2 kings 5:1-14

An Outsider Healed
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Have you ever looked forward to something you’ve never experienced before? I don’t know what that may be—a place you have never been to before, a game you never played before, a restaurant you never tried before?
 
You looked forward to it, because even though you’d never experienced it before, you had a good idea of what it would be like. Or at least you thought you had a good idea.
 
Then the day came. You arrived at that place, you played that game, you ate at that restaurant. And then, when asked about it later, you said: “It was, er, uh, interesting, but it wasn’t at all what I expected.”  
 
The God revealed to us in the pages of the Bible isn’t at all what we expected. This God subverts our expectations. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the healing of Naaman.
 
Naaman makes an appearance to us today because his healing came through the prophet Elisha.
 
Elisha is the figure to whom our summer sermon series introduced us last Sunday. Then we learned about Elisha’s apprenticeship to Elijah.
 
Elisha followed his master with such devotion—with such determination not to leave his side—that he was rewarded with a vision of Elijah’s ascent into heaven in a chariot of fire and with a double share of his master’s spirit.
 
From that moment forward, Elisha went out in the power of the Lord as Israel’s prophet.
 
Naaman is an imposing figure. He is the chief of staff to the Aramean king and enjoys high esteem, because his success as a military commander brought peace to the Aramean people.
 
And yet this glowing portrait is marred by a surprising defect: Naaman has an affliction. He has a skin disease. 
 
But this is not the only surprising element in the story. Naaman was the agent by whom the “Lord had given victory to Aram.”
 
Now the surprise is hardly that the Lord is active outside Israel’s borders. Israel understands her God to be the one God, Creator of all.
 
Rather, the surprise is that God gave victory to Aram—apparently at Israel’s expense, as evidenced disturbingly by the presence of a slave girl in Naaman’s household (RW.L. Moberly, “The Only God”).
 
Wait. What? This isn’t the story line we have all come to expect.
 
All the mythologies of the nations of the world tell us about a people, humble in origins, but called to a great mission.
 
They awaken to this mission, as it were, and go to war in the service of their gods.
 
Military victories over neighboring peoples lead to great wealth and glory. A national identity is forged, accompanied by literary epics that celebrate the exploits of the gods and the heroes that those gods favor.
 
But Israel’s story is different. It is unexpected. It is different, because Israel’s God is different.
 
What this lesson makes clear at the outset is this: that whatever the Lord’s special relationship with Israel, he does not necessarily act in accord with Israel’s wishes and preferences. She cannot presume upon her God’s actions (Moberly).
 
And why is this? Because her God is sovereign and free. He cannot be manipulated, nor can he be pressed into the service of a national agenda (not even a Christian nationalist agenda). He pursues his own ends, and no one can say to him: “What are you doing?”
 
He does all that he pleases. He asks only that his people listen to him, to trust that he knows what he is doing. He has purposes that are good, not only for Israel, but for all the nations of the world, even though they are hidden from Israel.
 
Do we trust this God, even though it may appear to us that he is working against our expectations, perhaps in ways we would never choose?
 
There’s a young girl, probably in her early teens, probably from somewhere in Northern Israel, who was captured on an Aramean raid.
 
For her, after the raid, life appeared to come to an end. To be enslaved and taken into exile—we can only imagine what a personal catastrophe this must have been.
 
It could only have felt like a living death. She has to make the most of a situation not of her own choosing (Moberly).  
 
But by the mysterious providence of God, she finds herself in what appears to be a good home (Moberly).
 
Here she wants, and is able, to give good advice. Whatever she may or may not know about prophecy, she knows enough to hope. “There is a prophet in Samaria.”
 
And she also knows enough that a prophet is someone in whom the power of God may be present and active in a life-giving way.
 
So this young slave girl speaks confidently to Naaman’s wife, with words borne on the wings of her faith in her God.
 
Both Naaman’s wife and Naaman himself are willing to listen to her, and Naaman acts on her words.
 
Note the irony here? A powerful military commander moves because of the hope of a young slave girl!
 
This young girl has just this brief moment. She does nothing more than say a few words.
 
And yet without her intervention, the action stands still. There is no forward progress. Nothing will be accomplished.
 
Wait. What? A slave girl as heroine? A young slave girl, in an ancient world in which she is less than nobody—she is the heroine whom God favors, to whom God reveals himself.
 
Is this not how God is? Isn’t this just like Israel’s God, the living God?
 
Later another prophet, a prophet to whom all of the prophets point as the fulfillment of all prophecy, would praise this God in these words:
 
“I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.  Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do” (Matthew 11:25, 26).
 
The things of God revealed to the small and insignificant of the world and hidden from the great and powerful: How the story unfolds is an illustration.
 
Naaman goes to see the king of Aram, no doubt to request a leave of absence, but also to make clear to his master that he is making the trip into enemy territory for good reason (Moberly).
 
Parenthetically, the king of Aram is nowhere named, and neither is the king of Israel when he makes an appearance.
 
It is curious, but perhaps deliberate.
 
Perhaps the point is that the kings, the big shots, who usually have their names in the history books, are not the significant characters in history’s plot. They are incidental.
 
How often do we assume that God’s work happens through the wealthy and the powerful? 
 
In actual fact, it is more often than not happening in quiet, inconspicuous corners—through the small, insignificant ones whose faith moves the course of history forward—ones whose names will never be mentioned in the history books.   
 
But the kings are not only marginal. They are also uncomprehending, and comically so (Moberly).
 
The comedy begins with letter that the King of Aram sends with Naaman to the King of Israel.
 
