I often heard the story of Naaman from the Bible (2 Kings 5) when I was a little girl. I imagined this man with these white sores from leprosy all over his arms and legs dipping into the muddy waters of the Jordan. But a few weeks ago, I heard Naaman's story told in a new way, vivid and wonderful and moving.
Here in Africa, many beggars on the street have only stubs instead of hands and feet because of leprosy. Although non-contagious, they permanently bear the signs of the disease and are shunned because of it. Even children understand what leprosy is and that a leper is an outcast. Naaman's story is familiar and real in this culture.
So when I was nearing the end of the 10 week course I was teaching to Sunday school teachers and I was about to assign each teacher a story to teach in front of the class to demonstrate their skills, I thought of Naaman's story. I assigned Elizabeth, a good teacher and a gifted story teller, to teach the story of Naaman.
After weeks of hard work, teaching the teachers to apply gospel truths throughout their Bible lessons, and spending hours with the teachers to help them prepare and write out their lessons, each teacher got up and presented their various stories: Saul's conversion, Jesus calming the storm, and blind Bartimaeus.
Finally, it was Elizabeth's turn. She came to the front and began her lesson with a heart wrenching story of a little boy who went to school each day with a bleeding, oozing sore on his leg. He was shunned and rejected by his friends and his teachers, although he could do nothing about his condition. Just like Naaman. Perhaps, said Elizabeth, no one wanted to eat in the same room as Naaman any more because of the disease. Perhaps he felt very alone and rejected. But there was hope. Elisha the prophet of God, could pray to God to heal Naaman. His solution, though, was to dip in the muddy Jordan river. After feeling furious and insulted at the thought, Naaman finally went down into the river. Elizabeth held her hands out in front of her, curling her fingers into her palms, making her hands look like gnarled stubs, just like the hands of the beggars we see on the street almost everyday. Naaman was disfigured, unclean, rejected. But he began to dip down into the water. One. Elizabeth dipped down. Two, three, four, five. She looked at her stubs of hands. No change. Six. The hands were still completely disfigured. Seven. And as Elizabeth, playing the part of Naaman, came up, she lifted her hands into the air, her fingers suddenly extended, her hands made whole, her arms lifted in praise, amazement, celebration. And she began to dance, a jubilant dance across the front of the room, for she was made whole. No more rejection.
All my childhood imaginations of a sore covered man coming up the seventh time with clean skin, coming calmly out of the water, were gone. I understood. It was real. I think Elizabeth got it right. I finally understood those feelings of rejection and disfigurement that Naaman must have felt. And the joy when he became whole. Whole. Whole hands and whole feet.
He must have danced. I'm sure he did.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for giving me a new understanding of Naaman.
