2 Kings 5:1-14 "Naaman's Story"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly! 

         Naaman was a great man.  At least that is how the writer of his story in the Old Testament (or Hebrew) part of our Bible put it.         

         You see, Naaman was a five star general and his King, the ruler of Aram (which is modern day Syria) thought he was the cat’s meow.  In addition, his soldiers would walk through walls for him.  They loved and admired him that much, and the everyday people would line the boulevards whenever his motorcade passed through – cheering and waving their cloaks and palm branches.

         Naaman was rich, powerful, and respected.  He had everything going for him – except for one small thing – always spoken of in a whisper and mostly behind his back. 

         Naaman had a skin disease – and a pretty disgusting one it was too.  Some Biblical translations call it leprosy.  Whatever its name, it was most likely grossly disfiguring, and it probably itched like the dickens.  All in all, public appearances were difficult for him, and the rash did nothing for his self-esteem and psyche. 

         Naaman lived in his own private hell – as we all do from time to time. He had consulted with countless doctors and quacks and had tried every cure in the book. 

Then one day a young Israelite slave girl mentioned to Naaman’s wife that the great general ought to go to Israel.  There, the young woman said, he would surely find a prophet who could make short work of something as superficial as a skin disease. 

         Now the writer of Naaman’s story implies that he was at the end of his rope, the reason for which kept repeating itself every morning when he looked in the mirror to shave.  He was desperate for a cure.     So the great and powerful one (Naaman) took the advice of the small and powerless one (the unnamed slave girl).  He implored his king to dash off a quick letter of introduction to the King of Israel, then packed his bags, and headed to said country – along with ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, ten sets of garments, and a whole retinue of his most able-bodied soldiers, cooks, personal dermatologist, and some general purpose servants.  In short, it was quite the parade led by a great man ever so willing to purchase his health – his salvation – at most any price. 

         The King of Israel, however, powerful though he may have fancied himself to be, was a bit taken aback with the presumptuousness of Naaman’s request as it was funneled through the King of Aram. "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his disgusting skin disease."

         Yikes!  When the King of Israel read those words, we are told that he tore his clothes, and you have to wonder if that was why Naaman had brought those ten extra garments – anticipating the worst.  At any rate, the King of Israel shouted out, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a great general such as Naaman of a skin disease – disgusting or not?"

         The King’s ranting and raving reached even the outskirts of the city where the Jewish prophet Elisha lived in simplicity and solitude.  Apparently the King of Israel had no clue that a prophet of any reputation lived nearby.  Hard to believe, but judging from other Kings of Israel both before and after, one really would expect little else from this particular King. 

         However, when Elisha heard about the garment shredding, he sent the king a message, and so the one believed to have no power (Elisha) approached the one who thought he had all the power (the King).  "Why have you torn your clothes? Let Naaman come to me, that he (and you too, bonehead,) may learn that there is a prophet in Israel."

         So Naaman – and his ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, ten sets of garments, and a whole retinue of his most able-bodied soldiers, cooks, personal dermatologist, and some general purpose servants – set off for Elisha’s home.  Reformed Church pastor Scott Hoezee describes the scene beautifully:  “I like to picture Elisha living in the Ancient Near Eastern equivalent of a run-down looking mobile home out in some overgrown field somewhere. Today you would not expect the presidential motorcade to come roaring up to such a trailer in the middle of nowhere replete with police motorcycles, flashers flashing, sirens blaring, Secret Service cars, and the presidential black limo itself.  

         But that’s kind of what we see….Elisha lives in a hovel in front of which suddenly roars up Naaman’s whole entourage of horses and chariots and what-all-not.   Probably he had some trumpeter herald his arrival even as servants unrolled a strip of red carpet for Naaman to walk on after regally disembarking from his chariot.

        But then—just to keep this interplay between the lofty and the lowly going a bit more—we are told that Elisha just sends a messenger to tell Naaman what to do. The trumpet blares to announce the great man’s arrival, he walks to Elisha’s front door on the red carpet, but then . . . the door opens a crack and some lowlife servant peers out over top of the door’s security chain to tell Naaman to go to the river to wash seven times.  And no sooner does the mealy-mouthed little servant say this, he quickly re-closes the door.”

         Naaman is furious at this unexpected reception.  The nerve of him:  Treating me – me! – with such disrespect.  Does this prophet fellow not know who I am?  That I am a great man?  A five star general, no less? 

         Hoezee continues his description:  “He (Naaman) is the one who is supposed to send intermediaries to people on the lower rungs of the social ladder.  The folks down there are not supposed to send him second-tier messengers and servants.  