We expect this letter to be a letter of recommendation requesting safe passage and any appropriate assistance, with an assurance of peaceful intent. It is not (Moberly).
 
Instead, it is a letter containing a request to the Israelite king to cure Naaman of his skin disease!
 
Furthermore, the letter is also accompanied by a treasure so vast that it can hardly be seen as remuneration for the healing (Moberly).
 
It can only be seen as a display of power meant to impress the King of Israel with the wealth of his northern neighbor.
 
The king of Israel reads the letter. He sees the request as ludicrous. How can he be expected to perform a healing that only God has the power to perform?
 
Here again our expectations are subverted. Isn’t he the king of Israel? And as king of Israel, shouldn’t he, of all people, know the God of Israel, know that God has a prophet in Israel?
 
He doesn’t. He views the letter with suspicion. He sees it is a pretext to renew hostilities when he fails to respond positively to the request and the bounty that accompanies it (Moberly).
 
In any case, each king seems ill at ease with the notion of an afflicted man seeking healing for a skin disease, and each in his own way transposes the issue into more familiar categories of power politics (Moberly). In short, they just don’t get it.
 
Local news travels fast. And the slave girl’s prophet in Samaria appears. It is none other than Elisha himself.
 
Elisha sends a message to the King of Israel. It is direct, to the point. The king’s dismay, symbolized by the tearing of his clothes, is unwarranted. It shows a lack of faith (Moberly).
 
In contrast, is the prophet’s word, calm and commanding: “Let Naaman come to me, that he may know there is a prophet in Israel.”
 
Note that Elisha doesn’t say: “that he may be healed” but rather “that he may know.”
 
In a single stroke, there is a reclamation of Israel’s vocation: to be a light to the gentiles, to be a witness through whom all the nations come to know God.
 
In a single stroke, there is a re-centering of the narrative around divine purpose rather than political fear. God is still present and active in Israel, pursuing his own ends, despite the faithlessness of the king.
 
So Naaman with his retinue does go to Elisha, and the scene is set for his encounter with the prophet.
 
Here, once again, our expectations are subverted: Elisha ignores conventional courtesies and does not bother to come out and speak to his visitor face-to-face (Moberly).
 
Instead, he sends a messenger in his place.
 
Is Elisha rude? Does he not want to be disturbed?
 
No. Elisha's actions are deliberate: He wishes to challenge and unsettle some of the assumptions that Naaman likely held (Moberly).
 
Naaman is a great man accustomed to great undertakings. Should the occasion of his healing be any different? Certainly not!
 
Does not the prophet realize who is standing at his door? Should not the prophet have received a man of such stature with honor, instead of having treated him rather dismissively by sending a messenger to him?
 
Shouldn't there be a great public display to mark the occasion?
 
No. Instead, Elisha sends an ordinary man with the message: "Go wash in the Jordan."
 
No pomp, no ceremony--just a simple command that feels far beneath the dignity of a man more accustomed to command than to obey.
 
To Naaman, it seems insulting. How can something so mundane--so ordinary—possibly be adequate to the special occasion?
 
Naaman’s angry response shows us that in his own way he is as poorly attuned to the prophet in Israel as are the two kings.
 
Simple washing in a river in the absence of Elisha could just as well be done at home as in Israel.
 
Naaman’s wounded pride is reflected in his rather chauvinistic observation that the local rivers in Damascus are better than all the waters in Israel (Moberly).
 
Naaman’s servants, nameless and easily overlooked in the eyes of the powerful, become the voice of reason when pride forestalls obedience. Their words show true wisdom.
 
“My father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more then, when all he said was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” (2 Kings 5:13)
 
Naaman’s servants have just this brief moment. They do nothing more than say a few words.
 
And yet without their intervention, the action stands still. There is no forward progress. Nothing will be accomplished.
 
And once again, it is not the kings and commanders that are attuned to God and his prophets, but the servants. It is not the exalted that exhibit the insight, but the lowly. It is not his superiors, but the ones who travel behind Naaman who are able to speak the truth in love.
 
Their names may not be passed down to posterity, but without them, there is no Naaman, at least as we know him today.
 
They get through to their master, helping him to come to his senses. Naaman now goes to the Jordan and is healed. Obedience to the prophet’s words realizes the prophet’s promise (Moberly).
 
The story of Naaman is one of the most famous stories of the Old Testament. Its subject matter is rich and deep, as I hope you have come to appreciate.
 
But what are we to take away from it?
 
That the God of the prophets is different. The one God is not as people expect. God does not play favorites.
 
We see the Donald Trumps and Elon Musks of the world, regardless of what we may think of them personally, as great.
 
They seem to us more significant than the ordinary man or woman whose names will never be known beyond their immediate family circles.
 
But God does not see as we see. God is no respecter of persons. God is not impressed by titles or treasure chests. This God chooses the slave girl over the king, the general’s servants over the general.
 
What God asks of the great is the same as what God asks of the small: simple obedience to his word. Indeed, in God’s eyes, it is in this that greatness consists.
 
Will we be attuned to this God? Will we, as God’s prophetic people, bear witness not just that there was a prophet in Israel, but that there is a God who still works through the quiet, ordinary obedience of the small?
 
In a world of uncomprehending kings and desperate commanders, may we be found to have the quiet faith of the slave girl who dared to speak, of the servants who ventured to advise, of the ones who see what the powerful miss.
 
For this is what is pleasing to our God. And in the end it is only his measure of greatness that will matter. Amen. 
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