God’s Surprise

 2 Kings 5:1-19

“No one ever really saw me back then.  I was a servant.  I was a foreigner.  I was just a little girl.  No one ever really saw me.  And certainly, no one had ever bothered to learn my name either, not even those who would write down my story years later.  It was always “Girl, come here.  Girl, do this.  Girl, watch your attitude.”  I am much older now, but every once in a while, the mere sound of a strident voice can immediately take me back to those days so long ago.  Like when a newly-home soldier dives to the ground if someone accidentally drops a package and makes a loud noise—it never took much to take me back to those days of my own battle.  I had been so young, so scared, so lonely. 

 And on one late afternoon, I found myself lost in those memories again and did not even notice when my youngest granddaughter sidled up beside me: 

‘What are you doing?’ the little voice asked. 

‘Just thinking sweetheart.’

‘Thinking about what?’

          ‘Oh, when I was young.’ 

‘When you were taken?’

          ‘Yes. I’ve told you about it before.’ 

‘Will you tell me again, please?’ 

 I looked into those sweet eyes and could not say no, even though I was tired of telling the story.  But I will tell it to you, just as I told it to her that day: 

‘It was a long time ago.  I was still a child.  We lived in the land of Samaria, just a regular, normal family.  But terrible battles were being fought between our people and the Aramean people.  It was horrible.  Our home was burned.  My mommy and daddy were taken somewhere…My brothers and sisters, gone.  I was taken by a soldier and…’ I realized what I was saying and paused.  My granddaughter did not need to know everything that happened to young girls taken captive in war. 

 But she pressed on, ‘What?  What happened next?’

‘Well, I was given to the wife of a man named Naaman.’

‘Naaman.’  My granddaughter let the name linger on her tongue.  ‘Doesn’t that mean lovely?’

“Yes.  Only when I first knew him, no one would have called him that.  There was not much that was lovely about Commander Naaman.’

 He was a very important man—commander of the Aramean forces.  Right-hand man for their king.  People said he was a mighty warrior.  Some other servants thought I was lucky to be in his household, but I knew I was miserable.  He thought he was so important.  He was so prideful and arrogant.  Everything had to be just perfect for him.  Everything had to be a ceremony, a big deal.  We had to call him Father, just to show our deference.  I did not think General Naaman was not a very lovely person at all.

 But in addition to his arrogance and pride, another reason Naaman was not lovely was because he had leprosy.  It was not a horrible case—I had seen much worse and he could hide most of it with his clothing.  But he could not hide his hands.  His hands were his biggest problem.  He had lost all the sensation in his fingertips so he was constantly needing help with his uniform—getting it just right—no wrinkles, medals pinned on straight.  I had to help him a few times with it and I hated it.  He was so mean and picky. 

 Looking back on it, I think he was so mean because he hated what was happening to him.  He was this mighty warrior who could not even button his own shirt.  I see that now.  But back then, I both despised him and felt sorry for him at the same time.  I figured maybe one of the reasons he was so horrible was because of his shame.

 ‘Is that why you told him about Elisha the prophet?,’ my granddaughter asked.  ‘Because he was ashamed?’ 

 I think that had something to do with it.  Every day I would watch him—watch him acting so puffed up, so in charge, so mighty, and even though I hated him for taking me away from my home, I could not help but also pity him.  But still, there was more to my decision to tell him about Elisha than just my pity.

 Even though I had been taken away from my land and I did not understand why God let that happen, I still prayed to God every day.  I prayed that God would take care of my parents.  I prayed that God would watch over me and all the other little girls who had been captured.  And, most days, I prayed for Naaman.  Well, not for him exactly.  I knew my hatred was eating at my heart, so I prayed that I might start to forgive him for what he had done.  I prayed that I might learn to see him the way God must have seen him. 

 For even though Naaman was not one of our people—he did not worship the God of Israel—my parents had always taught me that all people were created in God’s image.  So I figured that even someone like Naaman must have something lovely in him—something of our God.  So I prayed every day to see it.

 ‘Did your prayers work, grandmother?’ she asked me.

 I suppose.  Because after a while, I started looking at him with more concern than hatred.  And that was a big change, because I promise you he did not look at me with concern.  As a matter of fact, I do not think he ever saw me at all.  But even knowing all of that, I kept praying and God kept working on me. 

