Mark 1:40-45

 Mark 1:40-45 (NRSV)

⁴⁰ A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” ⁴¹ Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” ⁴² Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. ⁴³ After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, ⁴⁴ saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” ⁴⁵ But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

 

            Mark 1:40-45 is a story of a healing and a pronouncement concerning a leper. Mark connects this passage to the previous one by a summary transitional statement, common in the gospel of Mark (1:39). There, Mark emphasizes Jesus’ travel throughout Galilee, not just in Capernaum (1:21; cf. 2:1) or the wilderness (1:35, 45). Jesus identifies “proclamation” (NRSV) or “preaching” (NASB, NIV) as his main purpose (1:38), and Mark extends this purpose of the ministry of Jesus to include exorcisms as well (cf. 1:21-27), which fits with Jesus’ overall perception of the dawning of the reign of God (1:15; cf. 3:23-27). The narrative does not seem to fit the typical healing story, which may mean it comes from a time when the form was not set, and thus from oral tradition.[1]  

⁴⁰ A leper, instead of one possessed of a demon (1:39), the distressing skin disease characterized by bright white spots on the skin and white hair and the spreading of the scab. The leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, putting the focus on the choice or will of Jesus, and not his ability to cleanse or heal, you can make me clean (rather than heal).” Discussions of what Jesus is able or unable to do dominate the gospel of Mark. This passage contrasts two things that Jesus is or is not “able” to do. While he may be able to heal the leper, due to the leper’s proclamation, he becomes unable to travel “openly” (v. 45). The following passage, the healing of the paralytic at Capernaum (2:1-10), is all about the ability of Jesus compared to that of God: Who can forgive sins? (2:7). Furthermore, sometimes the lack of faith by people prevents Jesus from fully acting in his ministry, as in his hometown of Nazareth (6:5). The most interesting parallel to the plea of the leper for cleansing, however, is from the father of an epileptic, demon-possessed child (9:14-29). In this passage, the father cries, “if you are able … help us!” (9:22). The difference between questioning the ability of Jesus, as the father does here (9:22), and offering him the choice, as the leper does (1:40), is the difference between the immediate pity of Jesus (1:40) and exhorting Jesus to have pity (9:22). Even though “[a]ll things can be done for the one who believes” (9:23), the responses of Jesus, dependent on the emotions Mark describes, seem strikingly different in each interaction. Immediately after the leper begs Jesus to heal him, Mark tells us that Jesus was ⁴¹ moved with pity[2] (σπλαγχνισθεὶς or compassion), recognizing that only rarely does Mark describe the emotions of Jesus or his reaction to persons. Gospel writers rarely give their audiences insight into the emotions of Jesus; this is more of an interest of modern biography than ancient. This Greek verb refers to being moved in what the Greeks thought was the seat of one’s emotions: one’s intestines, or as we might say, one’s “guts.” The modern equivalent of this expression would locate the seat of one’s emotions most often in the heart. It indicates a strong depth of positive feeling, which Jesus has for the crowds in the gospel of Mark (cf. 6:34; 8:2), and to which the father of the epileptic boy exhorts him (9:22). At the same time, this pity is not the only emotion of Jesus that Mark describes in this narrative. Thus, out of compassion, Jesus ignored the sad rule regarding lepers and did something no one else would have considered doing. Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, Mark taking special interest in Jesus touching those who suffer. This touch is particularly significant due to the skin disease the man had and his unclean status. 

Let us pause for a moment and reflect upon what this little comment from Mark regarding the emotion of Jesus means for us today. The love and compassion of God for us becomes visible to us in Jesus. Jesus is the embodiment of divine love in the world. God comes to us in Jesus because our suffering pain moved God to do so. God fully participates in our struggles. The response of Jesus to the ignorant, hungry, blind, lepers, widows, and all those who came to him with their sufferings flowed from divine compassion that led God to become one of us. The Incarnation certainly means this in the New Testament and in Christian teaching. We need to pay close attention to the words and actions of Jesus if we are to gain insight into the mystery of this divine compassion. We misunderstand many miraculous stories in the gospels if the only thing that impresses us is the liberation of people from their pains. If that were the focus, the cynic could respond that Jesus cured only some of the sick, while many others still suffered and died. Rather, what needs to capture our attention is that deep compassion motivated Jesus.[3]

Jesus said[4] to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” J. Weiss thought that what Jesus said indicates, “To declare clean,” and that the story originated from when someone sought such a declaration from Jesus rather than the priest. ⁴² Immediately, the leprosy left him, and he received cleansing. This distinction between cleansing and healing is significant, particularly based on where the passage concludes, appealing to “what Moses commanded”. Since the issue is “cleansing,” it must relate to regulations concerning purity, found in Leviticus 13-14 (for leprosy, in particular). While “leprosy” is a term that could relate to a variety of skin diseases in the ancient world, scriptural texts agree that there is no cure for it, except God’s healing (cf. II Kings 5:7). The leper’s interactions with others would have been severely restricted because of the contagious nature of the disease, and its impurity. Thus, the leper seeks cleansing, not just healing, so that he may enter public society again. ⁴³After sternly warning him, we must note that Mark uses the same verb in 14:5 to describe the scolding that the disciples give the woman who anoints the feet of Jesus. However, the gospel of John also uses it to describe Jesus as being “greatly disturbed [in spirit]” (11:33, 38) at Lazarus’ tomb. This stern warning is a bit surprising, particularly in the context of the deep pity that moved Jesus to heal the man originally. The stern warning fits, however, in the context of purity laws. Thus, Jesus sent him away at once, ⁴⁴ saying[5] to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone. One ought not to isolate this command to silence from the charge to show himself to the priest. Some scholars put too much stress on the messianic secret. In this case, one can explain the command to silence by Jesus’ withdrawal from Capernaum and his desire to devote himself to preaching ministry.[6] According to Mark, Jesus tried to stop people from talking about his deeds or magnifying his person. Since the days of W. Wrede it has been customary to trace these features to Mark and to find in them the theory of a messianic secret that traces back to the post-Easter knowledge by the community of the majesty of Jesus to non-messianic traditions of his earthly appearance. Mark, however, refers to the regard that the work of Jesus evoked and that led to the post-Eater awareness of his divine sonship. He thinks that such an account contains traces of a traditional realization that Jesus was aware of the ambivalence into which his message thrust him and that he tried to counteract it.[7] Jesus commands go, show yourself to the priest, which may mean that the incident occurred in Judea,[8] and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” What Jesus tells him is important for reintegration into the community, as in Leviticus 14. Mark does not attempt to supply local references or references to time.  In any case, Jesus will later seek to redefine the applicability of the purity laws, as in 7:19. Here, he upholds the regulations of Moses, acknowledging the authority of the priest to verify the cleansing. The story indicates that Jesus recognizes the validity of the Mosaic Law. Again, the fact that Jesus was a religious man is on full display.

