Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded, be- cause through him the Lord had given victory to Aram. He was a val- iant soldier, but he had leprosy.
~2 Kings 5:1–14
At a recent USFW meeting, we had a program on writing memoirs. The presenter offered a number of ideas to help people to think about how to frame their stories. One of these was the “fairy tale” approach, in which you imagine one scene from your life as if you are the hero in a mythic tale. So you start off by describing the hero—what do they possess that makes them a hero, and what do they need? Those two pieces of informa-tion will shape the sort of quest on which the hero is sent.
That’s exactly how Naaman’s story starts. He’s a great com mander. He’s brave. He’s respected. God has used him on the battlefield. What our hero needs, though, is nothing he can rout with a sword and a chariot—he needs healing.
So, off he goes on his quest. An unlikely messenger appears, as is nearly obligatory in a fairy tale. This time, it’s in the form of a Hebrew servant girl, serving in Naaman’s household. She speaks of a healer with great power—a prophet in Samaria—who she is certain could bring Naaman healing.
The king of Aram had nothing better to suggest, so he gave his blessing. Naaman gathered up silver, gold, and fine clothing, and left his kingdom bearing a letter from the king of Aram addressed to Joram, the king of Israel.
Joram, to put it gently, was not thrilled by this news. He tore his robes and said, “Am I God? Can I kill and bring back to life? Why does this fellow (by which he means the king of Aram) send someone to me to be cured of his leprosy? See how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me!”
The kings of Israel were not, for the most part, known for their wisdom. Joram has a good point, though! If he fails to heal Naaman, even though rumor has it that he could have, then the king of Aram may interpret that as an act of aggression. What’s a mediocre king of a smaller country to do?
But all of this politicking is a red herring. Enter Elisha, the powerful prophet the servant girl was thinking of in the first place. He reminds the king that he is perfectly capable of healing a man with leprosy. So Naaman’s glorious retinue finds itself outside the home of some cranky mystic who can’t even be bothered to step outside the door and meet him. Seriously—Elisha doesn’t even go say hello to the great and powerful warrior! He sends a messenger out, instead, to say “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”
This is the point at which we can say that Naaman is completely over this adventure. It’s the part of the book where the hero, faced with a seemingly impossible task, chooses instead to simply throw in the towel. In this case, though, the task at hand isn’t so much impossible as it is demeaning. Here Naaman has come, surrounded by servants and loaded up with rich gifts and bearing a letter from the king himself, and the messenger of a supposedly great prophet is telling him to go bathe in the Jordan?
The Jordan, I will remind you, is not a picturesque river. It’s muddy and kind of gross. Naaman isn’t wrong when he fumes that the rivers of his home in Damascus would be better for bathing. How’s he supposed to get clean by washing in dirty water? So he turns and goes off in a huff .
Naaman is persuaded, eventually, to give this remedy—so unceremoniously offered by Elisha’s messenger—a try. And, you won’t be surprised to know, his hero quest is successful. His leprosy is gone, and Naaman lives to fight another day.
I’m struck, though, by how human Naaman’s response is when offered healing in the rst place. Because, sure, the river is kind of disgusting. It’s just dirt, though! What kind of mighty warrior is afraid of a little dirt? He’s willing to be covered in the blood of his enemies, but can’t possibly wade into a muddy river if he hasn’t brought along his Tide stain stick?
I think, intuitively, we know that’s not the answer. It’s not that Naaman is afraid of getting dirty. It’s something else— something a little closer to home.
Naaman is offered a new lease on life, and he turns it down. He could go bathe in the Jordan River, but he doesn’t want to— it’s beneath him to do such a thing. He’d rather ride away with his chin held high and his dignity intact than submit to a ritual prescribed by Elisha’s messenger. He asks, angrily, why he couldn’t have bathed instead in the rivers of his home in Damascus. He doesn’t believe in this nonsense, and because of his lack of belief, he almost misses out on salvation.
When we seek salvation, Friends, what are we expecting? Are we willing to be thrown off course?
A few nights ago, I presented this story as a devotional for the guests and hostesses at our local drop-in shelter for women and children, and I asked the women to identify times when they—like Naaman—had been asked to set aside their pride and engage in the humble work of salvation. The first response was the one that I had hoped for, as the guests began identifying the ways in which they had experienced God’s saving presence in their current experience of homelessness. The conversation quickly took on a life of its own, however, as all of us named the times in our lives when we set aside our desire for control, our illusions of perfection, and came up out of the muddy river cleaner than when we had gone down.
Doubt is not a sin, but it’s also not a resting place. It’s good to question, good to query, good to interrogate any claim that comes before us. But it’s also good, now and then, to step out without being sure. Naaman didn’t know what would happen, when he dipped himself down in the Jordan River. Often, neither do we. We often don’t know what’s going to happen if we step out in faith.
Nevertheless. May we be willing to accept the grace of God in even the lowliest of forms.
—Julie Rudd
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