         Naaman wanted Elisha himself to come out and do a little song-and-dance routine, recite an incantation or two, make a big show of it all. But instead Naaman gets dismissed from the premises without even seeing the prophet in person and is told to do the unlikely-to-be-helpful thing of taking a bath in a muddy river.  Naaman could feel the multiple infections setting in already once that mucky Israelite river water seeped around his open sores.”

         Naaman was about to stomp off in righteous indignation at not being able to buy his health and his salvation – taking his ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, ten sets of garments, and a whole retinue of his most able-bodied soldiers, cooks, personal dermatologist, and some general purpose servants with him.

         However, once again, the powerless ones (the servants) approached the powerful one (Naaman).  “If the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it?” they asked.  ‘How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean?’” So Naaman went down and immersed himself seven times in the muddy Jordan River. 

         And, as Episcopal priest Laura Everett writes, Naaman “swallows his pride, leaves his clothes and his riches and his comforts by the shore side and plunges into the water.

He leaves behind the money and the armor that couldn’t heal him and plunges into the deep. Did it work yet? Two times- Why am I doing this? Three- look at all the people staring at me. Four- this is ridiculous. Five- I could have done this at home in my own rivers. Six- I have nothing to lose. Seven, he throws up his hands and acknowledges, “I can’t save myself.” And - guess what?  His flesh was immediately restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.”

         This story is so delightful and multi-faceted.  In it we find the trauma of disease, the drama of the King shredding his clothes, the comic relief of Naaman setting off with his carts filled with untold wealth to buy a cure, and the irony of the powerless ones (the servants, slaves, and a no name lo-life at Elisha’s door) directing a story so populated with people who thought of themselves as so great and powerful. It leaves us with loads to think about!

         First, there is where we think we will find healing and salvation.  Like Naaman, we want to believe in the things that our culture says will save us. That would be so easy!  We are all tempted by the magical fixes for whatever ails us. 

         As Everett writes, “Face cream made from diamonds, water from bucolic springs, work out videos from famous people. And we’re willing to pay to be saved. We want to believe and we’re willing to pay. Sports drinks that will give us back our energy, razors with five blades to make us into football players, scents from canisters that magnetically draw people to us….

         Naaman is prepared to buy his salvation….(He) is flush with material wealth, but this is not the economy of God’s salvation. Healing is not bought with talents and shekels and garments, or cars or investment portfolios or gadgets…. But the temptation is high to pack our bags heavy with the things we think could save us - our houses, our credit cards and our stuff.
         But God has other plans – for Naaman and for us.  As Everett concludes, “Naaman is an extreme version but his impulses are familiar.  (We too are) fairly sure we know where God’s healing will come from and what it will look like.”  But, you know what, Naaman could not save himself, and, in spite of our wealth, privilege, and presumptions, in the end, we cannot either.

        Second, there is our propensity to look for God in all the wrong places.  As one blogger I read this week wrote, “Now, the Bible is full of dramatic stories and God certainly has been known to do big things in big ways. God spoke to Moses through a burning bush and later allowed him to part the Red Sea in order for the Hebrews to escape Egypt. The plagues against Egypt included locusts and frogs and a bloody river. Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind…God works in magnificent and mysterious ways.” 

         However, more often, God works through the little people, the ones with no power, the ones we are most likely to overlook or trample.  God works through the least of these:  the young man and his dog with a cardboard sign on a Portland street corner who makes us think twice about what it means to be homeless, the child who sits up here with me and softly repeats the words I say in prayer who helps us remember that to be part of the kingdom we will need to be like Clare and Eamon, Bobby, Aubrey, and Gavin too. 

         Third, there is the revelation that those who seem to have no power often wield more than they presume, and those who figure they have all the power discover in sometimes hard and humiliating ways that they do not. On this Independence Day weekend, in between the BBQs and the fireworks, we might take a moment to ponder how the seemingly powerless ones (you and me) in fact determine the fate of the powerful ones (like Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump). You see, this nation whose birth we celebrate is great not because of its wealth or its military presence.  It’s greatness lies in the fact that we the people have both the right and the privilege to vote, to elect our leaders, and so, together, to determine our national vision.  We the people – who these days often seem to have no power - in the end hold all the power to keep America great - as it has been all along.

         There you have it.  This story of Naaman is one we may not read very often, but it is one filled with lots to think about – not the least of which is the complicated but rich relationship between the low and the lofty, the powerful and the powerless – and what that means for us today.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Luke 7:36 – 8:3 "Alabaster Jars and Churches"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly! 

