Naaman the Syrian was a brave, intelligent, resourceful, and successful soldier, but he was a leper. And that “but” was the fly in the ointment which made all his brilliant qualities of no worth. The problem was to remove the fly from the ointment before it was too late. The fact that Naaman was so capable and indispensable to his sovereign made the necessity the more urgent. The economist could not bear to see such magnificent plant lying idle. The patriot felt it grievous that the country should be deprived of the services of so valuable and loyal a servant. But the question was “How?” Leprosy was as incurable as it was incapacitating. A man might avoid it, but once within its toils he could in no wise escape. So every one thought until a chance word of an Israelite slave-girl reawakened hope. The little maid spoke with such confidence of the possibility, nay the certainty, of her master’s cure, could he but be with the prophet in Samaria, that her suggestions became the staple of the conversation of the court, and finally reached the ears of the king. Her words carried such conviction that the courtiers found themselves actually taking the cure for granted, and proceeding to discuss the method by which it could be accomplished. On that matter everybody had his own theory. The problem is still with us. On every side are men and women of amiable qualities and natural ability, capable of estimable service to their day and generation, who, because of some moral defect, inherited or acquired, are missing their opportunity, and proving a burden to the commonwealth instead of a gain. Think for a moment not only of the personal suffering endured, but of the jeopardy in which the community stands, and the loss of service it sustains through the prevalence of the leprosy of impurity and drunkenness; of covetousness and gambling; of jealousy and falsehood; of hate and strife; of ostentation and laziness. The need of today then, as in Ben-hadad’s Syria, is to cure the Naamans. Let us briefly glance at the suggested solutions of the problem.
1. The king’s idea was to send the leper to the King of Israel. So the letter was despatched whose contents put the King of Israel ha such alarm. “Am I God,” said the perturbed monarch, “to kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy? But consider now how he seeketh quarrel against me.” This time, however, the shrewd suspicion of Jehoram was at fault. The request was in good faith. It proceeded from a genuine expectation that if the cure was to be performed at all it must be by the king. In whom else would the requisite authority be vested? Quaint as the notion seems, it expresses a distinctly modern creed. For king read State, and you are in the twentieth century at once. Nothing is more remarkable, and in some respects more pathetic, than the rapid growth of the widely held belief in the power of the State as an instrument of reform. And without a doubt the State can accomplish much--much that was formerly thought not merely beyond its power, but beyond even its cognizance. It can restrain evil-doers, and reward them that do well. It can remove sources of temptation, adjust inequalities, and secure to every man a fair chance. It can alter conditions, and so modify habits. But its methods are slow, and subject to great alternations. Its chief instrument of immediate reformation is restraint, separation, stamping out. It keeps society healthy by shutting up the infected. The result of which is that, lest they should be found out, men cover up their leprosy and drive it below the skin. But they are lepers still. A change in the direction of a more equitable distribution of the results of industry would not in itself be a cure for covetousness. Prohibition of the sale of intoxicating liquors will not be followed by an immediate cessation of the desire for strong drink. The State has large and undoubted powers, but the best and truest advocates for the wide extension of its scope of action and administration nevertheless recognise its limitations, and disclaim on its behalf any attempt at usurpation of the prerogative of God, or of authority to remove the leprosy of sin.
2. To do Naaman justice, he did not set much store by the letter to the king. It was, of course, courteous and expedient first to present himself at the court. But his hope lay in an interview, not with Israel’s king, but with Israel’s prophet. So, as soon as he could, he relieved the king of the embarrassment of his presence, and turned the heads of his magnificent thoroughbreds to the humbler quarter of the city where dwelt the prophet. He had, of course, indulged in speculation as to the method the prophet would follow. The sequel shows how thoroughly he was mistaken. But Naaman’s ideas still persist. The great feature in modern schemes of reformation is the attempt to preserve a man’s self-respect, or, to use the expressive phrase we have, borrowed from the East, “to save his face.” If he is a leper, for pity’s sake don’t tell him so, or let him think that you think he is. Treat him as though he was not. Soon he will begin to think he isn’t, and then he won’t act as though he was. And then he won’t be! So seems much current teaching. Further, it conduces much to a cure that a little ceremony and some symbolic act shall be introduced, with just a suggestion of magic or the occult! There is a growing trust in formalism.