⁴⁵ Nevertheless, Mark tells us that he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word. Thus, for a change, Jesus is not the one proclaiming. This proclamation marks a shift in the gospel’s narrative, as the cleansed leper is the first person besides John the Baptist or Jesus who “proclaims” anything about God’s activity. The disciples will join in this proclamation only after Jesus’ commission, in 3:14. Later, the cleansed leper has more “healed” company who also proclaim the action of God: the man who was possessed by a legion of demons (5:20); the crowds who witnessed the healing of a deaf-mute man (7:36); and the future promise that people will proclaim the good news to “all the nations” (13:9-10; cf. 14:9). Mark pairs these wide proclamations with his striking emphasis on the secrecy of Jesus (cf. 1:34), which sometimes others follow his command and in other, as here, they do not.

The response of this man is interesting to me. Mark does not say that this man experienced conversion in the religious sense of the word. In the Bible, the Hebrew word for conversion is shub, which means “to turn” or “to return,” and the Greek word is metanoia, which means, “to turn around.” In the case of the man Jesus declared clean, there was clearly a return, in that he could now go back to his family and community, but there was also a turning around. Conversion means shifting the direction of one’s life in such a way that it points toward God.[9] That would seem to be what happened to this man. Excitement, zest, intensity, and eagerness to tell others accompany any conversion. One wants to share the significant turning point one has made in one’s life. Deep feelings, a sense of calling, and telling others, are all part of conversion. Today, such dramatic opening of ourselves to new possibilities become the moment when some can identify that moment that one became a Christian. That moment made all the difference. I should hasten to say that the lack of a conversion story is no shortcoming in terms of our acceptance by God and Christ.

The theory of evolution suggests that change takes time and is difficult. Much individual change happens imperceptibly, with much trial and error. We instinctively resist mutation. We may live in a swamp, but we are familiar with our swamp. We know where everything is. We know the bogs and marshes. To leave the swamp means venturing into the unknown and falling into an even worse swamp. Therefore, we stay in the swamp. The point is that we have choices to make. We usually choose to stay with the familiar. It takes much courage to open oneself to significant and dramatic change.[10]

The result is that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter. The consequence of the cleansed leper breaking the secrecy of this healing, however, is ironic. While before his healing, the leper could not enter towns, now, Jesus cannot enter the towns. While the man can proclaim “freely,” Jesus cannot go about “openly” (1:45; cf. 4:22). Nevertheless, unlike Jesus’ previous experiences in the wilderness or in “deserted places” (1:12-13, 35), he is not alone. People are coming to him.

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[1] Vincent Taylor, Mark.

[2] As the NRSV text note to verse 41 indicates, some manuscripts write, “moved with anger,” instead of “[m]oved with pity.” While the former reading would be the more difficult text, and thus possibly the more original text (e.g., it is difficult to imagine a scribe changing the text to “anger” over “pity”), the latter reading is more consistently supported by a variety of manuscripts. Therefore, the best reading, particularly given the context of this passage, describes Jesus as being “[m]oved with pity.” From Lindsey Pherigo, in his article, “The Gospel According to Mark,” in The Interpreters One Volume Commentary to Mark, (Alberhouse: Staten Island, NY, 1968) William Willimon got the insight on Mark’s use of the word anger. Vincent Taylor, in his The Gospel According to St. Mark (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1966) began his speculation on the motives and reasons for Jesus’ anger. Taylor tells us that this word anger also can mean “snorts” or “boils over.” Willimon loves that image of Jesus snorting and boiling over at seeing the effects of this illness upon this poor man. He thinks Jesus was filled with anger, but not at the breaking of the ancient law, or because of the way this sick man approached him. Rather, he was angry because of the man’s sickness, because of what this sickness had done to the man, ravaging his body so, and because of the way his illness had isolated him from the warmth of human community. 

 

[3] (Henri J. M. Nouwen, Show Me the Way: Readings for Each Day of Lent [New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1994], p. 104.)

[4] Jesus Seminar says the words of Jesus are the invention of Mark.

[5] Jesus Seminar says Mark invents these words of Jesus for the purpose of the story.

[6] Vincent Taylor, Mark.

[7] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 2, 336.

[8] Vincent Taylor, Mark.

[9] The Dictionary of Bible and Religion.

[10] Jerold Kreisman and Hal Straus, I Hate You – Don’t Leave Me (New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 1989), 89.

I Corinthians 9:24-27

 I Corinthians 9:24-27 (NRSV)

²⁴ Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it. ²⁵ Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. ²⁶ So I do not run aimlessly, nor do I box as though beating the air; ²⁷ but I punish my body and enslave it, so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified. 

 

The theme of I Corinthians 9:24-27 is the need for self-control in pursuing Christian freedom, patterned after athletes preparing for competition. 

Any of us who work at physical fitness are aware that there is no shortcut to fitness. If you have trained for a marathon or gone on long bike rides, you know the work required to become ready. Is that not true of everything? To graduate with honors, you must study late at night. To play good golf, you must spend hours on the driving range and the putting green. Whatever it is you wish to excel in doing, you must work hard and faithfully. There are no shortcuts to a successful life.

The use of metaphor is an attempt to express some image of life that others will find inspiring and practical at the same time. When he was in Corinth, around 49-51 AD, the city hosted the Isthmian games. The city had many visitors. Athletes were everywhere. Paul uses sports metaphor to communicate some truths concerning the practice of the Christian living. He articulates the need to develop self-control, develop a goal orientation, have self-discipline, and to grasp the purpose. Clearly, underlying such practices must be a passion to pursue excellence. Paul encourages the people of the church to remain focused by pursuing the best in the Christian life. 

