6 Epiphany
February 22, 2009
2 Kings 5:1-14
There are few things I’m beginning to realize about myself now that I’ve been involved in this preaching thing for a little while. The first is that I love preaching on these great Old Testament stories. The second thing is that the characters that seem to most attract me often are either nameless and minor or incredibly flawed. And the third thing is that I’m generally dissatisfied by the blurbs we get in the lectionary. They tend to be such small pieces of such a big story, frequently with the best parts missing.
This morning we get the beginning of a really intriguing story from 2 Kings. Naaman, our main character, is the commander of the Aramean army. Not only is Naaman not an Israelite, he commands the armies that have repeatedly threatened Israel. In fact, in his household lives a young servant girl who was kidnapped when his country raided Israel. Naaman is rich and powerful and incredibly arrogant. But he has leprosy – a painful and infectious skin disease.
For most people during that time period, being diagnosed with leprosy would be a life-altering curse. The book of Leviticus spends two chapters teaching priests how to diagnose diseases of the skin, how to pronounce lepers ritually unclean, and how to perform rites of purification should they be healed.
So back then, in Israel, at least, lepers would be sentenced to a life of social ostracism. From Leviticus 13: “The person with such an infectious disease must wear torn clothes, let his hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of his face and cry out, 'Unclean! Unclean!' As long as he has the infection he remains unclean. He must live alone; he must live outside the camp.” That’s certainly the situation in which we find the poor leper that Jesus heals in Mark’s Gospel reading today.
But Naaman is different. He escapes this horrible and lonely fate because of his power and connections. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t still aching for an end to his misery – an end to his physical pain, to the disgusted looks he get when people think he isn’t looking, to the fear he sees in people’s eyes when he comes too close. So as soon as he hears about a possible healer in Israel he gets the king’s blessing (and his treasure) and heads out to demand a cure.
But Naaman comes to Israel and to the prophet Elisha with such arrogance and conceit. He rides with his riches up to Elisha’s door, expecting Elisha to come out and invoke God’s name and wave his hand around – “Poof! Hocus Pocus! Alakazam!” Something spectacular and wonderful and worthy of an important person like him coming all this way.
(Maybe it brings to mind the CEOs of the Big 3 U.S. automakers flying separately on their private corporate jets to demand for a 25 billion dollar bailout from the U.S. taxpayers.)
But the cure the Israelite prophet offers Naaman isn’t exactly the one he was expecting. Namaan is outraged that instead of coming in person to heal him, Elisha sends a lowly messenger. How dare this so-called prophet deal with him – a influential army commander – through an intermediary! Naaman cannot believe that his power and money haven’t earned him a special relationship with this man of God. His sizable ego is bruised.
Naaman is further insulted that Elisha would dare to suggest he bathe his powerful body in the foul waters of the River Jordan when much more beautiful and pure rivers exist in his own country. Naaman is stubborn and prideful enough that he almost refuses the cure that Elisha offers. His expectations for God are such that he nearly misses out on God’s blessing. But, with the urging of his servants, Naaman finally gets over himself and follows Elisha’s instructions and his flesh is restored. The God of Israel has provided much-needed healing for this Gentile outsider.
And all that is very interesting, and certainly there are plenty of sermons in there:
I could imagine talking about the faith and selfless love of that nameless little slave girl who helps her captor.
Or thinking about the implications of this story for our prejudices about the sorts of people God chooses to be in relationship with.
Or delving into what this story tells us about the inequity of power in society and its relation to opportunities for healing, in Old Testament days and today.
Or maybe finding other examples of times when our inability to see past the package in which God sends us blessing blinds us to the blessing itself.
But I’m afraid that what interests me most is what happens after Naaman is healed. And that is a piece of the story that we don’t get in our reading this morning. But I refuse to let the lectionary thwart me! And so I’ll give you the rest of the story.
