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1 Naaman, commander of the army of the king
of Syria, was a great man with his master and in high favor, because by
him the Lord had given victory to Syria. He was a mighty man of valor, but
he was a leper. 2 Now the Syrians on one of their raids had carried off a
little maid from the land of Israel, and she waited on Naaman’s wife. 3
She said to her mistress, “Would that my lord were with the prophet who
is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.” 4 So Naaman went in
and told his lord, “Thus and so spoke the maiden from the land of
Israel.” 5 And the king of Syria said, “Go now, and I will send a
letter to the king of Israel.”
So he went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of
gold, and ten festal garments. 6 And he brought the letter to the king of
Israel, which read, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent
to you Naaman my servant, that you may cure him of his leprosy.” 7 And
when the king of Israel read the letter, he rent his clothes and said, “Am
I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man sends word to me to cure a
man of his leprosy? Only consider, and see how he is seeking a quarrel
with me.”
8 But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had rent
his clothes, he sent to the king, saying, “Why have you rent your
clothes? Let him now come to me, that he may know that there is a prophet
in Israel.” 9 So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at
the door of Elisha’s house. 10 And Elisha sent a messenger to him,
saying, “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be
restored, and you shall be clean.” 11 But Naaman was angry, and went
away, saying, “Behold, I thought that he would surely come out to me,
and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand
over the place, and cure the leper. 12 Are not Abana and Pharpar, the
rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash
in them, and be clean?” So he turned, and went away in a rage. 13 But
his servants came near and said to him, “My father, if the prophet had
commanded you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much
rather, then, when he says to you, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” 14 So he
went down and dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the
word of the man of God; and his flesh was restored like the flesh of a
little child, and he was clean.
15 Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company, and he came
and stood before him; and he said, “Behold, I know that there is no God
in all the earth but in Israel; so accept now a present from your servant.”
16 But he said, “As the Lord lives, whom I serve, I will receive none.”
And he urged him to take it, but he refused. 17 Then Naaman said, “If
not, I pray you, let there be given to your servant two mules’ burden of
earth; for henceforth your servant will not offer burnt offering or
sacrifice to any God but the Lord. 18 In this matter may the Lord pardon
your servant: when my master goes into the house of Rimmon to worship
there, leaning on my arm, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, when I
bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon your servant in this
matter.” 19 He said to him, “Go in peace.”
This is unquestionably one of the best-known stories in the book. The
healing of the leper is full of many different lessons both as regards the
omnipotence and love of God and also as a prophecy of the healings of
Christ. Nevertheless, it seems to us that the text has many aspects which
are often neglected and that in the last resort it forces us to raise more
questions than it helps us to answer.
In the first instance, and with a reference to the saying of Jesus
himself, this miracle is surprising inasmuch as it is not a pure and
simple manifestation of God’s pity for the sick man. This is not the
point. Jesus tells us: ‘And there were many lepers in Israel in the time
of the prophet Elisha; and none of them was cleansed, only Naaman the
Syrian” (Luke 4:27). In another story we shall come across some of those
lepers in Israel who were not cured. It is not because the leper is in a
sorry state that Naaman is healed. This is not one of the miracles of God’s
love which is a sign of the restoration of all things in the kingdom. The
miracle has another dimension for Naaman. It has a different orientation.
Everything in it astonishes us. Naaman is a general. In spite of the
meaning of his name, he is a man of war, a man of blood. Pacifists and
proponents of nonviolence have to understand that the man of blood is not
excluded from the love of God. Yet our first reaction is necessarily
unfavorable. He has chosen violence. Is it not normal, then, that he
should be smitten and that he should bear upon himself this uncleanness,
the mark of his sin, the sign of his violence?
But Naaman is not only a man of war. He is also a mighty man. He is the
king’s confidant, the premier. And we know so well that God loves the
humble, the poor, and the weak.
