The fact that a cross became the Christian symbol, and that Christians stubbornly refused, in spite of the ridicule, to discard it in favor of something less offensive, can have only on explanation. It means that the centrality of the cross originated in the mind of Jesus himself. It was out of loyalty to him that his followers clung so doggedly to this sign.
- John Stott
In our small group at church this week we studied 2 Kings 5. It’s the story of the powerful Syrian King Naaman who was desperate to find a cure for his leprosy. We don’t often think of leprosy these days, what with it having nearly been eradicated. It is a cruel disease of the nervous system, keeping its victims unable to feel pain and thus unable to protect themselves from harm. It eats away at the skin. Over twenty years ago I went on a mission trip to a remote village in India where there was a nearby leper colony. I’ll never forget the precious, but disfigured people I saw there. Fingers and toes missing. Ears gone. Eye sockets where eyes once were. Skin peeling off in places. It reminded me of the power and compassion of Jesus, who went straight for these suffering people and healed them in Luke 17. It prompted me to read and then reread Philip Yancey’s Fearfully and Wonderfully Made in which he talks about Dr. Paul Brand who spent his life working among lepers and developed breakthrough cures and vaccines. This book is a must-read.
The story in 2 Kings 5 is layered with truth and irony. Here is a powerful king, who could snap his fingers and get whatever he wants, except the one thing he needs: a functioning nervous system and smooth skin. We don’t know this from the Bible, but we can assume he’s tried everything. Magicians and wise men and medicine. His inquiry into the King of Israel, a tiny, mostly powerless state, shows his desperation. He’s heard of a mysterious God who does miracles, but he probably thinks its mostly hocus.
Yet Naaman is not desperate enough, it would seem. He inquires of the King of Israel, a feckless leader who, instead of appealing to the God he is supposed to represent, nervously beckons Elisha, the prophet. Elisha then doesn’t even greet Naaman personally but sends a messenger. I love this part of the story. How badly does this impatient king want to be healed? Is he willing to humble himself?
Naaman comes with a rich bounty of goods. He wants the best cure that money can buy. But here, with Yahweh, money can’t buy salvation. Only humility can. The prophet, through a messenger, says:
Then Elisha sent him a messenger, who said, “Go wash seven times in the Jordan and your skin will be restored and you will be clean.”
It’s outrageous advice. The Jordan was the dirtiest of rivers. One might take a dip in this cesspool if he deliberately wanted to get a skin disease, not in search of a cure. For a sophisticated, modern, respected leader to lower himself to these rancid waters would be embarrassing, maybe even disqualifying.
Naaman wanted to be cured, sure, but he wasn’t desperate enough. So he replied to the messenger:
But Naaman got angry and left, saying, “I was telling myself: He will surely come out, stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the skin disease. Aren’t Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be clean?” So he turned and left in a rage.
He left in a rage, as powerful kings, accustomed to getting their way, always do. Why, couldn’t the prophet just wave a wand and heal the King on the spot? Doesn’t Elisha know who he’s dealing with? You can imagine, without much effort, the viral titok video or social media post or Yelp review this kind of treatment by the prophet would generate today. I never should have come here to these simpletons for help. What a waste of a trip.
You can almost see him seething with rage at the brave slave girl—trafficked from Israel—who dared to suggest this idea in the first place. She’d probably not be long for this world. Naaman wanted to be healed, but he wanted his way. There were cleaner bodies of water, ones he’d be more comfortable dipping his toes. This can’t be the cure.
But, his servants suggested, what if this is the way to healing? I’m amazed all of these centuries later at the servants who said this. Like the servant girl who pointed Naaman to Israel, they took a risk in speaking up. They lived at the edge of the sword. But they valued his life more than theirs, the truth more than flattering fables. If you are ever in someone’s inner circle, be these people instead of the sycophants.
So, exasperated, Naaman humbles himself. His desperation finally outweighed his pride. Like the Roman centurion who lept over customs and cultural barriers to find his way to Jesus in Matthew 8, Naaman humbled himself, walked into the waters of the Jordan, and found healing.
This story pulsates with symbolism and meaning for Easter. The cross, like the putrid river, is an ugly form of salvation. Sophisticated, modern people like us see it as too simple, too crude. Surely there are other, more enlightened pathways to God. Surely we can be healed by the myriad of other nice-sounding religions.
Many, like Naaman, are desperate, but not yet desperate enough. Can’t God just save another way? Yet the message is that unless we lower ourselves, unless we resist the impulse to buy our way into the kingdom, and unless we recognize that nothing we bring can bring us to God, we’ll not taste the healing from sin that Jesus offers.
Even worse, the gospel message is often delivered to the powerful by the unlikeliest of messengers. The powerless slave girl and the servants around Naaman were not supposed to be conduits for this cure. Yet they had the simple message that pointed to Naaaman’s salvation.
Today, the cross is still ugly, set against the backdrop of sophisticated science and enlightened philosophy and the messengers are still often as simple and crude: imperfect pastors, evangelicals who vote the wrong way, church ladies often lampooned by the smart set, street preachers who you wish would just shut up.
But, if you are desperate enough, you might listen. You might say to yourself, having tried every other way to find salvation, that maybe, just maybe, you should step into the water.
"Do you want to see the greatest evidence of the love of God? Go to the cross. Do you want to see the greatest evidence of the justice of God? Go to the cross. It is where wrath and mercy meet . . . The climax of redemptive history is the cross." - DA Carson
To help you you meditate on the cross and resurrection of Jesus, check out my book, The Characters of Easter.