The city hosted the Isthmian games every two years (akin to the Olympic Games in Athens). Although Hellenistic literature commonly employed athletic imagery, the running and boxing metaphors of Paul were especially poignant for his Corinthian audience. Since 582 B.C., Corinth had been the home of the Isthmian Games, one of four Panhellenic festivals. The Isthmian Games ranked below the Olympic Games in prestige, but above those of Delphi and Nemea. After the Romans sacked Corinth in 146 B.C., the neighboring town of Sicyon, situated about 10 km (6.2 miles) northwest of Corinth, hosted the games, but coin evidence reveals that Roman Corinth reclaimed the games by 40 B.C. Although it is not certain that Paul attended these contests, he and his audience would have been aware of them. The games took place in April/May A.D. 49 and 51 when he was visiting the city. During this festive time, the city teemed with visitors, and this influx forced many non-Corinthians to pitch tents along the roadways. Thus, the games made Corinth a popular spot to visit and to work, especially for tentmakers (see Acts 18:1-3).[1]

The popularity of sports today makes this imagery easily relatable. Such imagery continues the challenge Paul offers to exercise self-control by considering the needs of other brothers and sisters in Christ. One can appreciate these instructions better if one sees it as consistent with the argument in 8:7-13 not to cause another to stumble in the faith and in 9:19-23 to become all things to all people in order to share the gospel. In fact, these few verses occur in the context of the advice that Paul gives regarding eating meat sacrificed to idols in 8:1-11:1. Familiarity with the message of the section is important for an understanding of these few verses. In 9:19, he will say that while he is free with respect to such moral matters, he makes himself a slave to all to win more of them to the way of the gospel. Standing on any principle of rightful personal freedom is secondary to the priority of bolstering the community. The essential moral issue at stake, then, is not so much a question of whether to eat sacrificial food per se as it is pursuing Christian conduct in a manner that upholds members of the body of Christ. Such forbearance requires that the exercise of liberty have some discipline. The image is like that of Philippians 3:12-13, but here, the emphasis is on the effort and training demanded of those who win. The Christian situation is a provisional one, in which we can only run to the utmost of our resources.[2]

Thus, he begins by asking a question that reminds us that we engage in athletic competition to win. ²⁴Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Paul advises his readers to run, carrying the connotation of hard-striving exertion, even to the point of exhaustion, in such a way that you may win it. Notice, however, that all run to obtain this one prize. The singularity of such a prize for multiple runners has arrested the attention of many commentators. Whereas in the Isthmian Games only one person may wear the victor’s crown, in Paul’s illustration the whole church body runs together and seeks the imperishable crown. 

Paul then presses the example by pointing to the need for self-control. In the arena of discipleship, when we practice spiritual disciplines like prayer, reading Scripture, fasting, and daily acts of compassion toward others, we are orienting our lives full-time toward winning the prize. Paul is reminding us of the basic truth that one does not develop character in ease and quiet.[3] If we are to preserve the unity of the Body of Christ and reconcile its members to their differences, it will take discipline of what we want to gain the needed union. ²⁵ Athletes exercise self-control in all things, signifying an all-encompassing commitment that requires focus; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. The fruits of this discipline may seem meager. Why should one exert all that effort for a wreath, even if it is an imperishable one? Remember that, like adhering to the Olympic ideal, the goal of the Isthmian athlete was not to receive the reward of monetary compensation, but to receive recognition for excellence in a worthy athletic endeavor. The victor's wreath was valued specifically because it signified that its recipients had conducted themselves very honorably. The contrast of the perishable with the imperishable crown would have conjured images of the wreath of celery bestowed upon victors at the Isthmian Games. The Isthmian victor’s crown had a reputation for withering in comparison to the Nemean crown composed of fresh celery. Nonetheless, athletes still subjected their bodies to intense training for the fleeting honor of wearing a crown that had already begun to die. 

Paul then reminds us that we need a purpose in life. Today, it may well be that many people today suffer from a meaningless complex, often associated with feelings of emptiness.[4] ²⁶ So I do not run aimlessly (with uncertainty), nor do I box as though beating the air; ²⁷ but I punish (meaning “to give a black eye” and figuratively “to maltreat” or subject the body to concerted pummeling) my body (soma) and enslave it. Although Paul is experiencing suffering, he is not condoning asceticism. “Body” can have the meaning of more than just the physical body. It can entail the whole of bodily existence, one’s day-to-day life. Paul’s model of self-control and his willingness to subject his whole body to the demands of his calling serves as an example of how the Corinthians are to act.[5] He does all of this for a purpose: so that after proclaiming to others I myself should not be disqualified. Thus, by living with this priority he will show himself not to be “disqualified.” For those who claim Christ, our most worthy endeavor is the cooperative effort of seeking to love God with all our being and our neighbors as ourselves. Unlike training for an athletic competition, the goal of the Christian discipline Paul expects is not to strive against others, but to strive for the sake of others - not to honor ourselves, but to conduct ourselves in ways that honor others. We receive enough honor by the saving love of Christ, which prepares us to share the honors with the world.

The failure of some in the church to consider the needs of others reveals a misunderstanding of the gospel itself. In 1 Corinthians 9:24-27, Paul employs action-packed metaphors to challenge the church not to compete selfishly for the honor of crowns that do not last, but selflessly for the sake of partaking in the gospel with the whole body of Christ. This is competition Paul-style. The apostle urges the runners to stop causing others to stumble along the way (8:9) and to start encouraging one another towards the goal. If athletes are willing to torment their bodies for wilted celery stalks, how much more should the saints be willing to put aside petty differences and to run together toward an imperishable crown?

It is much easier to make the right choices if you think like an athlete who wants to be the best at what he or she does, not through any form of cheating, but through discipline. We have much to learn from such persons. 

Sport activities were always something I picked up along the way. I played on summer leagues baseball. I did play some college baseball, but only because I attended a college that had so few students. I started running when I was around 19 years old. About that time, I started playing tennis. I started lifting weights and now use the Total Gym. Even at my relatively low level of skill, involvement in sports makes be realize the value of regular discipline.

One famous pro golfer was driving balls on a range when a Sunday golfer watched for a bit, and then said, “I wish I could hit a ball like that.” “No, you don’t,” the pro replied. “But I do,” insisted the other man. “Then I’ll tell you what you do. You get out here at 6 am and hit balls for three hours. When your hands develop blisters and the blisters break, and your hands bleed, you go into the clubhouse. You put medicine on your hands, then bandages. Then you come back out in the afternoon and you hit balls for two more hours. You do this every day for a few years, and some day you will be able to hit drives like mine.” 