We have now seen clearly that the gospel is for the sick, that Jesus makes
himself poor among the poor. We know by heart: A curse on your riches. We
see only this aspect of God’s judgment, that he exalts the humble and
abases the proud. Other ages have confused social and political elevation
(or success) with God’s blessing and with excellence before him. They
have known the alliance of throne and altar. To them it would have seemed
normal that God should in effect be concerned about this powerful Naaman
and that he should cure him. . . in order that he might continue to fulfil
his eminent role.
This is no longer the case today. We think the leprosy is simply an
expression of the threat: A curse on your riches.
Again, this Naaman is a Syrian. At that time this did not just mean that
he was a foreigner. It meant that he was a representative of the power
which was perpetually hostile and which was then the most menacing for the
kingdom of Israel, having already invaded it several times. Naaman, as a
Syrian general, had undoubtedly participated already in the wars against
Israel, for we are told that he was an outstanding soldier. This is the
man to whom God will manifest his love. Let us recall once more that this
is not unique in Scripture. Let us also recall the constant
misunderstanding of the gospel we hear today when there is reference to
publicans and harlots. Sentimentality has it that these are poor people.
Publicans are portrayed as little people and harlots as the miserable
prostitutes found on the sidewalks of our big towns. On the other hand the
Pharisees are supposedly rich bourgeois. But the historical reality was
the exact opposite. The Pharisees were poor enough and they strained their
resources by alms and sacrifices. The publicans belonged to great
capitalist corporations and were either capitalists themselves or highly
paid executives. The harlots were more like the “mondaines” of 1900,
i.e., very rich women. Their misery was not at the level of money or
social position, which was high, but at the level of contempt. They were
despised by those who were really the honest poor and who knew that God is
with the poor. They were despised by patriotic Israelites (for these
publicans were collaborators with the invader, with the enemy of the
chosen people) and by those who upheld the moral standards God had taught
his people.
I am sad to say that if we relate this period to a French experience which
is just fading, that of 1944-1945, the publicans and harlots around Jesus
correspond in some sense to dealers in the black market, to collaborators,
and to the women whose hair was sheared off at the liberation. They were
that part of the people of Israel which had power through wealth and
influence but which was rejected, disdained, and hated by those who were
faithful. God constantly reverses our judgments and impulses.
Incidentally the text shows us that this Naaman was in his military
function a servant of the Lord whom he did not know. It was by him that
the Eternal had delivered the Syrians. This is a strange statement if one
takes it seriously. It is an affirmation of Yahweh’s universal rule. It
is over-facile to evade the difficulty by saying that this is a verse
written at the time when Israel was beginning to realize that its God was
the God of the whole earth. The point of the incident is to give
prominence to this theological affirmation and also to give prominence to
the superiority of the people of Israel over all other peoples. Here is an
explanation which is no explanation. For one thing, the reference is to
the enemy. How could it be admitted that God has as much concern and
affection for these Syrians, the constant threat and hereditary enemy, as
he does for the Jews themselves? God’s interest in this people is truly
odd. Again, whether we like it or not, the incident has now been inserted
in the book which was accepted by God’s people as God’s Word. We
cannot view it as a stage in the theological elaboration of the concept of
God by Israel. We shall continually return to this problem. Either Israel
is the chosen people and receives a revelation from God, so that what it
holds, transcribes, and transmits is a Word of God and not its own ideas,
or Israel is not the chosen people and its ideas and myths and writings
are of no more interest than those of the Aztecs or the Japanese. We have
to make a decision here, a decision of faith. For my part I confess that
Israel is the chosen people. When, therefore, it holds that God delivered
Syria by Naaman, this is not a stage in its own religious evolution; it is
the truth of God. Evidently we shall receive no further light on the
motives of God in willing this.
Why does God act in favor of the Syrians? There is no point in mentioning
the reasons we usually adduce. It is not for the sake of justice. It is
not in the name of Syrian independence; the right of national
self-determination does not exist in the Bible. Before God nations have
neither a right to exist nor a right to liberty. They have no assurance of
perpetuity. On the contrary, the lesson of the Bible seems to be that
nations are swept away like dead leaves and that occasionally, almost by
accident, one might endure rather longer. We do not need to search
further. God willed that the Syrians should be delivered, probably from
the Assyrians, and he chose a servant to do it, Naaman.
