4 Pentecost
July 6, 2025 (John. Campbell)
2 Kings 5: 1-14, Psalm 30: 1-13, Galatians 6: 1-16, Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
Our story from the book of Kings begins with the shocking fact that Naaman, the hero of our text is not an Israelite. If fact, he is an enemy of Israel—and very good at what he does. Naaman is the Commander of the army of the Kingdom of Aram—the capitol of which is the same as that of modern day Syria—Damascus. Alone among the chapters in the book of Kings the story of Naaman explores not only the imperative of recognizing Yahweh and Yahweh alone as the God of Israel, but how that belief fundamentally changes one’s view of everything.
The story of Naaman is set approximately two hundred years after the Kingdom of Saul, David and Solomon split into two separate kingdoms: the Northern Kingdom of Israel the capitol of which was Samaria, and the Southern Kingdom of Judah, the capitol of which was Jerusalem. The split occurred in 922 BC. The two great prophets of the northern kingdom, whom John Macnamara told us of last week, were Elijah (870-850) and his successor Elisha (850-800). Elisha like Elijah played a major role in defending the religion of Yaweh—the one true God over all the earth—from the competing tribal deities that the people of Israel constantly relapsed into worshipping. The part of the narrative that takes time to understand and requires a change of heart to welcome is that belief in one divine source requires abolition of the idolatry endemic not just to ancient Israel but to individuals and nations across history to our present day.
There is a complication: Naaman is a leper. Well, not exactly. If he were he would not be out leading an army let alone going on a foreign diplomatic mission. Modern scholarship tells us Naaman’s skin disease is disfiguring but not life threatening. So if Yaweh gives him victory in battle over Yaweh’s own people, why doesn’t he also heal him of his disease? Because Yaweh, through baptism and rebirth wants Naaman to spiritually immigrate and join the often anonymous congregation of the earth’s righteous. Naaman alone can decide to join. Yaweh in our story, as in our individual stories, sets the background against which Naaman, and each of us, makes the free and fateful decisions that define who we are. On one of his raids into Israel Naaman captured somebody’s daughter and gave her as a servant to his wife. Already you can see Naaman was a kind and thoughtful husband…though I would not go so far as to call him a feminist.
The slave girl, whom our text does not name, does something remarkable that our passage passes over without remark. The slave girl tells Naaman’s wife that there is a prophet in Israel who “could heal my Master of his disease.” If you were a slave would you volunteer that information? Were you a slave why should you care about your captor? If your captor has an incurable disease, wouldn’t you think “so much the better—serves him right.” Nothing is a greater testimony to the existence of “a power not ourselves that makes for righteousness” than the unforced goodness of those from whom we would least expect it. And in dark and noisy times they are hope’s first whisper.
Naaman’s wife believes the testimony of the slave girl and passes her information on to her husband. She knows he will trust her judgement because he has learned over years the secret of domestic tranquility. What ordinarily Naaman might think impossible, now seems now a live and reasonable option. Certainly there are risks. The first one is the risk of looking credulous before his King. Imagine the scene: “Your majesty, a young girl from Israel I captured on my last raid says there is a prophet in Samaria that can cure my disease. I was wondering if you would underwrite a diplomatic mission so I could see this man?” Now the King realizes that the slave girl could be seeking revenge. She could be testing how much of a fool Naaman is willing to risk becoming out of desperation for a cure—or for that matter how big a fool he the King is willing to risk becoming for Naaman’s sake. The King knows from experience that in making decisions in uncertain cases that what may seem to be folly may turn out to be wisdom or, vice versa. The King also knows that in practical affairs we must place our trust somewhere—so letting his reason be informed by his hope–and vice versa–he trusts Naaman, the servant girl, and the prophet in Israel, that all will work for the best. So he sends Naaman out with what, in those primitive times, was the standard kit for diplomats: gobs of cash and a wardrobe out of the latest issue of the ancient version of Gentleman’s Quarterly. Today, of course, with inflation and all, the same transaction would cost you an airliner.
As often happens in bureaucracies, the message gets garbled in translation. The letter that the King in Samaria reads says the King of Aram expects him to heal Naaman. The king of Israel says “Who does he think I am? God?” Of course he thinks this is a pretext for war. Notice this interesting detail in our text. It never occurs to the King of Israel to call on his own prophet—Elisha. The reason is common sense. Of course the god of Israel would not heal an enemy of Israel—especially not the Commander from Aram! While the king is tearing his expensive clothes in despair, the prophet Elisha gets wind of what is happening and sends the King a note: “Send Naaman to me.” So Naaman with his company of soldiers shows up at Elisha’s house. Guess what? Elisha does not come out. That is an insult. Naaman and his entourage wait. Then, after awhile, Elisha sends a servant with this message. Naaman is to immerse himself in the Jordan 7 times. From Naaman’s point of view this is another insult. Why? Because compared to the rivers in Aram, the Jordan is just a creek. Naaman thinks what could there be in this miserable trickle that is lacking in the rolling, majestic rivers back home?”
Naaman stalks off. But Naaman, has not chosen toadies for advisors. They have studied in the prestigious War College in Aram. They know how to speak truth to power—with tact. Their counsel is: “Look, you are a brave, formidable man. Had Elisha given you something difficult you would have done it. Right? So—now if he asks you to do something easy why hesitate? So Naaman, swallows his pride, admits he might have been rash, accepts the advice of his inferior officers….and is healed.
Elisha then comes out of his house. Naaman confesses there is no God but the God of Israel—he offers Elisha a reward. Elisha refuses. Naaman’s healing is not his doing but the Lord’s.
So what might be the implication of Naaman story for us this weekend of our Republic’s 249th 4th of July? Our Declaration of Independence affirms, putting in secular terms a central implication of one God–all persons are entitled to the same basic rights because all are descended from the same sacred source. Thus whether we follow from one or both testaments the slow, delayed, incomplete, backsliding, but world-changing revolution of monotheism, or the equally slow, incomplete backsliding project of its secular off-shoot–representative-government—either way we know we must either rise to heights yet unachieved or we decline. The Naaman story uses the extreme case of an enemy to make clear that Yaweh’s special relation with his people does not mean he is just the god of their tribe. And here is where our text comes full circle from the early iron age to the age of micro-chips and information bits. Perhaps the worst sin of Israel as the story of Naaman and Elisha suggests, was not when it practiced idolatry openly but when it practiced idolatry covertly and under the common name worshipped a god that was incredibly, or too credibly, golden, transactional, tribal and small.
The people of Israel and generations of our countrymen have known difficult times but neither the people of God nor the founders and sustainers of our Republic were created for, or long fell victim to, the cult of the strong man above the laws, or its equally unattractive twin, the dogmatic idolatry of despair.
Let us affirm in the tradition of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, the prophets Elijah, Eisha and Jesus, and in communion with all the saints, the words of our psalmist:
“Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.” Psalm 30:6.
“He who goes out weeping, bearing precious seed, will doubtless come again rejoicing bearing his sheaves with him.” Psalm 126: 6