Roman Brandstaetter, the twentieth-century Polish author born into a highly observant Jewish family, always spoke of becoming Catholic not as a “conversion” but as a “fulfillment.” That perspective illumined his many religious writings, including his novella about the prophet Jonah. Brandstaetter’s Jonah was not the stiff-necked and somewhat simple man of the Bible whose immediate response to “Go East, young man, to Ninevah” was to try to go west to Tarshish. He’s a much more complex character. He’s devoted to God and happy to do His Will, except that he cannot imagine how the conversion of the Ninevites fits in. Jonah is a devout Jew who enjoys being a devout Jew. He is happy and thankful he is part of God’s Chosen People. He wants to serve God and to do His Will. But the idea that he should preach conversion to pagans: how could that be part of God’s Will?

Since God’s request could not be squared in Jonah’s mind with everything he understood about God, there was only one conclusion: that which seemed to be God’s Will was actually the work of the evil one, a masterful temptation to lead Jonah astray. So, if the Evil One said “go east,” the smart thing to do was “go west.”

That’s not to say Jonah was wholly sincere in his doubts. Jonah was happy being a Jew but also happy being a comfortable Jew. What God seemed to be asking of him was definitely out of his comfort zone. So, getting out of it was not a bad idea, either.

Brandstaetter’s Jonah is not a bad man. But he is a man who can talk himself into something because he cannot imagine God talking outside of a certain box. Their mutual conversation in the belly of the great fish has clarifying effects.

I thought of Jonah as we celebrate the Solemnity of the Epiphany. The prophecy of Isaiah in the First Reading well illustrates Jonah’s dilemma: The light shining on Zion amidst the “thick clouds” over all other peoples was not intended to be an exclusive illumination to be hidden under a Jewish bushel basket. It was intended to be the light by which the Chosen People would bring others into that circle. It’s an idea Jonah could not get.

Jonah (in Brandstaetter’s version) touches on this when he gets emotional about whether preaching to the pagans meant God didn’t love Israel as much as he imagined. It’s the constant dilemma felt by those who fail to realize that spiritual goods — like love — do not contract by sharing. Loving others doesn’t mean loving you less.

The Psalmist on Epiphany speaks of gifts from Tarshish. The gift of a repentant Jonah, ready to hear and do the Lord’s Will, is that great gift. The reign of God “from the Great River to the ends of the earth” augurs the universal invitation to salvation which Epiphany celebrates, the invitation St. Paul makes clear in the Second Reading: “that the Gentiles are coheirs, members of the same body, and copartners in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”

Brandstaetter’s Jonah differs from the petulant prophet brooding under his shrub in the Bible. As Jonah sees the fruits of his labor, fruits he still does not fully understand but to which he nevertheless lent his strength out of fidelity to God, he asks the Lord “why?” God somewhat puts him off, not revealing His ultimate plans but confirming Jonah had a key role in their furtherance, with the insinuation “let that suffice for you.” For Brandstaetter’s Jonah it does. God dismisses his servant with His blessing, sending him back to his home and family in the knowledge he did what God wanted of him — even if it was not what he himself may have wanted. After all, we pray “Thy Will be done,” not “my will be done.”

What Jonah perhaps could not see was what the Magi did. It’s a paradox that, in Matthew, the Magi are led to God by mere natural phenomena (a star) whereas, upon consultation with the Jerusalem authorities as to the venue for the Messiah’s birth, they can cite chapter and verse of Micah about Bethlehem. Finding God is often a question of opening one’s eyes.