         Here she is again:  That woman.  The party-crasher. The brazen hussy.  The one who sports long, thick, sensuously flowing hair.  The one who holds the alabaster jar filled with that expensive ointment.  The one who is simply called “a sinner”.  The one who, because of that label, is just like us. 

         She shows up in all four of the Gospels, you know, and in all four accounts people have issues with what she did.  In some versions, she was unforgivably wasteful.  In this version in the Gospel of Luke, folks accused her of overstepping her bounds and ignoring accepted social conventions – sinner that she was – and crashing the party in the first place.  Whatever made her think that she would be the least bit welcome?

         At any rate, in all four accounts, the woman interrupts Jesus at dinner and is judged severely for her actions by everyone except for Jesus.  In short, the other invitees are quite taken aback, if not downright horrified. 

         She washes Jesus’ feet with her tears, wipes them clean and dry with her hair, and finally extravagantly anoints him with her sweet-smelling oils. In three of the Gospels, the writers locate this story at the very end of Jesus’ life, so that the woman’s action is associated with his death and so becomes a metaphor for the anointing that was done as part of Jewish burial customs. 

         However, the version of the story in the Gospel of Luke  (that we just read) has a different place in the overall narrative, occurring much earlier in Jesus’ ministry.  As Lutheran pastor Mary Anderson notes, “In (this Gospel writer’s) portrait of Jesus, he paints with a color of his own creation. He fashions a new color by taking this story of anointing, placing it in the house of a Pharisee, mixing it with a parable and other teachings, to give us a startling image of”…what?  I would say an image that points to something that lies at the heart of Jesus’ ministry – forgiveness, grace, and radical hospitality.

         Jesus was a guest that night at the home of Simon, who was a Pharisee.  It was most likely no ordinary dinner.  Gathered around the table were many of the prominent religious leaders in town along with this young upstart rabbi who seemed to be gaining quite a following and whom the religious hotshots needed to better understand and get a handle on. 

         And during the time of noshing and intellectual conversation, in barges this woman – this sinner – interrupting the party between the fish course and the bit of sherbet that followed to clear the palette.  And to make matters worse, she does the foot-washing thing, leaving the dining room smelling like an explosion in a perfume factory.  The other guests were – not surprisingly – aghast and very uncomfortable with the whole experience.

         “It’s disgusting,” they whispered. “I’m shocked!  Look at that:  He’s talking to that brazen hussy and allowing her to touch him – touch him – in public.  Why, the two of them are breaking every standard of respectable social behavior.”  Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little…

         And then, the deeply religious guests could not help it.  They retreated into the comfort zone of their own theology.  Simon grumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear:  “If this man was the prophet I thought he was, he would be downright more perceptive and sensitive to the nature of this situation.  He would have known what kind of woman this is who is falling all over him….Why, she is a sinner, a known sinner.” 

         The others picked up on his tone and inference.  “She's a sinner. Prophets are in the business of identifying, naming, and denouncing sin. Jesus calls himself a prophet and doesn't know what to do with sin and sinners?” (F. Funk)

         As Uniting Church in Australia pastor Avril Hannah-Jones writes, “Any proper man would have reacted with outrage and anger at her behavior. A respectable man would have rejected her for touching him in public. By allowing this behavior Jesus is tainted by the woman’s sinful reputation and brings dishonor on his host.”

         The woman’s performance left a terrible vibe around that dinner table, turning the whole event into a totally unpredictable and downright uncomfortable occasion.  However, dinners with Jesus seldom turned out as planned and more often than not became fodder for a teachable moment where someone would be left squirming. 

         And so we find that Jesus said, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

         “Oh? Tell me,” replied Simon huffily.

         And Jesus slipped into rabbi mode and fired off a quick parable.  “Two men were in debt to a banker.  One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?”

         Simon thought for a moment and answered, “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.”

         “That’s right,” said Jesus.

         Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, “Do you see this woman? I came to your home, and social protocol dictated that you provide a servant to wash my feet and oil my hair, so that I could come to your table entirely clean.  But Simon, you provided no water for my feet.  What am I?  Chopped liver?” 

         Simon said nothing, and Jesus continued, “However, this woman rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn’t quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn’t it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful.”

          Then he spoke to the woman: “I forgive your sins.”

         Well, you can imagine how that set the dinner guests back.  They could not help but talk behind Jesus’ back now, spouting their own brand of theology: “Who does he think he is, forgiving sins!”

