Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany
2 Kings 5:1-15ab
Psalm 42:1-7
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Mark 1:40-45
Poor Naaman. He was a great man, a victorious warrior among the Arameans, but he suffered from leprosy—one form of it anyway. This condition was not a huge problem among his own people, but to the chosen people of Israel he was “unclean.” He was in need of healing. Well, an Israelite maid who had been captured in a raid told her mistress, Naaman’s wife, about a prophet in Israel who could cure Naaman. After hearing about a possibility of a cure, the king of Syria commanded the king of Israel to cure Naaman—which, of course, he couldn’t do. Luckily, Elisha the prophet rescued the king and told Naaman to bathe seven times in the Jordan, that muddy, muddy river. This prospect was particularly unappealing to Naaman—used to the clear waters of his country, but his servants convinced him that the cure was worth the inconvenience. So Naaman dipped himself in the Jordan seven times. The leprosy disappeared, and he became a believer.
Let’s contrast that fascinating story with the one we heard in the gospel passage from Mark today. A leper came to Jesus and said, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Jesus was moved by pity and chose to heal him. Jesus touched him and immediately the leprosy left him. This man was a believer before he came to Jesus. He knew that Jesus’ touch would cure him.
The second story is so much simpler than the first. Naaman went through several intermediaries; he brought gifts to the prestigious king; he had to be convinced to even “go for the cure.” The leper in Mark’s gospel simply went to the source and was healed.
One of the facets of these stories that I find particularly compelling is that the result in both stories is the same. God worked through an Israelite maid to begin the healing process with Naaman. The untouchable, the leper, the unacceptable gained healing from Jesus by a simple request.
Healing comes in many ways—and we are all in need of healing. Every Sunday people go to the healing desk in the back of the church to receive the laying on of hands and the prayers of the healing ministers. The requests for healing that find their way to that healing desk range from physical healing for oneself, to intermediary healing for a loved one, to mental healing, emotional healing, relationship healing, family healing, spiritual healing and others.
A week ago yesterday in this Cathedral we celebrated a Eucharist to honor the first black priest of the Episcopal Church, Absalom Jones, whose feast day is February 13. The sermon that day, given by The Rev. Angela Shepherd, focused on racial healing. She described racism as an iceberg—a cold forbidding presence whose foundations loom deep and large. Mother Shepherd told us her story, one I found painful and distressing. When she moved to a new community she visited a number of Episcopal churches and was not welcomed because, she believes, of the color of her skin. No one reached out and touched her; no one made the move to heal the leprosy of racism. Finally, she did find acceptance in a predominately white church where, she said, “While our exteriors were different, our interiors were alike.”
The iceberg image is one I find applicable to many areas of our lives that are in need of healing. We all feel the frigid air of those prejudices whose foundations reach deep into our past and loom large in the present. But we are called to live in imitation of Christ. We are called to be healers. We are called to reach out and touch those areas of our lives that are in need of healing and those people whom we treat like lepers and who feel like lepers. These could be anyone, for we reject the differences that we don’t understand; we reject those whose interiors we do no or will not see. We reject those who are aging, those who are homeless, those whose sexual orientation is different from ours, those whose color or language or culture is different from ours, those whose spirituality is different from ours, those whose gender is different from ours, those whose beliefs are different from ours.
I have not said anything different from what you and I have heard many, many times from pulpits and classrooms and family rooms. And many of us sincerely and faithfully work toward melting the iceberg of prejudice that continues to invade our boundaries. True healing for all of us, however, will come only when we truly want to be healed and when we want to be healers. When we want to be healed, then we are truly ready to give up the pride of who we are—no matter who we are—the pride of having more education, or more money, or more talent, or more friends, or more security, or more power, or more whatever it is that makes us feel superior.
We will become healed and we will become healers when we sincerely look beyond our differences, when we look past color and age and social status and language. When we look past these exterior differences and seek the interior similarities. For, when we truly look past these differences, we find the similarities of the heart. We are all created in the image of God; we are all precious children of God.
Last spring I was asked to be part of the planning group for the 9/11 inter-faith service that was held at this Cathedral. Sponsored by the Interfaith Council, representatives of nine different faith groups, from Islam to Christianity, from Hinduism to Sufism, met weekly for the next several months. I went reluctantly at first, having to break away from my work early every Friday afternoon for these meetings. I mostly sat and observed for the first few weeks, fascinated by the differing looks and dress of many of the participants. Gradually, however, I came to look forward to Friday afternoons; I began to feel a warmth toward each person. I began to recognize the gifts of each—the gift of organization or writing or speaking or humor or hospitality. I saw the interiors and rejoiced. I had never known a Buddhist Lama before. Now I consider Lama Chuck Stanford to be a close and precious friend. I was fortunate—I was blessed to have the opportunity to see the interiors of these children of God. And when our church began filling on September 11 with people of all colors, all faiths, all manner of dress, all languages, I felt a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood unequaled in my personal experience. I know that many of you who attended felt the same way.
And each of us does have his or her own special gifts and talents. These are the differences that we should celebrate. Each of us has gifts and talents that God has given us to use to His glory. In addition, each of us is in need of healing for the leprosy of prejudice. But we don’t have to go to all the lengths that Naaman did to be cured. We don’t have to go through intermediaries and offer gifts to find the cure. All we need is the gift of touch—the touch of Christ. And that touch comes when we reach out in love and peace to one another, when we celebrate the individual gifts and find the interior similarities. May we ask for touch of Christ and may we share it with one another.