Historical events, then, are basically incomprehensible even though
historians can superficially link together causes and effects. The only
sure point is that the clearer our understanding is, the more superficial
and artificial is the explanation. All the text tells us is that there is
an express will of God in historical events for every people, whether it
is a believing people or not. But this does not mean in the least that in
some evident way historical events are a plain figure of the will of God,
as, for example, in Gesta Dei per Francos, or Bossuet’s Explication de I’Histoire
Universelle. We must resolutely resist any such idea, even though we may
find it again today in the formulae of modern theologians: “Historical
events express a Word of God to the church,” or: “Christ lives in
history.”
On the contrary, we must insist on the complete liberty of God and the
mysterious character of history. On the one hand we find manifest
interventions and declarations between power and power which are in no way
related to the will of God. On the other hand we discover invisible,
humble interventions which are just the ones that God uses. The king of
Syria stands by his general. If there is a chance of curing him it must be
taken, and since the healer lives in the kingdom of Samaria, to whom
should a king write except to another king? The letter of the king of
Syria, and similarly the reaction of the king of Israel, tells us a great
deal about the relation between the two peoples. It is obvious that the
king of Syria is the stronger. He is of higher rank. He gives the orders.
This king of Syria acts like a normal pagan ruler. He believes in magic.
In his own land it is the king who controls magical power for the whole
people, since he is the divine king. He assumes that the same is true in
Israel, and he thus asks his equivalent directly for the miracle.
Again, for one who holds secular power, the other relations are power
relations, and the king makes the mistake of the normal politician; he
turns to a politician to solve a problem. Now the king of Israel, when he
receives the letter, reacts just like the king of Syria. He interprets the
act of the latter on the political level. It is strange to note that in
the last resort the king of Israel, of all those involved, shows the least
faith and the least obedience to the will of God. He acts with reasonable
doubt. To be sure, he knows Elisha. He has already had dealings with him.
But all the same he does not believe in him. It seems most unlikely to him
that the king of Israel has really come seeking a miracle. At the
political level such a request can only be a provocation. The whole thing
is a disaster. The king of Syria wants a new pretext for war. He is thus
asking the impossible. The king of Israel never even thinks of Elisha.
After all, who is king? Who holds titular power? Who is in fact the Lord’s
anointed? Himself. Again we have the self-contemplation of political power
which thinks that everything should be arranged at the political level by
political means, and that everything has political signification.
The text teaches us that everything does not have to have a political
signification and that everything is not necessarily a concern of
political powers. At all events we see clearly that it is not by their
mediation that God is going to act. The intervention of institutional
power is of no interest to God. We have here human actions and reactions
that are of no significance. But there is still another character who
comes within the sector of powers. This is Naaman himself. He is a mighty
man in his own rank from the world’s standpoint. He is obeyed and
respected. He thinks the prophet will be honored by his visit. Again, he
has his own conception of what magicians are like. He has seen them at
work in his own land and he expects the same kind of operation. As a man
of the world Naaman can allow that the power of one magician may be
quantitatively different from that of another. But he can see no
qualitative difference. It is always thus in the presence of God. We can
grant that he is more powerful, more merciful, etc. But we cannot think of
him as quite other than the gods of the world to which we are accustomed.
Naaman, then, is angry because he is not shown due respect, because he is
mocked, because he has not been politely treated, and because the man of
God has not acted as every proper magician ought to act. Naaman belongs to
the secular order. He doubts, and he has reason to doubt, since what is
asked of him is in effect absurd. According to his situation, according to
his intelligence, and according to his experience, the saying of Elisha is
worthless.