I think of Vijay Singh, who played in tournaments for many years, normally without success. In 1998 PGA championships, his years of hard work paid off. He won. A couple weeks later, he won another tournament. He would follow a four hour round with fours of practice, often on the far end of the driving range so he would not be bothered. He would rearrange the furniture in his hotel room, clearing the way, just so he could practice even more.

The reality is, whatever it is one wishes to excel in doing, one must work hard and faithfully. There are no shortcuts to a successful life. 

The Robert Frost poem “The Road Not Taken,” begins with the words, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” It cautions us about the fateful choices we make in the dense woods of life, and how our choices matter — with one path leading to another. Frost concludes it by saying,

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

Doing the things that make for a successful life is about taking the road less traveled. The effortless way is to cheat and skate through with as little effort as is possible. We know that way all too well. I want to talk with you today about the road less traveled.

           Frost also said, “Poetry is about life and death and who you are as a person.” Poetry gives us images, figures of speech, similes and metaphors that help us make sense of life. The intent of poetry and novels is to gain an insight into life, an insight that may bring change to our lives, if we are open to it. Frost once said, “Unless you are educated in metaphor, you are not safe to be let loose in the world.”

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[1] Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth [3rd edition; Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 2002], 12-15

[2] Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.2 [64.4] 376.

[3] Helen Keller, quoted in The Week, May 10, 2002, 17.

[4] Karl Rahner and Karl-Heinz Weger, Our Christian Faith: Answers for the Future (New York: Crossroad, 1981), ix.

[5] Anthony Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians [The New International Greek Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000], 716

II Kings 5:1-14

II Kings 5:1-14 (NRSV)

5 Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. ² 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. ³ She said to her mistress, “If only 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 just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. ⁵ 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. ⁶ 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.” ⁷ 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.”

⁸ 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.” ⁹ So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha’s house. ¹⁰ 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.” ¹¹ 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! 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?” He turned and went away in a rage. ¹³ 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’?” ¹⁴ 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.

II Kings 5:1-14, part of a story that continues to verse 27, relate the story of the healing of Naaman. Since only a few main characters are presented by name, the anonymity of the kings of Aram and Israel makes it impossible to attribute the story to a period in the life of Elisha. One motif of the story is that people of higher social status depend upon people of lower status. Naaman depends on counsel from his wife reporting information from an Israelite slave girl. The king of Aram depends on the king of Israel. The king of Israel depends on Elisha. Naaman depends on the advice of his servants and Elisha. Naaman’s healing and conversion to Yahwism combines both the emphasis on the extraordinary, characteristic of the Elijah-Elisha stories (1 Kings 16:29-2 Kings 13:21), and the theological concern for Israel’s neighbors characteristic of the Deuteronomic history, of which the story is a small part (cf 1 Kings 8).

The story of Naaman's healing by the prophet Elisha is one of several examples of the "foreigner-aided-by-Yahweh's-agent" type of tale found in the Hebrew Bible. Other examples include Abraham's healing of Abimelech's barren household (told by E in Genesis 20:17-18, the only occasion, significantly in this context, of the author calling Abraham a "prophet," v. 7). We also have two post-exilic tales, one of Joseph's protection of Egypt against famine (Genesis 41:37-57), and the other of Daniel's interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar's dream (Daniel 2:24-45). The characters that we find scattered throughout the plot of the Naaman story seem to lie at opposite ends of the power spectrum. On one end, there are two ruling kings, a great warrior/commander, and a respected prophet. On the other end, there are a captured slave girl and common servants of a powerful man. Yet as the story unfolds, those who are in a position of servitude constantly direct Naaman in the right direction. The lowest, least, and last make it possible for healing to take place. The story contrasts the hiddenness of the ways of God and the insignificance of the means that Yahweh employs. This story may have influenced the story of Moses.

Exodus 4:6-7 (NRSV)

⁶ Again, the Lord said to him, “Put your hand inside your cloak.” He put his hand into his cloak; and when he took it out, his hand was leprous, as white as snow. ⁷ Then God said, “Put your hand back into your cloak”—so he put his hand back into his cloak, and when he took it out, it was restored like the rest of his body—

 

Luke 4:27 refers to this story as an example of God's care for non-Israelites. Jesus refers to the healing of Naaman as an example of a foreigner's faith working wonders impossible among the chosen, but jejune, people. In the Lucan context, the reference is a judgment against the faithlessness of the Israelites. In Its original context, the story has a less negative connotation: It signifies God's care not only for the chosen people, but for outsiders as well, a theme found elsewhere in the Deuteronomic History, and articulated most eloquently in Solomon's great prayer of dedication of the Jerusalem temple (I Kings 8:30, 34, 36, 39, 50, and especially vv. 41-43). 

We see the personal and pastoral side of the prophetic service of Elisha. Since Naaman was an official of Syria and was a righteous man, the Lord blessed him and Syria. The story emphasizes the hiddenness of the ways of the Lord and the and the insignificance of the means the Lord uses to accomplish those ways. Such ways of the Lord stand in sharp contrast to the Syrian king, who makes the entire matter an affair of the State. Naaman appears with his large contingent of soldiers and servants to the abode of the prophet, no doubt expecting to receive the honor due to him. Instead, Elisha sends out his servant with a message. Elisha refuses to comply with a miracle. He gives Naaman the option of learning obedience. The healing is almost incidental to the two interactions between Elisha and Naaman. After the healing, Naaman wants to take home some earth from Israel and to worship the Lord in Syria. The original readers of the story would be touched by the desire of this man to worship the God of Israel on foreign soil. He would have a sacramental attachment to the Lord through this earth. In asking to bow at the side of his king when he worshipped Rimmon back home, the original readers are in suspense, since they are well aware of the first of the ten commandments. Elisha has profound pastoral insight. He imposes no law upon Naaman. In inviting him to go in peace, Elisha is commending his future faith to the Lord. The initial response of the prophet to Naaman was harsh, but in the end he is generous. Naaman stands in sharp contrast to the greedy servant of Elisha, Gehazi.[1]