Finally, one day, I got up the nerve to say something to his wife.  I told her that God had put a prophet in Samaria who would cure her husband.  And amazingly enough, she went and told Naaman and he went and told the king!  I was stunned.  I could not believe that they listened to me.  That night I began to wonder if that was the lovely thing in Naaman.  That he, the mighty warrior, actually found a small space in his heart for my words.  I didn’t know all of his reasons for listening—maybe he was just completely desperate.  But regardless, I remembered what my father always said -- that if you give an inch, God will take a mile.  God will work with us and through us no matter what our initial motivation. 

 Now, that is where my active part of the story stops.  He left the house that day and I did not see him again until after his experience with Elisha.  But I will tell you what I heard from my other servant friends about what happened next.  Apparently, Naaman’s king immediately responded and did not even think twice about sending his mightiest warrior to the enemy’s country.  But what was funny was that Naaman’s king thought that the king of Israel was the one who would heal him.  Mighty ones really do think the entire world revolves around them. 

 So Naaman piles up his chariot with gold and silver and expensive clothing.  He always said ‘everyone has a price.’  And he goes with all that stuff to my homeland-- straight to the king’s throne.  And the king almost lost his mind.  You can just see it from his perspective, can’t you.  Here comes Naaman, the mighty warrior who just defeated his kingdom, coming back to town.  And then, Naaman gives my king this letter about seeking his cure.  Well, my king assumed it was all a trick—a set-up.  My king tore his clothes, wailed and moaned and made a huge spectacle of things.  He was going on and on about it so much that word got out to Elisha who told the king to send the mighty warrior his way. 

 So there went Naaman—all of his stuff and all of his servants—out in this caravan to the prophet’s house.  And as Naaman waited outside, Elisha’s messenger went and told the prophet Naaman had arrived.  Elisha did not even look up from his book.  He said ‘Go and tell him to wash in the Jordan for 7 times and he will be made well.’  My friends told me that when Elisha’s messenger came out to tell THE mighty Naaman to go and jump in the river, Naaman became so angry steam came out of his ears.

 Remember, he was used to everyone doing whatever he wanted.  He liked parades and ceremonies and other things that made him feel important.  He expected that Elisha, this nobody prophet from the conquered land, would be falling all over himself to help out the mighty Naaman.  So when Elisha basically told him to take 2 aspirin and call him in the morning, Naaman was fit to be tied.  He refused to do it.  And he got so arrogant about it.  He told his servants to turn the chariot around.  He was not about to humble himself to this nobody prophet of this nobody god.

 But, another servant decided to talk to him.  In order to be heard, he put on his best submissive show.  He told Naaman that if Elisha had challenged him with something complicated, he would have done it.  So why not try something simple?  And miracle of miracles, Naaman listened again.  By the way -- all of us servants saw that fact as the actual miracle of that day—as evidence of God’s power.  Yes, it was great that Naaman was healed in the river, but we say the fact that he listened to us was the most amazing miracle of all.  For just think how different his life would have been if he, the mighty one, had not bothered to see or hear us—people he had always just written off.  Just imagine what he would have missed if he, the one in great power, would have ignored those of us with no power.  He would have missed his salvation.  He would have missed his chance at new life.

 None of us really know what happened that river.  Something incredible, that is for sure.  For he came up, healed.  And the loveliness that was previously known only to God started to break free in him.  He went back to Elisha and stood before him.  He claimed Elisha’s God as his God.  And he shoved all of his riches aside so that he could make room for dirt.  He wanted to take dirt home to remember.  He needed to tangibly remember his entry into the covenant.  And my guess is he also needed it for courage.  Because Naaman knew he was going home.  And though he was going home a changed person, he was going home to the same job—a job that required loyalty to a different king and worship of a different god and Naaman was apparently already all broken up about the compromises he knew he was going to make.  So I think he took dirt for courage.

 But in truth, I really don’t know how he handled all of it.  He set me free shortly after he came back.  My freedom that followed his freedom is the reason I can tell this story.  And I have to say, even though some of my memories of those days can be so painful, it has been important for me to talk about it.  Because every time I talk about it, I am reminded how strangely God works.  I am reminded how God sees loveliness even in people like Naaman.  And I reminded how important it is to tell people about God, even if you think they will never listen or care.  And frankly, telling my story has also always helped me remember that God chooses very unlikely people to serve as God’s messengers of grace.  I was just a girl.  A girl that no one saw.  A girl whose name no one knew.  And yet—I was the one God chose to help Naaman. 

 Who would have ever thought that the almighty God would choose a nobody girl to smuggle God’s grace and healing into the world…”