M I G H T Y  I N  S P I R I T

    IN 2 KINGS 5:1, WE ARE INTRODUCED TO NAAMAN, a man at the top of his game. His very name means "pleasantness." He was an Aramean among Arameans, much as Paul was a "Hebrew of Hebrews." (Philippians 3:5) King Ben-hadad II of Damascus, ruler of Aram, regarded Naaman so highly that he trusted the man to command his army. He was a valiant soldier, seen by his countrymen as a deliverer and conqueror of nations, a great leader to be hailed along with their gods Rimmon, Baal, and Ishtar.

Naaman's reputation, fortune, and religion, however, had failed to give him the one thing he desired most—a cure for the leprosy that threatened his future with mutilation, blindness, isolation, and death.

    In 800 B.C. lepers were viewed with fear and loathing. Dignitaries and officials who had once courted Naaman would now avoid him. Though mighty in battle, Naaman was losing field to the decay in his own body. His warrior code would prefer death by sword to wasting away at the mercy of this corrosive disease.

    During one of Aram's many raids on its enemy Israel, a young Jewish girl had been abducted, separated from home and family, and pressed into slavery in Naaman's household. From her comment to her owner's wife, we can see God's mercy reflected in the girl: "I wish that my master were with the prophet who is in Samaria! Then he would cure him of his leprosy" (2 Kings 5:3).

    That Naaman even considered the advice of an Israelite servant girl indicates he was essentially out of options. Aramean prophets and physicians worked for the king. (Edersheim, The Bible History, Old Testament) Naaman routinely accompanied King Ben-hadad to the temple of Rimmon to worship. (2 Kings 5:18) The priests of Rimmon and royal physicians had surely exhausted their prayers, spells, and most odorous potions to summon a miracle cure for their national hero.

    Desperate for deliverance, Naaman asked Ben-hadad if he could go to the prophet in Samaria. The Aramean ruler, anxious to save this most valued commander, sent him into Israelite territory with instructions for King Jehoram to cure him.

    The Jewish king, who equated curing leprosy with raising someone from the dead, wailed and tore his robes in despair. No one could cure this disease. Jehoram suspected treachery. After all, Aram was his enemy. He assumed Ben-hadad was setting him up by asking the impossible, and provoking war so he could plunder Israel.

    King Jehoram's distraught cries reached Elisha the prophet, who sent for Naaman in order that "he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel" (2 Kings 5:8). Jehoram was an evil king who worshiped false gods, but he had seen Elisha's God work miracles before (2 Kings 3:20). He readily dispatched the Aramean.

    Naaman, armor glistening, thundered to a stop outside Elisha's house. He looked down his aristocratic nose at the humble dwelling and waited as the army around him settled into silence. Much to Naaman's chagrin, Elisha did not grant him due respect by coming out to greet him, but sent his servant instead. The servant pronounced that the God of Israel would cure the commander if he dipped in the Jordan River seven times.

    Angry heat crept up Naaman's neck. The star officer of Aram's army had contracted leprosy, been constrained to obey the advice of a slave girl, and traveled the long, dusty road to Elisha. Taking commands from a servant shredded the remnants of his ragged pride. The ridiculous instruction to dip seven times in the Jordan sent him into a rage. He had just traveled through that churning, muddy river to get to Samaria. "Are not Abanah and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?" he ranted. "Could I not wash in them and be clean?" (2 Kings 5:12). Where was the miraculous lightning, the waving of hands, the earthquake? Where was the pomp due his station? Infuriated, he wheeled his army and stormed back toward Damascus, which, in God's providence, lay on the other side of the Jordan.

    We can imagine Naaman stopping to rest his troops next to the Jordan, watching the horses drink from the dark water, his attendants' question circling through his mind. Their argument made sense: "If the prophet had asked you to do some great thing, wouldn't you do it?" (2 Kings 5:13) Of course! He had commanded legions, conquered nations, and brought kings to their knees. He had sewn the very fabric of his life with "great things." He was a self-made man, goal-oriented and disciplined, with a razor-sharp mind. Why should he, the great Naaman, debase himself by dipping in the Jordan at the request of a washed-out old prophet whose God had left Israel defeated time and again?

    Naaman had always done things his way—the right way, the best way. But still, his mottled skin . . . He was up against a monster that would devour him inch by fleshy inch.

    What if it worked?

    He laid his pride on the riverbank, slogged through the slippery mud, and waded into the Jordan.

    He knelt in the stream and let the cold water rush over him. Nothing. He stood. How unsavory for a man of such rank. He dipped again. And again. He rose the seventh time, brushed the water from his eyes and saw that "his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child and he was clean" (2 Kings 5:14). Naaman immediately knew that only the God of Israel could perform such a miracle. It was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. We can see him shouting at the top of his lungs and charging toward shore, leaping through the turbulence. "Behold now, I know that there is no God in all the earth, but in Israel" (2 Kings 5:15). Naaman had passed the greatest milestone of his success-strewn life. He knew then he would honor only the God who had cured him.

    The commander returned to Elisha's dwelling, a little sheepishly, no doubt, after his tirade. He wanted to thank the prophet. Elisha conceded to talk to the humbled, healed Aramean.

    Naaman tried to pay for the miracle with the gold and silver he had brought with him—over $400,000 in today's currency—but Elisha refused compensation. He wanted Naaman to understand that he was completely dependent on God's sufficiency. There was nothing he could do to earn, or pay for, his deliverance from the dread leprosy.

    Naaman was a man of power and self-reliance who found himself helpless in the face of leprosy. He learned that true success meant relying on God's power.

    Too often, we, like Naaman, go to God in our own strength with great plans to evangelize, to teach, to heal our own "leprosy"; however, God is not glorified in our strength, but, as He told Paul, His "power is perfected in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). "Seek the LORD in His strength" (1 Chronicles 16:11). Then you, too, will "tell of His Glory among the nations" (v. 24) and "ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name" (v. 29).

By Patrick Davis