The piece below was originally written for the July 5, 2013 edition of the Spartanburg Herald Journal--two days before my first Sunday back at worship since October 2012.
A year ago, my family and I moved to Spartanburg for me to become the pastor of St. James United Methodist Church. The move was complicated by a significant detail: I was in the middle of chemotherapy for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Those of you who have read my sporadic columns in this paper know that within 3 weeks of concluding that very promising treatment, my cancer had returned. And in the descriptive words of my physician, its return was “explosive.”
Thus began the long, difficult, faith-testing process of a bone marrow transplant. There were three more rounds of chemo, a radioactive isotope treatment that made me literally untouchable for a week, and a five-day intensive chemo treatment that prepared my body to receive bone marrow cells from someone I didn’t even know.
Then, believe it or not, came the hard part. Months in Charleston, away from our children and church family--months that veered between harrowing hospitalizations and tedious timekilling. Miraculously, a few weeks ago, I came home, and two months ahead of schedule! Equally as miraculous, this Sunday will be the first time since October that I have been able to lead worship and preach for my wonderful congregation.
As it happens, one of the Scripture lessons assigned for this Sunday is a story from 2 Kings about the healing of a Syrian general named Naaman. I won’t offer you my entire Sunday message here. But I would like to mention one highlight. After the prophet Elisha heals Naaman, he sends him away without accepting any payment. Naaman thus leaves town with the same stuff on his chariot that he showed up with. (Most of it, in fact, was probably captured from Israel and other defeated countries before it came into Naaman’s possession--but that’s an angle for another day!)
Today’s point is that in this ancient tale about a foreigner being healed, we encounter a startling example of grace. Absolutely nothing is asked of Naaman in return for his healing. In fact, aside from his unprompted promise to worship Yahweh (on the down-low, of course), nothing changes about Naaman. He’s returning to the same job--with the same duties, the same boss, the same routine. He’s returning to his same wife and family. His debit card is still in his wallet (or at least his treasure is still in his chariot). In this story, there is not a thing Naaman is asked to offer or sacrifice in return for his miraculous healing. He simply washes and is clean.
We don’t know the rest of Naaman’s story. We don’t know if he lived his life pretty much like he had before. We don’t know if he went on to write a newspaper column about the experience. We don’t know if he became a vegan and moved to California. We don’t even know if he maintained his new faith in Yahweh. What we do know is that of all the people who had leprosy, the prophet--and God--chose to heal an unlikely candidate. Someone who had fought against and defeated God’s people. Someone who had profited from Israel’s collapse. Someone who had devoted his entire adult life to a different nation and a different god.
As I enter back into what some may refer to as “normal” life, it doesn’t escape me that I have also been an unlikely candidate for healing. I know people far more holy or moral or talented who haven’t survived cancer. But the fact is, at least for now, I have been healed. The same gracious, kind, surprising God who chose to heal a pagan military officer back then has chosen to spare this sometimes unholy Methodist preacher. I now face the questions Naaman faced: What now? What to do with a life restored? How do you live when you’re already in extra innings? (OK, maybe Naaman didn’t think of it as extra innings, but work with me here!)
I don’t yet know the answers for myself any more than I know how Naaman answered them. But I can tell you this: I hope God grants me the grace to respond to others in need with as much tenderloving kindness as I myself have received. The grace to offer care to the St. James congregation, which has cared for me and my family extravagantly and sacrificially. The grace to offer thanks to the countless people near and far who have supported me, asking nothing in return. And the grace to open my arms wide to embrace every person I meet--the “deserving” and “undeserving” alike, offering them that which comes from God alone, no strings
What would your answers to Naaman’s questions be?
Chris Barrett
No comments:
Post a Comment