¹Naaman (the Semitic root means “pleasantness” or “loveliness.”) was commander of the army of the king of Aram. From the time of Ahab of Israel (reigned 869-850 B.C.) until the death of Elisha some 50 years later, warfare characterized the interaction between the northern kingdom of Israel and its nearby neighbor, with only brief periods of peace (cf I Kings 20:1-34; 22:1-40; II Kings 1:1; 3:1-27; chapters 6-8, etc.). Israel once controlled Aram (II Samuel 8:3-6). Aram now poses an increasing threat to Israel, but it was the Lord who gave Aram victory over Israel. He was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. That the narrator attributes to Yahweh, the Israelites' own god, Aram's victory (over Israel?), should not be surprising in this context. The idea that Israel's fortunes and misfortunes alike came from Yahweh was a staple of Israelite theology (compare Deuteronomy 8:11-20), and in the present story the statement foreshadows Naaman's ultimate and most significant realization, that Yahweh is the only true God. The text views Naaman as a noble pagan, the Lord looking upon such just persons favorably and granting such a person success. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy (from lepra, the Septuagint's translation of the Hebrew word tsara`at). Naaman himself is the first character we meet. Yahweh lent aid to him and the Syrians, demonstrating the Yahweh is always looking out for the righteous and blesses them. Leprosy was not the kind that caused isolation.  A skin disease was embarrassing.  The term here translated as "leprosy" is a generic term that describes many skin disorders. In fact, it is doubtful that Naaman was suffering from that disfiguring, nerve-destroying leprosy we know today as "Hansen's Disease," for social rules have not barred him from any contacts or activities because of his condition.  The range of the Hebrew word, which includes conditions affecting clothing (Leviticus 13:47) and buildings (Leviticus 14:34), makes it clear that the word denotes more than Hansen's disease, which is caused by the Mycobacterium leprae bacillus and affects humans exclusively. Naaman may have been suffering from, in addition to Hansen's disease, lupus erythematosus, psoriasis, smallpox, skin cancer, vitiligo or a nutritional deficiency such as pellagra.^[2] The only other characters that are healed of leprosy in the Old Testament are Moses (who is both afflicted in an instant by God, and healed just as quickly in a display of divine power Exodus 4:6-7), and Miriam (whom Moses cures through prayer but who nonetheless must submit to a seven-day quarantine, Numbers 12:1-15). God strikes Azariah, also known as Uzziah, with leprosy but God does not heal him of the disease. He remained in quarantine in the royal precinct and his son ruled under his regency until his death after 52 years as king (II Kings 15:5; II Chronicles 26:16-23). This means that Naaman is only the fourth named character the Old Testament describes as a leper (four unnamed lepers appear in II Kings 7), and he is the only one whose condition the text does not describe as God directly inflicting it and healing it. In fact, however, ancient Israel did not treat leprosy per se. The victim simply shaved and burned his or her clothes and submitted to quarantine until the priests declared him clean (Numbers 5:2-3; Leviticus 13:1-14:3). Once the priest declared one clean, however, there was a very elaborate ritual to finalize the victim’s reentry into the community (Leviticus 14:3-32). The first stage in the ritual involved dipping a live bird, a scarlet string, some cedar wood, and some hyssop in a solution made from running water and the blood of a sacrificial bird. The priest sprinkles the victim of leprosy seven times and releases the live bird to go free (Leviticus 14:4-7). Following this first ritual, the one needing cleansing submitted to more shaving, burning of clothes, bathing and seven more ritual days of separation before the eighth day, on which a series of involved sacrifices of both animals and grain began. At one stage the former leper received anointing, and eventually the priest performed many of the same rituals on the leper’s house to cleanse it as well (Leviticus 14:8-57).

² 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. It is tempting at this point to stress the role of young people within the believing community as well. The Lord chose to make use an obscure person to offer help to the mighty Naaman. ³ She said to her mistress, “If only 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 just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. ⁵ And the king of Aram the king of Syria (Ben-Hadad although he is never mentioned by name in this account) said, “Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel.” The king turns what began as a private undertaking for a medical cure into a diplomatic mission.

The diplomatic gifts he bears to the Israelite king reflect Naaman's value to his sovereign. He went, taking with him ten talents 750 pounds of silver a talent is 130 lbs under Old Babylonian and 45 lbs in latest Jewish system, six thousand shekels of gold 150 pounds, and ten sets unknown quantity of garments of finished fabric. Although social convention would expect the recipient of prophetic services to offer some sort of gift as payment and/or an expression of gratitude, the magnitude of the Syrian king's presentation reflects a commercial orientation that the story will explore more fully in the epilogue to the healing account, Gehazi's graft and punishment (5:19b-27). ⁶ 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 high officer of the king Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy.” ⁷ When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, with frustrated, self-effacing words, “Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? In this story, the king of Israel is unaware of the healing powers of Elisha, although a little girl captured by the Arameans is. Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me.” One interesting facet is the glimpse the text gives into the politics of the state in the ancient Near East. The king of Aram, hoping to expedite the quest of his great military commander, takes it upon himself to validate Naaman's unlikely mission with an official royal letter of request. No longer is Naaman's search for health at the mercy of a slave girl's knowledge or a mysterious prophet's whim. In that royal seal, it becomes an officially sanctioned matter of state importance.   A closer look at the response patterns of the kings in this story, however, has prompted many scholars to see something else. While Elisha was no "in-your-face" threat to established authority, he nonetheless possessed a way of accessing the highest reaches of power that entirely bypassed the royal court. The reaction of the Israelite king to the king of Aram's request is one of ineffectual panic. The king is almost laughable. His inability to deal with Naaman and an opposing king's request demonstrates to readers that this Israelite king is a bad king. Despite the long salvation history of his people, despite the very recent testimony and action of the great prophet Elijah, despite the ongoing ministry of Elisha, this king of Israel never even thinks of turning to Yahweh or one of Yahweh's prophets for help. Possessing no healing powers himself, instead of looking for other authoritative figures that could offer healing (such as a prophet), the Israelite king turns Naaman's visit into an insidious attempt to "pick a quarrel," Aram's excuse to resume hostilities.  