It is always thus when the Word of God comes to us. A Priori it
necessarily seems to be absurd, for it is of a different order. And our
conversion does not consist in assimilating this Word so that it becomes
reasonable. The absurd element persists, but from this moment what becomes
absurd is the world, its wisdom, its intelligence, its power, its
politics, its experience. For the foolishness of God is wiser than the
wisdom of men. After Naaman’s conversion what will seem absurd and
ridiculous to him will be the manners, the customs, and the religion of
Syria.
In comparison with all the decisions and reactions of man which God does
not use, which he leaves on one side, we must consider the modest and
humble means which God does choose to achieve his purpose. First there is
a little girl from the land of Israel who is a slave at Damascus in the
household of Naaman. (This proves that there had been earlier wars and
that Naaman had had a part in them.) She is the first of God’s
instruments, a girl (and we know how unimportant women were at this time),
a child, a slave. It would be hard to find a more commonplace
starting-point or one of less significance from the human standpoint. Yet
the words of this girl carry conviction. They obviously express her faith.
She speaks the truth. She has seen that Elisha is in truth a prophet of
the Eternal. But once she has expressed this truth and thus borne
testimony to her faith (and convinced Naaman), she vanishes from the
story. There is no further reference to her; even her name is not
recorded, and the rest of her human adventure is without importance. She
has borne the Word of God, and this is the decisive event in her life both
for herself and for others. We shall see, however, that later in the story
God again uses very humble people, the servants of Naaman, who are also
slaves, and pagans to boot.
Naaman angrily refuses to do what Elisha has had said to him through an
intermediary (the supreme insult! the general has not even been “received”!).
And now it is the slaves who decide the issue. It is not the prestige of
Elisha, nor the power of the prophet, nor his word, which will convince
Naaman. It is the banal words of his servants. Nor has the general any
reason to believe his servants. He knows them well. He has plenty of
evidence that they are not magi. And yet he is persuaded by the most
simple of arguments which amounts to no more than this: “You can do this
at all events. If it does no good, it will do no harm. It is not
complicated. Why not try it?” This is the kind of thing we usually
consider the very opposite of faith. But we have to admit that if in the
last resort Naaman is swayed by this simple reasoning, it is because the
argument is on his own level. This is an argument the natural man can
listen to and accept. It is certainly not the saying of the prophet, and
Christians must not take it as a model, but it is the kind of argument the
ordinary man can address to the ordinary man, and we must be on guard
against scorning it (even if we are not to overrate it either). God shows
us that this is something he also uses.
In this nexus of circumstances, of the free words of contingent men,
through which a decision of God’s will is effected, we thus see that God
has plans for Naaman. Naaman has been chosen by God from among other
lepers. Perhaps we might even surmise that if he is leprous, if there is
this contradiction between his political power and his hidden distress, it
is because God was waiting for him and planned through his mediation to
penetrate the sphere of politics with the testimony to his love and also
the presence of his truth. In a singular way, however, we shall see that
in this story God’s action is never clear, obvious, startling, unique,
or incontestable, not even in the healing. For Naaman is still haunted by
the idea of magic.
The waters of the Abana and the Pharpar are just as good a remedy as those
of the Jordan. The Word of God is not in any way convincing or cogent in
and of itself. God’s commandment does not carry the evidence of truth
and reason. On the contrary, it follows human paths each of which is both
contestable and inadequate. God uses a host of concurrent agents to
achieve his own end. There is the little girl who speaks with such deep
conviction. There is the king of Syria who intervenes with the lofty
disdain of power. There is Elisha who remains anonymous and absent, who
does not even see Naaman, who encloses himself in the secret and mystery
of the will of God. There are the servants who formulate the common-sense
simplicity of the natural man. None of these alone can boast of having
accomplished God’s design. None can pretend that he is the central point
in God’s action, not even Elisha. For Elisha could have done nothing had
not the little girl suggested that Naaman should come to him. And his word
would have been in vain if the servants of Naaman had not provoked the
general’s obedience. Each, then, entered into the plan God had for the
leper. Each had his own part. Each fulfilled his own vocation, whether
wittingly (like Elisha) or unwittingly. But each intervened according to
his own bent, at his own level, and with his own personal decision. Each
was what he chose to be at the appropriate time. At no point do we find
God forcing anyone by his own action. On the contrary, the whole story is
designed to show that each intervenes freely and according to his own
situation and with his own free remarks. The whole story is designed to
display this independence of the individual in relation to God, who does
not act in his subconscious and who does not condition him either directly
or indirectly.