Once he is cured (via Elisha’s lowly messenger), Naaman is amazed and grateful and heads immediately to see Elisha in person to say thanks. (Now Naaman is beginning to remind me of those corporate executives back on Capital Hill for a second time, penitent and this time carpooling in hybrid vehicles.)
Against all odds, Naaman now recognizes the God of Israel as the source of his cure and is ready to believe in this healing foreign God. “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel,” he declares. (Which is, of course, very cool and a great example to all of us to be thankful for the ways in which God works in our lives.) But that’s still not what interests me most.
To me, the most intriguing part happens when Naaman is ready to leave and return to his homeland – back to the enemy land of Aram, back to his work as the right-hand man for the King who has brought Israel to its knee on more than one occasion.
Naaman’s flesh is whole and healthy again and he has understood God to be at the root of his cure -- and his response is to ask Elisha to let him take two mule-loads of earth from the land of Israel back home with him. Namaan has experienced the power of this God of Israel who was able to heal his flesh in the waters of the Jordan, and he wants to take some of this holiness home with him. He assumes that this great God can only be found in the land of Israel; can only be worshipped on Israeli soil. And so he plans to solve his geographical issue by bringing some of that soil home.
There’s something wonderfully comforting about that idea. I can relate to this man Naaman and his desire to have a tangible piece of God to cart back home with him. Something that he can point to and say confidently, “There’s God.” Something reliable and certain that he can carry around and know that when he touches it, he is in the presence of holiness and healing. I, too, would really like to carry around a clod of God in my pocket.
Because there are times when it’s easy -- when we know God is right there with us, when we know we’ve done the right thing, or said just what needed to be said, or prayed with our whole heart. But unfortunately there are far more times when we forget about God entirely, when we’re far from being our best selves, or when we feel alone. And that’s when it would be awfully nice to have a big dirt-pile full of God to rely on.
Every year the Diocese of Virginia has a clergy retreat at Shrine Mont and they bring a speaker to lead us in meditations throughout the weekend. Two years ago – my first year there – they brought in a monk from the Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Brother Curtis spoke to us in this wonderfully gentle, meditative voice. He was humble and funny and incredibly spiritual and everything he said seemed deep and consequential and forgiving. When he spoke I felt prayerful and nonanxious, and confident about my relationship with God. I kept thinking that if only I could just keep Brother Curtis with me all the time, I’d be so much kinder and better and holier. If I could just have someone like him to give me constant spiritual direction maybe I’d stand a chance of being the patient and forgiving and loving person I’d like to be. But of course, bringing Brother Curtis home with me was not really an option.
The good news is that God is, of course, bigger and better than a clump of dirt. I’ve heard our new-ish Bishop Shannon Johnston talking about how with his bishop-ly duties he is spending upwards of 20 hours a week driving from parish to parish around the Diocese. Twenty hours a week on his own in his car – which would get old quick, whether it’s on lonely country roads or in jam-packed gridlock. Bishop Johnston said that he doesn’t have time to set aside for prayer the way he’s used to getting it – dedicated, calm time in some place that feels holy to him. And so he’s been working with a retired bishop from the seminary to help him figure out ways that he can make his time in the car a holy time. Ways to remind him that God is with him even in that most mindless and dreary of places. He said it’s been a good lesson for him that God can be found wherever it is that we find ourselves.
God isn’t something small and certain that we can pile up on our mule (or in the trunk of our U.S.-made automobile) and carry with us like a mound of dirt, however comforting that might seem at times. Just like the blurbs that we get in our lectionary readings on any given Sunday, that would just be a small piece of the wonderful whole. We’d be missing all the best parts! We’d be missing the rest of the story about our God who shows up in the most unlikely places to challenge us, or surprise us, or forgive us, or heal us. Our God who may appear small and manageable at times, but then just when you’re getting comfortable explodes out and defies every expectation. The God who has attracted and forgiven nameless and minor and incredibly flawed characters just like you and me since the beginning of time.
Amen.
Elizabeth Rees