. It was messy, loud, temporary … and full of people trying to make a living.

Near all of that stood a small, beautiful church. It had been there for over a century. The building had character—hand-hewn pews carved from poplar trees, kerosene lamps lining the walls, and an old organ that someone had to manually pump while it was played. It was the kind of place people were proud of. Stable. Established. Familiar.

One Sunday, after the service, the young preacher gathered the church leaders and suggested something simple: “Why don’t we go invite all those people in the trailer parks to church?”

Seems obvious, right? But the response wasn’t what you might expect.

“I don’t think they would fit in here,” one leader said. Others agreed. “They’re just temporary. They’ll be gone soon.”

The preacher pushed back. “Maybe that’s exactly why we should invite them—make them feel welcome.”

The discussion didn’t end well. They decided to vote next week. When they met again, one of the leaders made a motion: “To be a member of this church, you must own property in this county.” Someone seconded it. It passed.

Just like that, a line was drawn—not around faith, not around belief, but around status.

Years later, that same preacher went back to visit that little church. Only it wasn’t a church anymore. He had to search to even find it because the roads had changed, but eventually, there it was. Not a sanctuary. A restaurant. An all-you-can-eat barbecue place.

Inside, the pews were shoved up against the walls. The organ was off to the side. The room was filled with tables and chairs—and people. All kinds of people. Different backgrounds, different stories, all sitting together, eating, laughing, sharing space.

The irony was hard to miss. The very people who once wouldn’t have been welcomed were now freely gathered there.

It makes you stop and ask: how does something like that happen? How does a group of people slowly move to a place where others feel like they don’t belong? Honestly, that question doesn’t just apply to churches. It applies to all of us.

That same tension shows up in one of the most well-known accounts in the Bible—the story of Jonah. Most people remember Jonah because of the fish, but that’s not the point of the story. The real issue is Jonah’s heart. At the very beginning, God gives Jonah a clear assignment: go to Nineveh and preach against it. Now, Nineveh wasn’t just any city. It was the capital of Assyria—powerful, violent, and known for brutality. These were not “good people” by any stretch. They were enemies.

So, when Jonah hears God say, “Go to Nineveh,” what does he do? He goes the opposite direction. Literally. Instead of heading toward Nineveh, he goes down to Joppa, finds a ship, and sets sail for Tarshish, which was about as far away as he could go.

The Bible text makes a point of something interesting: Jonah keeps going down. Down to Joppa. Down into the ship. Down into the lower deck. It’s like a physical picture of what’s happening inside him. God says, “Get up and go,” and Jonah does the exact opposite—he goes down and away.

At first, you might think, “Well, of course he ran. Nineveh was terrifying.” Sure, that’s part of it. However, later in the story, Jonah tells us why he ran—and it’s not what we expect. He says, essentially, “I knew You [God] would forgive them.” There is a reason.

Jonah didn’t run because he doubted God. He ran because he knew God. He knew God was compassionate. Merciful. Slow to anger. Full of love. And he didn’t want Nineveh to experience that.

Stop and reflect on Jonah’s attitude. He wasn’t afraid of failure—he was afraid of God showing grace to people he didn’t think deserved it. That’s where this story starts to hit a little closer to home. Because if we’re honest, we’ve all had moments like that. Maybe not as dramatic as running across the sea, but subtle versions of the same thing. We see someone and think, “They wouldn’t fit here.” Or “They’re not interested.” Or even, “They don’t deserve this.” We don’t always say it out loud, but it shapes how we act—who we talk to, who we avoid, who we include, and who we quietly ignore. Here’s the uncomfortable truth: when something is off inside us, it will show up outside us. That’s exactly what happens with Jonah. Running from God doesn’t just affect him—it creates chaos around him.

He ends up on a ship, and suddenly there’s a massive storm. Not a normal storm—a terrifying one. Experienced sailors are panicking. They’re throwing cargo overboard, trying anything to survive. Where’s Jonah? Asleep. Deep in the ship, completely disconnected.

It’s almost hard to believe. Everyone else is fighting for their lives, and Jonah is out cold. Honestly, that’s not as strange as it sounds. When we’re out of sync internally—when we’re ignoring something we know is right—we can become surprisingly disconnected from reality. Other people can see what’s going on, but we don’t. That’s Jonah. Eventually, the sailors figure out he’s the problem. They confront him, and he admits it: “This is happening because of me.”

Instead of immediately throwing him overboard, the sailors try to save him. They row harder, trying to get back to land. It doesn’t work. Finally, they do what Jonah says—throw him into the sea. And the moment they do, the storm stops.

And the sailors? They end up fearing God and making vows to Him. Don’t miss that. Even in Jonah’s disobedience, God is still working. Still revealing Himself. Still reaching people. That doesn’t excuse Jonah—but it does remind us that God’s purposes don’t depend on perfect people.

Where does that leave us? It brings us back to that original idea: when the inside is wrong, the outside is wrong. Jonah’s issue wasn’t his actions—it was his heart. His bias. His unwillingness to extend grace. The same thing can happen to us. We can look fine on the outside—say the right things, show up in the right places—but still carry attitudes that quietly shape how we treat people. Those attitudes matter; they determine who we “see.”

Think about your everyday life. The people you pass at work. At school. In your neighborhood. In stores. At restaurants. Who do you notice, and who do you overlook? There are people all around us whose stories we don’t know. Whose names we’ve never asked. People who might be carrying things we can’t see? Sometimes the reason we don’t see them isn’t that they’re invisible; it’s because we’ve already decided that they don’t fit into our world.

What’s the solution? It’s not just “try harder” or “be nicer.” It starts deeper than that. It starts with recognizing something simple but powerful: none of us earned grace. When we fully comprehend grace—when grace sinks in—it changes how we see other people. Because suddenly, it’s not about who deserves what. It’s about extending what we’ve already received. We become more aware. More open. More willing to engage.

We close with a question worth meditating upon: Who are you not seeing? Not in a general sense, but specifically. Who is in the daily life that you’ve overlooked? Who have you already decided doesn’t belong in your space, your conversations, your attention? And what might change if you started seeing them differently?

At the end of the day, this isn’t just about Jonah. And it’s not just about a small church in Tennessee. It’s about us. Because the reality is, the condition of our hearts will always shape the way we live. If the inside is right—if it’s shaped by grace, humility, and openness—then the outside will follow, but if it’s not, no amount of outward structure can fix it. The most important place to start is inside.

Matthew Sullivan is the Preaching Minister of Shoals Christian Church, Shoals, IN, and Professor of Bible and Professional Studies at Louisville Bible College. He can be reached at shoalspreacher@frontier.com.