How can I state in this way that this is the point of the story? The case
seems to me to be a very simple one. If the story wanted to show us God
crushing the will of man and forcing man to do what God wants, then things
would have been very simple. God would have sent Naaman directly to
Elisha, and Naaman’s obedience would have been pure and simple. We
should thus have a schema repeated a thousand times in all the ancient and
medieval legends, in which the relation between gods and men is precisely
the relation of a crushing will with a man which makes a mere automaton of
the will of the man himself. There is nothing in common with this here.
Each acts according to his own intention. Only one man does not act. This
is the prophet. The prophet knows what is God’s intention for this man.
He knows the gospel of God for the leper. He can disregard his own will,
his own intention, his personal level of judgment. And he is the only one
who does not act. All he does is intervene with the desperate king of
Israel and have the leper sent to him. But he does not leave his own house
to see and receive the general. He does not welcome him. He does not act.
He simply has his servant tell him what is God’s order regarding him. He
does not preach the gospel to him, but with the promise he gives a
command. All this ought to make us reconsider all the activist talk in the
church, the supposed imperative that the church should go out to meet the
world, the insistence that Christians should stop presenting to men the
authoritative demand and commandment of God. . . . Now all the acts
referred to are fragmentary and disconnected acts which have no
significance alone. Similarly that of Elisha has no value of its own. It
is God who weaves together the threads of these interventions, who makes
of them an act of God, who brings to light their meaning and orientation.
It is God who finally obtains what he hoped for by means of the liberty of
each participant. But why in this way, through unimportant acts that are
not connected to one another? The human link between them is obviously the
person of Naaman, and if these acts are all petty, insignificant, and of
no evident worth, it is because God respects the independence of Naaman
just as he does that of each of the other characters in the story.
At every point the general has a decision to make. At every point this
decision is not confronted by an irresistible constraint or by crushing
evidence and certitude. He has to listen to what the little slave says.
But why should he obey it? And even when the king of Israel sends him to
Elisha, why should he not take umbrage and return to Syria to provoke the
diplomatic incident? In addition, the word Elisha speaks to him is
certainly not a compelling or totalitarian word. He can refuse to listen
to it, and this is exactly why Elisha does not appear, why he treats him
thus. This kind of anonymity which does not break through the television
screen nor stun the middle-class citizen is God’s great respect for the
liberty of the one he loves. Naaman, too, has to decide for himself. He
has also to do this in relation to what his slaves say to him. At every
point in the story, then, each decides for himself what he has to do, and
at every twist Naaman is confronted by a simple word which it is just as
easy to set aside or ignore. This whole nexus finally serves to express
the full gospel.
Yet the really puzzling thing in the story is that finally it all seems to
be to no purpose. Certainly Naaman is cured. It is no little thing that a
sick person is made well, especially a leper. But in the last resort there
are still many other sick people. Again, Naaman undoubtedly perceives that
this cure is God’s act. He recognizes that this God is different from
all the other gods, that there is no other god but the Lord. And this
again is no little thing. We see that the miracle of which he was the
object leads to his conversion. But what counts is probably not so much
the facticity of the miracle as the signification Naaman perceives in it.
