Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
2 Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45
February 15, 2009

Choose to Touch

This morning I’d like you to pay attention not to one, but two, of the stories we just heard. I know this is a lot to expect, but if I didn’t think you were up to it, I wouldn’t ask.

Behold General Naaman, a commander in the army of the King of Aram – also known as ancient Syria. He cuts an impressive figure. His chest glitters with medals won for courage and cunning in battle. He’s got so many medals, he lists to port when he walks.

But Naaman has a problem. He suffers from some kind of skin disease. The text calls it "leprosy," but that was a catch-all term for anything that caused your skin to be of two different colors. Whatever he’s got, it’s bad, and he wants more than anything to be healed of it. A slave-girl in his household, whose home is in Israel, tells Naaman that back home there is a prophet who could heal him of his condition.

It isn’t easy for a man of Naaman’s rank and position to take the advice of a mere slave. A four-star General in the Syrian army can hardly be expected to seek out some quack in a third-rate country like Israel.

But Naaman goes to his commander-in-chief anyway, and gets an official letter on royal stationery to take to the king of Israel. "Greetings!" it says. "I’m sending my servant Naaman to you to be healed of his leprosy." Then Naaman gets together a nice present to give the King of Israel, and takes to the road in a convoy of Humvees.

Now remember, Syria is a big, powerful country at this time, and Israel is a tiny, weak one. To the king of Israel, this letter from the king of Syria reads like a message from Don Vito Corleone: "I’m making you an offer you can’t refuse: heal my general or else."

Upon reading the letter, the King of Israel, who’s a bit of a drama queen, rends his clothes and cries "Am I God, to give death or life . . .?" In other words, "I’m just the king. I’m not God, and I have no business speaking or acting for God."

What we have here is clash of theologies. The king of Syria thinks the gods can be manipulated. A gift as generous as Naaman’s – ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten Armani suits -- should be an offer no king, and no god, can refuse. In short, he thinks the God of Israel is an idol just like the gods back home.

The rules are different in Israel. In Israel the king works for God. The king doesn’t tell the Lord’s prophets what to do. The Lord’s prophets tell the king what to do.

So the king of Israel sends Naaman to visit Elisha, the prophet. Naaman arrives at Elisha’s house with his full military entourage. He steps down from his Bradley fighting vehicle and expects to find Elisha, snapping to attention.

Nothing doing. Elisha doesn’t even bother to come out of his house. He sends a messenger to Naaman, telling him to immerse himself in the Jordan River seven times.

"What?" Naaman fumes. "No ritual? No sprinkling with holy water? No lighting of fires and elaborate sacrifices? No money slipped under the table for the prophets’ pension fund? What kind of religion is this? I bring your king ten Armani suits and I’m told to go skinny dipping in the Jordan? Back home we’ve got rivers that make the Jordan look like a mud puddle."

Eventually his servants calm him down, and Naaman decides to give it a try. He literally climbs off his high horse, removes his medals, and just like some recruit in boot camp doing pushups for his drill sergeant, he immerses his leprous body in the chilly Jordan. Naaman comes out of the water with skin like that of a young boy.

It works. Humility before the God of Israel works, not as a sacrifice to impress God, but as an acknowledgement of who Naaman is in the presence of God. Naaman learns he can’t bribe the God of Israel, but he can humble himself before God and seek God’s healing mercy.

In the presence of God, there are no kings and no generals. Before the Lord God all of us are beggars.

As Naaman is coming up out of the Jordan and putting his uniform back on, I’d like us to move on to today’s story from the Gospel of Mark. It’s also a miracle story about a leper who gets healed, but this time it’s Jesus who does the healing and the person who is healed needs no lessons in humility.

This leper has no letters of introduction on palace letterhead and no impressive gifts to lay before Jesus’ feet. Pride is not his problem. His problem is isolation. According to the ritual laws of the day, this man is officially unclean. He can’t go to the synagogue. He is not allowed to have a job and must beg for food. He can’t touch anyone or be touched by anyone. He has to wear distinctive clothing, and if anyone comes too close, he’s supposed to shout out "Unclean! Unclean!"

This leper comes up to Jesus, kneels at his feet, and says, "If you choose, you can make me clean."

Most modern translations say that at this point Jesus is "moved with compassion" for the man. Some old manuscripts use another word. They say he was moved by anger. "Jesus snorted at him and pushed him out," one scholar translates.

Perhaps Jesus is angry at the leper for forcing him to choose, so early in his ministry, the direction it will take. More likely he is furious with the religious classification system that reduced this child of God to a mere category.

You know how categories work. If we can classify people under certain categories, we don’t have to deal with them as human beings. "Leper" worked that way in Jesus’ day. We have several of own: "Illegal immigrant" for instance. "Homeless" for another. Or how about "enemy combatant"? That’s particularly useful because it renders a person invisible both socially and constitutionally.

That kind of thing really gets Jesus’ goat.

Maybe he is moved by anger. Maybe it is pity. Perhaps it’s a little of both. Whatever the case, Jesus decides then and there. "I do choose. Be made clean."

It’s at this point that, I believe, that this second miracle story takes a gospel turn. Jesus stretches out his hand and touches the man. Unlike the prophet Elisha in the Old Testament story, who doesn’t bother to come out of his house to greet Naaman, Jesus risks his entire ministry by touching the man.

"I do choose . . . He stretched out his hand and touched him."

Jesus didn’t have to do that. He could have healed without touching. He didn’t need to get overly involved. But now that he’s gone and touched this leper, all bets are off. Now Jesus is officially unclean, and no longer qualifies as a holy man. If ever there were any chance of his being endorsed by the religious establishment, he just blew it. From now on Jesus is on the official list of undesirables.

From both of these stories we learn something about God. God is not an idol to be bought off or manipulated. God is not impressed with what we call success or moved to act out of some inner need to impress us. In the words of Psalm 8,

What are human beings that you are mindful of them,
mortals that you should care for them?

Take off your medals. Come down off your high horse. If you want to get in touch with God, you have to know your place.

And yet, the same God is also present in Jesus, who reaches out to touch this man, who chooses to touch him. It occurs to me that even if the man had remained a leper, Jesus’ touch would have made all the difference. As terrible as it is to live with a debilitating disease, even more terrible is the notion that you are beyond God’s touch.

In recent years we mainline Christians have been decrying our loss of status. Nobody salutes anymore when we enter the public square. Nobody is impressed with our claims to have the corner on salvation. Like Naaman, we are learning humility the hard way.

With our demotion, however, also comes an opportunity. Now that no one salutes, we are free to touch – to reach out with the love of Jesus Christ for a world that longs to be made whole. There are hundreds of ways to do reach out, and I suspect you are thinking of a few of them right now.

Perhaps the Spirit of God is telling us through these stories, Do it. Choose to touch. Reach out and take the risk. There is no better way to be made whole, or to bring God’s wholeness to others.

 

 

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