⁸ But when Elisha the man of God, whom the text places in subtle but sharp contrast with the Israelite king as one who had such healing power, 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.” Throughout Elisha's prophetic ministry, his prophetic power has a simple message -- the message pronounced by both a young slave girl and Elisha himself.  Although Elisha represents a powerful opposition to the king's inaction, it is an option that comes through the proper channels. Naaman’s problem is not a problem because a prophet is here. The contrast reflects the persistent hostility of the Deuteronomic theologians to the Israelite monarchy, which they viewed as an accommodation to an unnecessary evil (see I Samuel 8). We can see the essential healing account united with a literary and sociopolitical digression. The actions of both Naaman and the king of Syria -- Naaman's request to visit the prophet, the king's letter of introduction and gifts to the Israelite king -- emphasize civil and political actions. When the Israelite king -- Jehoram although he, like the king of Syria, remains nameless in this amplified miracle story -- misinterprets the Syrian king's actions, Elisha must save the encounter from collapse by abruptly intervening from a distance. ⁹ So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha’s house. ¹⁰ 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.” The prescription of Elisha does not involve divine guidance or prayer. ¹¹ 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! He expected some magical incantation to heal him. This would be something he could understand. It would be under his control. What Elisha does is focus the issue on the willingness of Naaman to be obedient.[3] 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?” He turned and went away in a rage. The text shows the pride of Naaman when he is sick. In his pride, he had forgotten, like we so often do, that he was no different than others in their hour of need. He was the beggar, the sinner, the leper, the human, the needy. He was all of that. In the sight of the prophet and of God, there was zero about Naaman that distinguished him from other lepers. Now he was forced to bow in humility, and in that humiliation, he realized a truth that is so hard to accept. Like all of us, he needed help. He could not go it alone. He would have to accept Elisha’s help or go home a leper. He could be humbled and healed, or proud and leprous. He could go big and go home as a leper, or he could go small and go home, healed and whole. His call. ¹³ 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’?” ¹⁴ 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. This description of purity is found nowhere else in the Bible. It is possible that the comparison is meant to reinforce the ongoing contrast between elders, who are supposed to know what they are doing, and the (young) servants, who seem to have a better grasp of the situation. He no longer had leprosy. The text shows the humility of Naaman upon receiving healing through the simple and humble act the prophet commanded. He learns that a little humility goes a long way. The true path to humility is to stand at your real height, in all your strength, but to do so against something greater, thereby disclosing the smallness of your greatness.[4]

During the Revolutionary War, a group of Continental Army soldiers was struggling to lift a heavy log. It was plainly too heavy for them, but their corporal just stood by, barking orders, and getting red in the face. At that moment, a man rode up on horseback. The stranger looked the situation over for a second, then dismounted and walked over to help. With a great heave-ho, they all picked up the log and moved it to where it belonged. The stranger turned to the corporal and asked why he had not been helping. "Sir," the officer replied, "do you not see that I am the corporal?" At that point, George Washington opened his coat, revealing his general's insignia. "Yes, sir, I see that you are the corporal," he said, "but I want you to see that I am the general."  General Washington taught the corporal a lesson that day: a lesson in humility.

Sometimes and for some people, the experience of coming to faith is the experience narrated in Naaman’s story. Take, for example, author Anne Lamott. In her book, Traveling Mercies, Lamott tells her story of coming to faith. Not unlike Naaman, Lamott had grown up in a family with many of the signs of power and prestige. Her parents taught her to be responsible and to give help, but not to receive help. "I was raised by my parents to believe that you had a moral obligation to try to save the world," she said. However, there was another side to this noble aspiration. "God forbid that someone should ever think I needed help. I was a Lamott - Lamotts give help." However, in time Anne Lamott, like many of us, discovered that she did need help, big time. Drug and alcohol abuse were both cause and symptom of a life in disarray. Though her family had no religious connection or background, she had long felt drawn to church, to faith, to God. A prospect she found "appalling." 

I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die." ...One week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the songs, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to the feeling - and it washed over me.[5]

                                                                                                  

            For Anne Lamott it was an end and a beginning. It was the end of life without God, the end of a life of self-destructive behaviors. It was the beginning of a new life with God, the beginning of life held in the love of a particular congregation. How interesting that she describes it as something that "washed over me." Sounds like Namaan at the Jordan. Sounds like baptism. 

God seems to work through simple things and unimpressive things. We discover this pattern frequently in our lives. Simple things, like sitting on a log and examining the flowers and creeping things around it, can become life-changing experiences as they help us appreciate the beauty that surrounds us. In literature, think of Silas Marner, where the miser, who lost his gold and was miserable until he spied the golden hair of a tiny little girl. Then love burst forth in his heart. Think of Les Miserables, where a violent criminal tears his way off a prison ship, robs a kindly bishop, sets out to escape the law, only to encounter a lonely and unhappy little child, Cosette, in a forest. As he became a kind and loving protector, his life changed. God approaches us through the simple things – even such things as failures and losses. People who are constantly straining for some distant goal and in the process are too busy for the little facets of life succumb at last to stress and happiness eludes them. How wise we are when we rearrange our lives to make room for periods of reflection and contemplation. The unexamined life is not worth living.

God healed Naaman. God will heal us, too, and give us new life. Not in the quick ways we want. Not in the ways we expect when we come knocking on his door, demanding God meet our needs. Not even in the ways we think we need. God does heal wounded hearts. God heals burdened souls, and sometimes bodies, or minds. God heals, God cares, and God loves. God loves you enough to have sent a carpenter to you to teach you the right way. Christ came to teach that real healing is not a matter of perfect skin or good health. Christ came to teach all of us to build our lives around faith in him. Believe in him. He leads us to eternal life, where all our woes and hurries vanish, where there awaits a banquet of slow cooked goodness, and where time itself, saved or lost, is laughable.

---

[1] (von Rad, Old Testament Theology 1957, 1962) Vol II, 3o0-32.

[2] (Hector Avalos, Illness and Health Care in the Ancient Near East [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995], 311-316).

[3] (von Rad, Biblical Interpretation in Preaching 1973, 1977) 61-2.

[4] Phillips Brooks

[5] (Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies [New York: Pantheon Books, 1999], pp. 49-50.)

Psalm 30

Psalm 30 (NRSV)

A Psalm. A Song at the dedication of the temple. Of David.

¹ I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up,

and did not let my foes rejoice over me.

² O Lord my God, I cried to you for help,

and you have healed me.