He is surely struck by the difference between Elisha’s action and that
of all other magicians and sorcerers. He is struck by this mark of the
power of this God, and perhaps even more so by the mercy of this God. All
this is excellent. But apart from these two personal results for Naaman,
what do we find? From the political standpoint first, the incident does
not improve the situation between Israel and Syria nor stop the war which
will very soon break out between them afresh. We see this war developing
in Chapter 6, and historians agree that the same king of Israel figures in
both stories. In other words Naaman, who continues to be a general, will
probably lead the armies of Syria against Israel. His conversion does not
change the relation between the powers. The church which is now present in
both Syria and Israel does not stop politics being politics. And it is a
great illusion to think that the church can prevent wars (although
obviously this is not to say that it should endorse them). Furthermore,
Naaman is still very superstitious. His conversion to the true God has not
stripped away the beliefs of his background and civilization. He has not
become a good theologian. In effect we see him asking for some of the soil
of Israel, as much as can be carried by two mules, so that he can make a
little bed of soil on which to build an altar to the Eternal. He is still
convinced that God is a local God, that he is tied to a particular land.
He is still convinced that if he carries away some of the soil of this
land he will take with it a little of the presence of God. He is still
convinced that God does not want to be worshiped except on the soil of
this land which he willed to give to his people. He is still convinced
that a sacrifice offered to God on other soil would not please him. To be
sure these are all foolish notions, for us who are so spiritual that we
have chased God off the earth and relocated him as far away as possible.
But they are foolish notions which are not condemned by God himself.
The text does not tell us that Elisha corrects or condemns Naaman, nor
that he gives him a lesson in theology. Naaman still entertains the ideas
of his age, but he bends and subjugates them in the presence of the true
God. It is to serve this true God that he acts in a way that seems
ridiculous to us. It is in order to love exclusively, to make a rigorous
demarcation, to affirm his break publicly, that, adopting the manners and
ideas and customs of his day, he uses them to show that his God is not the
same as that of others. Thus the very absurdity of his act is pleasing to
God. “I am carrying the soil of Israel into Syria because the soil of
Syria is not good.” What an offense! There would have been no offense if
he had rested content with a spiritual love of God. “I am carrying soil
from elsewhere into Syria in order to bear concrete witness to the
presence of the one true God who cannot be loved and served on this soil,
the soil of Baal, Rimmon, and Ishtar.” This is how faith transforms
customs even though it leaves a man in his own culture. This is why we
must not attempt the futile enterprise of demythologizing the Bible. One
has only to read it to see where and how this demythologizing is done.
Nevertheless, the ambivalence of Naaman’s situation is not set aside. He
takes a stand publicly. He makes a clean break by establishing his little
plot for sacrifice. But from another angle he remains a politician, a
councillor, a general. He is divided between his duty of state under an
idolatrous prince and his faith in the Eternal. And the story continues to
be surprising. He does not get the idea that as one who has been cured
himself he must convert his king. He does not have the burning urge to
witness. He shows none of the fire of the neophyte. Nor does he think of
withdrawing, of becoming a hermit, of quitting his post. He is a
politician and a soldier, and he remains so. “Every one should remain in
the state in which he was called. Were you a slave when called? Never mind
. . . “ (1 Corinthians 7:20-21). Were you a general? Never mind. Yet he
knows that the god he served up to this point, and the god his king
continues to serve, is a false god. He knows that when he accompanies the
king in ceremonies, he will seem to be worshiping this god. Publicly he
will have to do what his position demands. He will have to bow down to
Rimmon. He knows this is wrong. But he also knows he has no option but to
do this wrong. He asks for forgiveness. This is another scandal.
