Beyond Abanah and Pharpar

6th Sunday after Epiphany

2nd Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45; Psalm 30; 1st Corinthians 9:24-27

This story of Naaman was not a familiar story to me until I was introduced to the lectionary. It is one of those stories that you do not often hear preached, and that is a travesty. This story deals with some of the most profound reasons that we do not find healing in our lives in the abundance and measure that God would desire.

You know what I’m talking about. Sitting here in this room, we realize that the healing that each of us desires is elusive. We want what we cannot have, and we know that we cannot have what we want. Most of us walk around as “less than whole” people – we are traumatized by the events of our lives, by the scars on our psyches, by the harmful side of the relationships that we work so very hard to sustain. We deal with symptoms rather than causes – suspicions rather than realities – and as a result, we are less than whole. Healing, for us, is elusive.

In seminary, I took several counseling courses – probably just enough to make me dangerous as a counselor. Most of what I’ve learned about counseling I did not learn by trying to help others – I learned most of what I know about counseling by observing those who have tried to bring healing to my life over the years. In counseling class in seminary, the professor spoke about what he called “the presenting problem.” He said that in our counseling, we would soon learn that when a counselee came in for a session they would present to us a problem that they wanted help solving. But he went on to say that we would soon learn that this problem, as presented to us, wasn’t the real problem – that there was usually a deeper, underlying problem that the counselee was either unaware of, or unwilling to address. Our task, as counselors, was to help them uncover this “real” problem – to get to the nitty-gritty of the issues in their lives.

When I moved to Dallas to serve at Casa View Baptist Church and at the same time begin my doctoral work at the seminary, I began to deal with some extreme difficulties related to feelings I had suppressed regarding the circumstances surrounding Travis’ birth and subsequent illnesses. I began a process of therapy, and that process continues today. The first time that I went in for counseling, I spoke to my counselor about the tragedy of his birth, and what I perceived were the mistakes that were made as he was being born, how he was medically and socially treated in those early weeks and months, and since that time. That counselor didn’t do much for me, but the next guy I spoke to some years later decided that I needed to talk about my anger. I was confused. This was not my problem – in my mind, it was a problem inflicted upon my family – by fate, by circumstances, by God – but it didn’t really matter – what wasn’t at issue was my anger.

It took many sessions, spread out over a number of years, to come to grips with the truth of that diagnosis. No counseling in the world would change the circumstances of Travis’ birth. But something could be done about my healing – about my wholeness. Much progress has been made – much is yet to be made. I can tell you this – now when I take opportunity to receive a little counseling, the sessions are much more fruitful and productive – we “cut to the chase” – and usually we deal with more of my anger issues.

I tell you all of that story to say that I see some things in this story of Naaman that are so very familiar to me. Naaman was famous – loved by king and country. He was the Dwight Eisenhower of his day. Successful in battle, to the point that the Arameans were known as a vigorous and often victorious opponent. But he had a problem – he was inflicted with leprosy. Enter, stage left, the lowly servant girl – a girl of no status and little consequence to this great general – in fact, she was servant to Naaman’s wife. But she speaks up. Boldly. Assertively. She goes to Naaman’s wife and mentions this lowly prophet over in Israel. The wife speaks to her husband, and then her husband speaks to his boss, the king. The king handles things the way kings handle things – he throws the pomp and circumstance of money and power at the problem, along with a heavy dose of “mano a mano” influence, one king to another. He sends Naaman, not to the prophet, but to the king of Israel.

Scene Two. Naaman brings his letter of introduction and all of the gifts from the king of
Aram to the king of Israel, and the king of Israel has a little fit – he thinks that the king of Aram is trying to set him up so that he can pick a fight with Israel. He decides to redo his wardrobe, and word filters down to Elisha, who comes to the rescue.

Scene Three – Naaman shows up at Elisha’s house and Elisha doesn’t even come out to meet him. He sends word out that Naaman is to go wash himself seven times in the dirty, muddy Jordan river, and then he will be restored. Naaman explodes in anger. “What is this prophet suggesting? I’ve gone to all this trouble, and not only do I not get to meet the guy – he tells me that I need to go take a bath in that stinkin’ Jordan? I thought I was at least going to get a little magic show (of attention) out of the prophet? We have cleaner rivers in Damascus – the Abanah and the Pharpar are both a heck of a lot cleaner than this stinkin’ Jordan.” And he turns to leave.

I don’t know if it’s still Scene Three, or if we move to Scene four – but somehow, Naaman’s traveling servants point out the simplicity of this plan and the wisdom of doing what he can do with what he knows. They must have been convincing – Naaman relents, takes his “baptismal bath,” and is immediately cured – the scripture says “his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.”