         Powerful and vivid story, don’t you think?  And there are many ways we could take it this morning.  However, I would like to have us reflect for a moment on what this tiny tale says to us about the church – specifically about this small church with the big heart that we say it has.  What does this story say to us about those we really choose to welcome?  What does this story say to us about insiders and outsiders – and about radical hospitality?

         As one blogger I read this week wrote, “Herein lies the message. We have two religious leaders (Jesus and Simon) with two distinct and divergent understandings of how to receive the sinner….There are those standing in judgment of those who have sinned and there are those who are standing to receive the sinner with open arms.”

         Now, the problem with dichotomies like that is they are so black and white.  Given the stark contrast, who among us would say anything other than that we side with Jesus? 

Come on, we are a church, and we sang our stance at the very beginning of worship – God welcomes all, strangers and friends – and, by inference, just as God does, so do we. 

         However, if we were really honest, we would have to admit that we all stand in judgment of each other in one way or another.  Not in big ways, of course.  Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little….Worship is too chaotic when the children are here.  She’s a little too talkative for my comfort.  His wheelchair takes up a lot of room.  I’m sure someone will talk to them at coffee hour, but anyone with a tattoo creeps me out.  God welcomes all, strangers and friends…..

         Maybe you have heard the story about the pastor who was having difficulty with his assigned parking space at the church. People kept parking there whenever they pleased, even though there a sign clearly stating, “This Space Reserved.”

         The pastor thought, Okay, maybe the sign just needs to be a little clearer. So he had one made up that said, “Reserved for the Pastor Only.” Didn’t work. People still parked in his spot.

         All right – maybe the sign needs to be more forceful. So he had another sign made, “Thou Shalt
Not Park Here.” That didn’t work either.

         Finally the pastor hit on an idea. He had another sign made up, and nobody ever parked in his spot again. It said, “Whoever parks here preaches on Sunday!” 

         We all keep people out – in one way or another - even when we have the best of intentions.  And we do it in church – even though we are not really being the church when we do.

         You see, the church is not a place for us, safe and secure within its walls, safe and secure in the territory we have carved out for ourselves here.  The church is a place for everybody outside of these walls – outside of our claimed territories – the lonely, the lost, the unlovely, the sinners, the ones who are so sure they are unlikeable and unforgiven.   The church is for the party crashers, the ones who disrupt the natural flow of things.

         The pastor of a large church was about to begin the Sunday service. Just as she approached the pulpit, a young man entered from the back of the sanctuary.

He was dressed in torn jeans, a ratty tee shirt, had tattoos peeking out from under his shirtsleeves, and piercings on his face.

         He scanned the room and saw that no one was making room for him, so he proceeded down the center aisle and sat on the floor directly in front of the altar. Members of the congregation murmured to themselves and sat staring at the strange young man.

         The pastor was about to speak when a well-dressed, elderly gentleman seated in the back stood up. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, shined shoes, a gold pocket watch draped over his vest, and he walked with a mahogany cane topped with a gold figure.

         He proceeded down the aisle and, with much effort and the help of those seated on the front pew, sat down on the floor next to the visitor. The church members sat in stunned silence.

         The pastor, upon finding her voice, said, “Most of you will not remember the message spoken here today.  However I am sure that none of you will forget what you just witnessed.”

         We need to be a place for the misfits, the oddballs, the ones who make us squirm – if we are truly the church. 

We need to be a place where we recognize that we are neither perfect, nor do we have all the answers.  And we need to be more than some sort of celestial Walmart greeter on a Sunday morning. 

         We need to be that sort of place in here because a lot of folks out there are hurting.  They are sinners – just like us – and, at our best, this church can offer comfort, community, and a hand to hold as we journey together – side by side, of course – not us before them leading the way. 

         We need to be such a place because each one of us, at one time or another, stood outside the doors too, and we know what it feels like – to have once been an outsider but now accepted even though we are still sinners, even though we still fall short of who God has called us to be. 

       The church, at its best, is such a precious gift – and such a well-kept secret. The church at its best sends a strong message that no matter who we are or what we have done on our life’s journey, we can start over here, in this place.  As the Psalmist long ago sang, “You get a fresh start; your slate's wiped clean; God holds nothing against you, and you are holding nothing back from God.”

         The church, at its best, is like a dinner party that a brazen hussy crashed and then did outlandish things but was accepted not only for who she once was but also, more importantly, for who she might be, accepted by the one who mattered most – Jesus the Christ – the one we say we emulate, the one we say we follow.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church UC.C., Raymond, Maine