³ O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol,

restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit. 

⁴ Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones,

and give thanks to his holy name.

⁵ For his anger is but for a moment;

his favor is for a lifetime.

Weeping may linger for the night,

but joy comes with the morning. 

⁶ As for me, I said in my prosperity,

“I shall never be moved.”

⁷ By your favor, O Lord,

you had established me as a strong mountain;

you hid your face;

I was dismayed. 

⁸ To you, O Lord, I cried,

and to the Lord I made supplication:

⁹ “What profit is there in my death,

if I go down to the Pit?

Will the dust praise you?

Will it tell of your faithfulness?

¹⁰ Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me!

O Lord, be my helper!” 

¹¹ You have turned my mourning into dancing;

you have taken off my sackcloth

and clothed me with joy,

¹² so that my soul may praise you and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.

Psalm 30 is a Psalm of Individual Thanksgiving. The date is uncertain. Scholars date this psalm to the period of postexilic restoration subsequent to Nehemiah, after the collapse of the Babylonian Empire and the emergence of Persia as an imperial force, so it would not be surprising to detect an early stage of biblical dualism in it (see also Psalms 49:15; 86:13).[1] It reinterprets an individual experience as a community one. Before then, it was for corporate worship in the Temple, part of a festival pilgrimage. The poet is at the point of death, an experience that helps him see the false foundation on which his life rested. He did have pride for that which he should have simply been humbly grateful. All of life comes from God, just as the eventual deliverance is from God. Barth discusses the Psalm under the theme of respect for life, stressing that human beings will and act with God when they move against disease. They are already healthy in the desire to be so.[2]

The superscription, identifying it as A Psalm, A Song at the dedication of the temple, bears little relation to the content of the psalm, It probably refers to the rededication of the second temple after Judas Maccabeus purged it of pagan infiltrations in 164 B.C. The Jewish people used it during the Feast of Dedication or Hanukah, commemorating the deliverance of the people from Syrian domination in 165 BC after Judas Maccabeus purged it of pagan infiltrations. The superscription also says it is Of David. 

The first section, Psalm 30:1-3, he encourages himself to give an account of the deliverance he has experienced. ¹ I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up (dalah, an uncommon verb, usually referring to the act of drawing water from a well or cistern, as in Exodus 2:16, 19.).  Used metaphorically, it can describe drawing counsel from the heart (Proverbs 20:5). Only here does the verb refer to the Lord drawing a person up from Sheol. He also says that the Lord did not let my foes rejoice over me. ² O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. Healing in this case is physical recovery. Yet, healing becomes a metaphor for how the Lord helped him to think differently about his life. ³ O Lord, you brought up my soul (nephesh), the Hebrew noun meaning simply "life" or "self" or "essential identity." In Psalms 49:15 and 86:13, "me" is the poetic parallel of "my soul," and Psalm 88:3, where "my life" functions as that parallel. The psalmist's assertion that his soul had gone down to the Pit (while his body continued to languish on his sickbed) reveals one of the early stages of that development in biblical thought in which persons were thought of as being composed of body and soul. This bifurcation of the individual into two "parts" will be a more pronounced influence on biblical thought as it encounters first Persian and then Greek notions of dualism. The Lord brought up his soul from Sheol. The psalmist's illness or injury was sufficiently grave to shift the balance of the psalmist's mode of existence from the land of the living to the abode of the dead. For an unspecified period, the psalmist found himself in Sheol, the destination of all the living. Sheol, referred to more than 60 times in the OT, is the realm beneath the earth where all living eventually wind up (see Psalm 89:48, "Who can live and never see death? Who can escape the power of Sheol?"). Although ideas about life after death varied in ancient Israel and across time, in general Sheol was simply where the dead went. The concept had not developed into the notion of a punitive hell until after the latest writings of the Old Testament. By the time of the New Testament, the idea of punishment after death in hell/hades/gehenna had taken firm root in Judaism. An example is in II Esdras 7:36, "The pit of torment shall appear, and opposite it shall be the place of rest; and the furnace of hell shall be disclosed, and opposite it the paradise of delight." This writing is contemporaneous with the New Testament. One could also see Matthew 5:22, 29, 30; Mark 9:43, 45, etc. Sheol, for most of its history in the OT, was the dark, dusty place you went to when you died (see Job 17:13, 16). However, in the period during which our psalm was likely composed, when biblical writers speak of being in anguish or distress in Sheol (as, for example, in Psalm 116:3), the issue is not death, but premature death. As ample evidence attests (e.g., Genesis 25:8, 17; 35:29; 49:33, etc.), death was the entirely expected end to a good, long life, and people met that end without fear or resentment. Only when struck down violently, dying young or dying without descendants did the ancient Israelite fear and seek to avoid death. In contemporary thinking, life and death are mutually exclusive -- one is either alive or one is dead. However, to the ancient writers of the Bible, including the writer of this psalm, life and death are engaged in an interplay based on the continuum that makes up the former. One can experience death and live to tell the tale, which is what has happened to the psalmist here. The Lord restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit. The psalmist has two enemies: death, represented by Sheol/the Pit, and the foes whom Yahweh thwarted before they were able to rejoice over the psalmist's permanent death. The language suggests that there were people hoping to get the psalmist out of the way for good, and they almost got their wish. Nevertheless, not quite. Before this experience had completely extinguished the life of the poet, Yahweh came to his rescue.

In the second section, Psalm 30: 4-5, the writer recognizes deliverance, recognizing the close connection between individual and corporate life. The poet urges, ⁴ Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones (the congregation),and give thanks to his holy name. ⁵ For the anger of the Lord is but for a moment; divine favor is for a lifetime. We can see the distortions of thinking in the psalmist through the correction he must make in his thinking. He went through a time when he thought the anger of the Lord was for a lifetime. The Lord taught him that the purpose of the anger of the Lord is to educate rather than destroy. Patience is an expression of the love of the Lord, the Lord constantly turning back to patience with the people of the Lord.[3] Thus, anger from the Lord will never last. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. He thought that weeping would be 24/7. The Lord helped him change his thinking, reminding him that life contains both suffering and joy. One must be willing to take the journey through the night, through the valley of grief, to move through a time of great struggle that will lead to a re-created life. One may well need to lay aside destructive thinking about oneself to embrace something healthier. The joy that comes in the morning does not come without cost, but it will come as we realize that the Lord is our help through the process. The night has long been a source of fear for human beings, and rightly so. The poet refers to suffering from segmented sleep. One may weep at night due to wrestling with some issues in our lives.