He intends to sin and he asks for pardon in advance. We are faced here by
an attitude which could hardly be more suspect and which opens the door to
all kinds of compromises. This is “mental reservation.” We act in one
way publicly, but inwardly we do not believe it. We are inwardly free and
this actually justifies our conformities to the present century. This is
the attitude of Naaman, which he knows to be reprehensible. Nevertheless,
this attitude has two positive aspects. Naaman expressly recognizes that
Rimmon is an idol. He recognizes that this state service is disobedience
to God, that his political action is open to condemnation. Are we so sure,
when we serve idols, that we can see they are idols? Are we so sure we
have the same clarity of vision in relation to the nation, the state, the
independence of peoples, socialism, progress, the army, cultures, money,
etc. When we choose to serve the powers that employ us, are we so sure we
have the discernment of this general? “I can do no other; this is part
of my service; but I know it is wrong.” Are we so sure we have the
honesty not to attempt to reconcile the two? This is the difference
between Naaman’s attitude and mental reservation. He does not seek inner
reassurance. He does not separate the two spheres. He does not try to say
that after all his secular service is willed by God even if it involves
apparent worship of Rimmon--one cannot make omelettes without breaking
eggs, it is impossible not to have dirty hands. Nor does he try to say
that one might make a synthesis between God and Rimmon, that in apparently
serving the latter one is really serving the former--we serve science or
the state, but in reality we are serving God. He plainly admits the
contradiction between the two. He admits that one cannot serve God and
Mammon. But he sees no way out of the contradiction. He does not accept a
compromise; he accuses himself. He does not try to pretend that he will
henceforth be God’s faithful servant by continuing to render service to
the king, a service which will be disloyal because he no longer believes
what he ought to believe as a Syrian general. From this point on he lives
in inner strife and tension, since his position is in fact one that defies
solution. It is that of every conscientious Christian who takes part in
any way in the activity of society. And Naaman condemns himself. There is
no other attitude he can take, no other outcome. His conduct may seem
sometimes to be primitive (carrying the earth) or mediocre (not totally
obeying God). Yet it is in very truth exemplary. He carries the earth and
sets up an altar to God; this marks his break henceforth with his own
earth, his country, and the gods of his fellow-citizens. He breaks with
everything sacred in his society. He thus enters on the way of sanctity.
Yet he also rejoins this society in a new relation. He continues to serve
his king in repentance and in the conviction that although it is not
finally good and righteous, nevertheless he ought to do it. This honesty
in asking forgiveness in advance is precisely the sign of the authenticity
of his conversion.
He speaks to Elisha and explains his situation. In some sense he seeks his
counsel. He asks him to be his interpreter or mediator with the God he has
now recognized to be the one true God. But in the main Elisha does not
reply. He offers no ethical advice. He does not tell him he ought to leave
his post and background and refuse to bow down before idols. Elisha does
not plunge into casuistry, differentiating what would be legitimate for
him from what would not. He has no solution to propose. He lets Naaman
choose himself. He lets him make his own decision. He faces him up to his
responsibility without saying what it is. Yet he does not let him go away
empty. He grants him peace from God. He finally declares the gospel to
him. Perhaps it should be noted that although Elisha did not receive the
famous general when he came the first time from the king of Syria and also
from the king of Israel, he did receive him the second time when this man
came to make a confession of faith and to show him the conflict of faith.
If Elisha did not receive him when it was a question of performing a
miracle of healing for him (although he did perform it), he did receive
him when the basic problem was at issue. And this, too, should be
enlightening to us Christians who are so zealous for action and so
scornful of what is only a matter of conversion and the inner life.
Elisha, then, gives him the blessing of peace. This means on the one hand
that in spite of the tension between his faith and his public acts, peace
is made with God. God has made peace and assures him of it. God sees
beyond appearances. He knows the reality of the human heart. And since
from now on the mighty general is poor in this conflict and penitence, he
assures him of his peace. But again, when Elisha says: “Go in peace,”
this implies affirmation of the unity of Naaman’s being. In spite of the
tension, in spite of the rift between his faith and his conduct, in spite
of the accusation his conscience brings against him, Naaman receives
attestation that his being is not double, that he is one, that he exists
in a unity that transcends the formal unity of the person. Naaman can now
be what he is, not without questions and repentance, but whole and entire,
a man who is no longer gnawed away by leprosy physically, a man who,
resting in the peace of God, ceases to be gnawed away by the idolatry of
the state which divides and corrupts the innermost depths of man.
Jacques Ellul, “Naaman,” The Politics of God and the Politics of
Man, translated and edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids:
William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1972), pp. 23-41.
(Translated from the French Politique de Dieu,
politiques de I’homme, Nouvelle alliance, Editions Universitaires,
Paris, 1966)
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