3. There remains the suggestion of the unsophisticated and faithful servants of Naaman, and that was the way they had been taught to tread the way of humility and obedience, Consent to be, and to be treated as the leper you know yourself to be. Rid yourself of the idea that consideration is due to you on the ground of station, attainments, endowments, wealth, reputation. Consent to be just a leper, a vile leper. And then obey. Don’t dispute the prescription, but follow it. Don’t argue that, even if you agree to wash, it would surely be better to wash in the clear, limpid, and beautiful streams of Damascus than in the turbid waters of Jordan. Possibly Abana and Pharpar are all you think them to be. But Jordan is the stream chosen. It is a simple thing. Try it. Dip, dip seven times. (F. L. Wiseman.)
The pilgrimage
This artless child-utterance opens unexpectedly to the diseased and despairing hero a door of hope--puts a new guiding-star into his midnight of darkness. “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy” “Whosoever believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” Yes; blessed be God, these and similar declarations are addressed to every spiritual leper in this sin-stricken world. As with the warrior of Damascus, so with them: they have a gracious “missive,” a “letter of commendation” to the King of kings. There is a Greater than the greatest prophet in Israel, who can “recover them of their leprosy.”
1. Naaman’s first impulse, before setting out on his journey, was to go and tell his lord. Before he can adopt the suggestion of the young Hebrew, be feels it his duty, though the most exalted of Ben-hadad’s subjects, to go to his sovereign, make him acquainted with his design, and receive the royal sanction. This reads us the preliminary lesson, regarding even the minor, ordinary everyday details of life, to be careful in observing its proprieties and courtesies. “Be courteous,” “Let all things be done decently and in order,” are alike moral and religious obligations. But is there not also a higher spiritual lesson here for the Christian in his hour of difficulty and peril? When environed with perplexing paths and providences, and at a loss which to follow, swaying between the opposing forces of inclination and duty, may he not--ought he not, like Naaman, to repair to the King of kings--“to tell his Lord” of what is burdening his spirit?
2. Observe Naaman’s departure and journey. “And,” we read, “he departed” (2Ki_5:5). His promptitude, in the true soldier-spirit of instant surrender to duty--“Go, and he goeth,” is noteworthy. How unlike the case of many in spiritual things; who stagger through unbelief; allowing solemn monition and conviction to pass unheeded; conjuring up to themselves some supposed necessity for postponement and delay; resolving to set out on the pilgrimage at some time, but “not yet”; imagining the chariots and horses of salvation to be at their call whenever they wish, and their malignant leprosy a thing that may be safely postponed for a death-bed cure. As Naaman felt, so well may they, that restoration may be with them “now or never.” The king said to the sufferer, “Go to, go.” It is thus our Lord speaks. This is the Great Physician’s prescription to the seeking soul, Wait not a moment; linger not in all the plain; confer not with any earthly adviser. Let the chariots be ordered. Haste thee; flee for thy life! “Go to! go!” for a long eternity is suspended on the resolve.
3. Let us note Naaman’s reception. The journey is accomplished; the chief and his retainers have reached Samaria, the capital of Israel, situated on its steep hill; a city “which combined in a union not elsewhere found in Palestine, strength and beauty.” Naaman sends one of his troop to the palace of Jehoram with the royal letter of Ben-hadad. The monarch reads it. Commencing, doubtless, with the wonted Oriental complimentary salutations, the perusal leads to a burst of indignant anger. It seemed little else than an insult; an arrogant imposition on royal credulity; the studied, designed occasion of a fresh quarrel. He sees in the letter only a pretext for drawing swords again, for anew ravaging his territories and deluging his valleys with blood. Alas! will the monarch of Israel--the head and ruler of the theocratic tribes--refuse to give glory to whom, as it specially became him to testify, glory is due? (J. R. Macduff,D. D.)