He that has light within his own clear breast

May sit i'the centre, and enjoy bright day;

but he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts

Benighted walks under the midday sun;

Himself is his own dungeon.[4]

 

Yet, we might also ponder why the night is so difficult for so many of us.

Why fear the dark? 

How can we help but love it 

when it is the darkness 

that brings the stars to us? 

What's more: Who does not know 

that it is on the darkest nights 

that the stars acquire 

their greatest splendor?[5]

 

Before the time of electricity, people often experienced segmented sleep during the night. They even called it a first and second sleep. People might read, get up and do a few chores, reflect upon the past day, plan the next day, and so on. Prayer books from the 14-1500s include prayers for waking up during the night. Hebrews had three four-hour watches during the night. In other words, if we awaken briefly during the night, we are not doing something that humanity just invented. Humanity has done it for a long time. We will need to learn how to manage this experience.[6] Honestly, though, human experience may well seem like the opposite of that which the poet describes. Joy is only for a moment, while weeping is far more constant. It at least seems like divine wrath is the constant, while divine patience is temporary.[7] However, as a person of Christian faith, the truth of such a statement is that Jesus has received the outburst of divine anger on the cross, and thus, belief in the word of God means we do not have to suffer divine anger for even a moment.[8]

In the third section, Psalm 30:6-10, the poet describes the affliction. ⁶ As for me, I said in testimony, that in my prosperity, “I shall never be moved.” ⁷ By your favor, O Lord, you had established me as a strong mountain; you hid your face; I was dismayed.  The poet had much self-confidence, charting the wrong course for his life. Now, the poet realizes that all he had was a gift of God, and thus that he had no room for pride. His life depends upon the Lord. Only the experience of suffering sensitized him to the condition of his soul. He recounts a Job-like life lived by the psalmist that doubtless many hearers of the psalm could understand and appreciate: The psalmist, secure in his prosperity, says to himself that his comfortable existence would be his life forever. However, the sudden onset of calamity (perceived as divine displeasure, v. 5) deprived the psalmist of all those graces and favors that constitute the good life. ⁸ To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication. He is expressing the belief, widespread in ancient Israel and neighboring cultures, that death dramatically alters one's mode of existence, but does not irrevocably end it. From Ugarit, one of Israel's closest neighbors, we have clay tablets depicting the rapi'uma, "healers" or "shades," who eat and drink for seven days (Tablet II, lines 21-24), and the biblical story of the medium at En-dor depicts a necromancer summoning the shade of Samuel to appear to Saul after the former's death.[9] So we know, based on this psalm and elsewhere, that the people of the ancient Near East, including Israel, believed that the living and the dead interacted with each other in ways we, maybe I should most of us, no longer consider possible. He offered repeated prayers to the Lord: ⁹ “What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the Pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness? He wonders about the value of the Lord allowing this experience to take his life now that he has come to a fresh experience of the Lord. Among the graces of the good life was the ability to participate in the worshipping community in the temple. The victory of death at this moment will deny to the Lord such praise. ¹⁰ Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper!” Although there was no torment in Sheol/the Pit, there was also no participation in those activities that characterize the life of the living (cf. Psalm 6:5, "For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who can give you praise?"). The psalmist had tasted death and found it not to his liking, and he pours out his gratitude to Yahweh for having delivered him from premature death. The Lord is the focus. He commits himself wholly to the Lord, indicating the change of heart has taken place.

In the concluding section, Psalm 30:11-12, he refers to answered prayer. ¹¹ You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy. This does not mean naïve optimism. Rather, facing the reality of human need and the human condition, the focus of joy is the Lord.[10] The answered prayer is ¹² so that my soul (nephesh)[11] may praise you and not be silent. It concludes with the affirmation, O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever. Thus, the change of heart takes an external form, the clothes of penitence replaced by clothes of dance. Nothing will stop the gratitude of the psalmist. The Lord gave him new life in order to witness, and that is what he will do. The psalm concludes, as many psalms of thanksgiving do, with a votive to give thanks to the LORD forever. One can also see Psalms 45:17; 52:9, 79:13, etc.). 

The psalmist uses critical thinking to put troubles of life into perspective. Some of the most emotionally balanced people we know seem to have learned to examine their thoughts and recognize cognitive distortions for what they are. They may call such thoughts simply "illogical" rather than distortions, but the point is, once the notions are seen as mental spins, the person is able to at least lower the volume of those internal troublemakers, if not turn them off altogether. Whereas people sometimes refer to psychotherapy as "the talking cure," we might label this kind of individual mental processing "the thinking cure." In some forms of psychotherapy, the primary role of the therapist is to accompany the counselee in learning how to think differently about their lives, a process that will lead to the needed changes in behavior as well. Grief often leads people down the path of thinking that the rest of their lives will consist only in grief and suffering. The thinking in which a depressed person engages is often the illogical and distorted thinking that perpetuates depression. It becomes difficult to envision life without it. Yet, such thinking is a mental trap from which people need liberation. The psalmist allowed the Lord to teach him that joy would come in the morning. The battle we fight here is that unwanted feelings and irrational thoughts will come. However, as this psalmist illustrates, we may be able to modulate how long they affect the way we live. Shakespeare had an insight into this process.

Macbeth: How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.

Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart?

Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.[12]

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[1] (see C. A. Briggs, The Book of Psalms [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1907], vol. 1, p. 258)

[2] Barth, Church Dogmatics III.4 [55.1] 369.

[3] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 1, 440.

[4] John Milton, Paradise Lost. 

[5] Archbishop Dom Helder Camara.

[6] A. Roger Ekirch in his book At Day's Close: Night in Times Past

[7] Barth, Church Dogmatics II.1 [30.3] 415

[8] Barth, Church Dogmatics, 421.

[9] (I Samuel 28; on the Ugaritic healers, see M. D. Coogan, Stories From Ancient Canaan [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1978], 48-51).

[10] Barth, Church Dogmatics II.1 [31.3] 654.

[11] Where the Hebrew has "glory" instead of "soul," which is read by NRSV.

[12]  --William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 3.