I am most struck by the paradox of this story. Paradox of the foolishness of those who are exalted and mighty juxtaposed to the wisdom of those who are lowly and insignificant. Paradox of the arrogance of unrepentance and the humility of obedience and faith. We have all been Naaman – we have sought wholeness and healing, but we can’t seem to move beyond Abanah and Pharpar. We’re stuck in old paradigms of salvation and healing, and we can’t move beyond the sickness and failure that we know in order to try something – in faith – that just might help us find the healing and wholeness we so desperately want. They say that the very definition of insanity is continuing to do the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, Naaman’s initial position was insane – and when we refuse to trust something beyond what we already know, we border on insanity as well.

I don’t claim to have found healing from my own emotional difficulties. I still struggle with anger. It can well up within me at a whisper of distress or conflict, and I know the power of anger all too well. But I have made this bit of progress. I know what battle I am fighting. I have moved beyond the “presenting problem” of victimization, and have acknowledged and begun to assault my true foe.

For me, and I think for most people who begin this journey toward wholeness, I began by recognizing the limitations of my own power, and at the same time acknowledging the incredible power of God to bring healing and wholeness to my life. Listen to the Psalmist – “I extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, and did not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.” And toward the end of the Psalm – “You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.” The scripture speaks often of the “fear of the Lord” – that’s a phrase that more accurately could speak of an understanding and acknowledgement that God is God, and we’re not. That God has power that we can only dream of. That God wants healing and wholeness for us – much more than we can imagine, much more than we can conceive, and certainly much more than we can effect.

It’s hard to start down that path. I took me years to get started. But there is a simplicity to the honesty required to begin this journey. I can’t adequately describe the easiness of admitting certain things are real, and that certain things are true, and of knowing that there is value to absolute honesty in matters of personal introspection. When that kind of honesty exists, our relationship with God can change. Take as example our gospel for this morning. Another leper story – I love the way the lectionary does that for us – put two stories with similar circumstances side by side for our examination! This leper comes to Jesus, and begging Him, says, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” What faith!! What boldness. Can you imagine what was going on in this leper’s mind? “Here is a man who can heal me. He has the power. I wonder if He has the will? I will confront His power to will such a thing.” In essence, this man stood toe to toe with the Eternal God of the ages, and dared God, in the person of Jesus, to heal him. I like that kind of audacity. That kind of boldness only comes when we have nothing else to lose, and everything to gain.

Jesus spoke truth to him. He said what God always says to us when we dare God to heal us. God does choose wholeness for us. God does choose healing for our lives. There is a lesson here for us. We don’t have to wonder about the power of God. And we don’t have to wonder about the desire of God. God has the power to heal us – to restore us. And God wants to heal us. It’s in God’s purpose to help every one of us who will find wholeness and healing. God created us for relationship with God, and so it is in God’s best interest and purposes that we find healing and wholeness.

It sounds as though the movement toward healing and wholeness is entirely up to God. Is there anything that we can do? I mean, other than allowing God freedom and access to work in our lives, is there anything we can do to help? The Olympics started this weekend. Those athletes know what Paul said to the Corinthians. “Run in such a way that you may win.” On the Today Show Friday morning, they were looking at some of the technology that is present at these Olympic games that has never been there before. New kinds of material sown into body suits that decreases wind resistance. Steel alloys impregnated into the runners on the bobsleds that actually changes composition during the course of the race, hardening the steel, so that less resistance is felt. Athletes at these games know that a part of winning the race is removing resistance. It’s the same in our quest for healing and wholeness. We remove resistance to the work of God in our lives, and God is blessed with freedom and access to work in our lives.

Paul says, “Athletes exercise self-control in all things.” I went to lunch with Dr. Pontious this last week. I took the elevator up to his office to collect him for lunch, and then stopped to check in on the scales there in the hallway at the clinic. I’ve lost a little weight. Not as much as if I were to have walked up the stairs, but I’ve lost a little. Then he showed me a little gizmo that computes your body mass index – your BMI. I didn’t like that little gizmo. It said I’m fat. I won’t tell you at what level it said I’m fat, but I’m not happy about what it indicated. I want to lose weight, but I don’t want to give up Blue Bell and Mexican food. When it comes to losing weight, food isn’t as much my difficulty as is self-control. I can exercise self-control – but I don’t. It’s a choice, don’t you know. The athletes in Torino exercise some measure of self-control that I won’t. That’s the difference.

Paul says one more thing about what we can do. He says, “I do not run aimlessly . . .” Purpose. Goals. Decisions. Plans. Focus. These are words that describe the athlete who competes to win. These are words that describe what we can do to help God as God works to accomplish healing and wholeness in our lives.

I’ve learned one truth in my quest for healing and wholeness. The journey never ends. Just this last week we dealt with DHS on issues surrounding Travis’ care. I was not happy with the results of our meetings and phone calls. We’re not where we need to be. I began to feel those same feelings of anger well up within me that surface nearly every time something of substance becomes an issue for my son. This week I redirected those feelings of anger – I channeled them into activities that were more productive. I’d like to say that’s always the case. Management of my anger is a daily exercise – sometimes multiple times in the day. I don’t always succeed. But now I know that God wants healing for my life. Now I know that God wants wholeness for me. And so I continue the journey.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.