God Without Fanfare--October 1, 2019

"God Without Fanfare"--October 1, 2019

"Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favour with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, ‘If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.’ So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, ‘Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel.’ He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, ‘When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy.’ When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, ‘Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me.’ But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, ‘Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel.’ So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha’s house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, ‘Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean.’ But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, ‘I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! 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?’ He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, ‘Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, “Wash, and be clean”?’ So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean. " [2 Kings 5:1-14]

We're always looking for God in the extraordinary, you know?  Always up on the moutaintop, or in a booming voice from the sky.  We seem to think God is more likely to connect with us on a particularly important day, too--maybe a holy day in the church's calendar, or on the anniversary of someone's death, or at that moment you watch the sun rising over the horizon. 

But the ordinary?  We rarely give it a second thought.  That's surely not where to find God.  That's surely not where you'll see divine fingerprints.  It almost seems like we think God is like the "good dishes" you save only for special occasions, or the fire hose in the public buildings that is kept behind glass except "for use in emergencies only."  We have a harder time thinking that Christ dwells with us exactly in the mundane, the routine, and the unnoticed... because we expect something of the flutter of angel wings or heavenly light and the echo of angel choruses where Christ shows up.

And yet, over and over again, the Bible has to call our attention to seeing the fullness of the divine in the perfectly ordinary.  Not just on Sunday mornings, but on routine Tuesdays while you are slogging through your regular work load.  Not just in the glorious golden glow of the rising sun on a new day, but when it is forgettably grey as well.  And not just at the big impressive "rivers of Damascus," but even at the plain, old unremarkable waters of the Jordan river.

See the point of this story, where the foreign (enemy) army officer Naaman seeks a cure for his sickness, is not that the Jordan River in Israel was special, or holy, or even particularly clean water.  Just the opposite.  The power isn't in the water, but in the God who works in the midst of the ordinary.  If you wanted a more impressive river, you could go up to the ones Naaman thought of--the Abana and the Pharpar.  But this isn't really about the river, is it?  It's about the God who chooses to work healing in the midst of the ordinary, and who shows up unannounced in the backyard creek as well as on the shores of the Mighty Mississippi.

So often, we aren't any different, really, from Naaman.  We expect God's presence to be in the extraordinary, but we almost can't dare to imagine that the mundane is worthy of God.  We pray with fervor in times of crisis--like when we are in the emergency room with someone we care about... but our attentiveness has a way of falling off when our loved ones are home and getting around just fine again, as if we are saying to God, "We've got it covered from here, God--we don't need you anymore."  We might be beaming with praise to God when you get the promotion, or when your kid graduates with honors, or when you make your last payment on the mortgage... but, hmmm, it's funny how we have a way of missing the presence of God on the days when your kid gets a C-minus, or when your car insurance premiums go up, or when you just keep on keeping on at the job you've been in for years.  And yet, Naaman's story would seem to tell us that God reserves the right to show up--and to work for good--precisely in those situations we think are too "ordinary" to matter.

Sometimes we limit how much we will let God use us, too, for that matter.  I bet we would each be willing to do God's work if it were clearly a criticial situation--to save a life, rescue someone drowning in the ocean, or to sit at the bedside with someone before they have a critical surgery.  But somehow, we just start to shrug off the possibility that God might call you or me to something less dramatic or show, but just as vital from God's vantage point. And what a damned shame it would be if we decided that since it's not a "crisis," then we must not be "on-call" for God to use us for the people around us--you know, and we can get back to doing our own thing without worrying about God interrupting our plans for the sake of someone who needs us.

Maybe you'll be called today to check in on the friend who is down in the dumps--and you'll never know it, but your voice might be what pulls them back from the brink, just becuase you reached out, and not becuase you actually talked them down from a bridge.  Maybe the other person never gets to the ledge or the bridge because you were there and just said, "Hey," when they needed you to.  It's not flashy, and you'll never know the difference you made... but it's one of those moments that has divine fingerprints on it, even though it feels completely ordinary from your side.  

Maybe you'll be prompted to make some small monetary donation to the homeless ministry, or to the refugee-resettlement organization affiliated with your church (if you don't know one, let me know and I'll help you out!).  And you know full well that your ten dollars won't go very far on its own... but as ordinary as that Alexander Hamilton in your wallet might be, who knows how it gets put together with other small donations to give someone a new start and a safe place to sleep?

Maybe you're the one who offers the insight that makes someone think a little bit differently, or your example is what makes someone else give just a little bit more effort because you challenge and inspire them. Maybe you're the one who just shows up on an ordinary Tuesday, and in that ordinary space, mercy moves.

It's never about how impressive our actions appear at the moment--after all, it was never about the greatness of the river or the holiness of the water that makes Naaman well.  It's always about a God who shows up in the ordinary.  In the flat places as well as on the sacred mountains, on weekday afternoons as well as at sunrise on Easter Sunday.  In the moments that seem completely forgettable, as well as the days we have circled on our calendars as "special."

I guess that's the thing about this God of ours--the real and living God isn't hemmed in to making only cameo guest appearances for emergencies and liturgical processions with incense and robes.  The real and living God shows up in the muddy creek in the back yard, the non-emergency phone call, and the routine weekday.

The question, really, is--will we have our eyes open to allow ourselves to see God's presence without fanfare in the ordinary, the God who is already there...here... right now?

Lord God, show up in this day and let us see you here.