Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany
2 Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45; I Corinthians 9:24
I was feeling really crummy yesterday while I worked on this sermon. The cold
that I thought I had beaten suddenly returned—My head hurt—I had the
chills—I sat staring at the computer screen praying that either God would
miraculously heal me so I could write my sermon or better yet—that I would
hit the right combination of keys to make a sermon miraculously appear.
To pray for a miracle—to go in search of a miracle. That is the short description of both the Old Testament lesson for today and the Gospel story about Jesus. No one has ever asked me if I believe in miracles. I suspect most people assume that such a belief comes with the territory—me being a pastor and all—which is not exactly true. I know that the sicker I feel or the more serious the illness of someone for whom I care—the greater is my desire to believe in miracles—but I also find the subject of miracles—especially those in the Bible—to often be filled with questions for me.
Do you believe in miracles? I ask that question of the confirmands all the time as we talk about the miracle stories in the New Testament. First, let’s be clear about what a miracle is and is not. By definition a miracle is not something that is easily explained—in fact it usually defies almost any explanation. And while we may yearn for and pray for miracles—they tend to occur outside of our control. I remember as a college English major the first time I heard the term “Deus ex mechina” which translates as “the God of the machine.” This is how many people would like to think about miracles—Deus ex mechina—this is the term used to explain the miraculous intervention of God or some greater power (like the author of a book or story) to solve a seemingly impossible situation or problem.
A classic example of this is a poorly written story that resolves its complicated plot twists through the discovery that the survivor pulled from the ocean is actually the long lost brother thought to have died in a mountain climbing accident who has the exact genetic match to provide the vital organ transplant that can be performed on board the ship caught in the midst of the hurricane. Deus ex mechina is also the motivation behind every student’s prayer for help when facing a test they have not studied for—“Help me pass this test God and I promise…”
The miracle stories in the Bible are not told to demonstrate how God steps into history disrupting the laws of nature and the natural consequences of daily life. Dennis Tamburello has suggested that there are two ways of understanding miracles. “The first is to look at miracles as extraordinary events that are not contrary to nature, but only seem to be contrary because of our limited knowledge of what is possible within the natural realm. The second is to see miracles as events, including quite ordinary ones, that create or increase faith.” Some 800 years ago, the church scholar, Thomas Aquinas, suggested that God always acted through secondary causes—that is, God worked in and through the ordinary causality of everyday events. In modern scientific language this supports the idea that the laws of nature are always and everywhere in effect.
The question is: do we fully understand what is possible within the laws of nature. Any one who has spent time around the medical field has at least one story to tell of the unexplainable healing—the cancer growth that vanishes—the medical condition that is no longer present. Modern theologians like Karl Rahner and John Polkinghorne have suggested that in such cases, God works with the possibilities that are latent in nature but of which we are unaware. The healing of the leper by Jesus in our Gospel text falls into this category. A disease condition present suddenly vanishes. To the person of faith the explanation is found in the one to whom the request for healing was directed—this is the stuff of faith healing miracles—there is no explanation of the how or even why—it is simply the case that this time there was healing. We should remember that while a healing from the disease of leprosy was not common—it was also not unheard of.—Jesus after all tells the healed man to follow the prescribed rituals of the law of Moses to show himself to the priests. Clearly no such ritual or law would have existed if this type of healing were not at least an occasional occurrence within the lives of the people of Israel.
You will never convince a person of faith that healing does not come from God—but scripture is careful to make it clear that the amount of faith or even faith itself is not the determining factor in miracles of healing. That is where our Old Testament lesson informs our understanding of miracle in our world. Actually, this is a story not so much about a miracle but about faith. The story begins with a man outside the faith. Naaman is not only a non-believer but a foreigner—an Aramean. He is a high ranking officer in an army that has fought against Israel and won a decisive battle. Naaman is socially undesirable to Israel as a foreign enemy and then we learn he has leprosy which makes him ritually unclean to the faith of Israel. Yet we are told that God had given Naaman the victory. God clearly has plans for Naaman.
We are in the Sundays after the Epiphany. The purpose of these Sundays is to help us discover the many ways God enters our world—the many forms through which God is known. Miracle is certainly one such form. The Sundays after Epiphany should be a time for us to have heightened awareness of the power of God in our lives. We yearn for the miracle but find the challenge of reinterpreting the season of Epiphany which came to us with stories of majestic visitors from the East and great heavenly stars lighting the way—but in the last six weeks Epiphany has become a new reality of a world that has turned the Eastern source of Magi visitors into the possible destination for American youth sent not in search of the Messiah but the terrors of war.
The heavenly star that guided us into the season of Epiphany has been replaced by the flaming fragments of our technological failings and the pain of lost dreams in the wreckage of the Columbia. We are living in a world that could use more miracles. An ailing alien commander with faith only in his own prowess and strength is given a glimpse of hope in the faith of his wife’s young slave girl captured from Israel. Hope precedes faith. Prevailed upon by his wife, Naaman pursues the hope of healing like he did his battle plans. He goes to his king, gets all the appropriate gifts ready, and travels to the assumed seat of power in Israel. The king of Israel is no help and thinks that the whole thing is a plot against him by the Arameans. But the prophet Elisha steps in and sends a message to Naaman with the instructions for the healing ritual. Naaman doesn’t handle this real well. He had pretty well already decided what should happen—some grand magical or powerful public ritual to bring about the healing. Instead what he gets is a messenger and instructions to head for the local river. Naaman wants to be healed, but he wants to be healed on his terms. He wants God to work the way he expects God to work.
Most of us have our divine agendas—the way we expect our lives to be lived—the place that God will play in our lives—and the time and place for everything from the ordinary to the miraculous. In our text we suddenly hear Naaman talking about Elijah’s God and how the river Jordan is inferior to the rivers from his own land. Naaman’s words are laced with arrogance and anger. In this story the voice of God is heard first in the small voice of a slave girl. As Naaman is about to reject Elisha’s instructions God again uses the voice of the powerless people—Naaman’s servants. The servants convince Naaman to just to try the prophets directions. Sometimes that is all faith is—the willingness to let go of our expectations, plans or ego. Naaman takes his ritualistic bath in the river—and he is made new and whole. It is important for us to see that in this miracle the one who is healed began with no faith—did not even have knowledge of God. The miracle chose Naaman.
That is the nature of miracle. If we could cause a miracle it would be an event like so many other parts of our lives. Yet the ability to recognize the miraculous—this is the openness to possibility—to change. Both lepers in our stories for today were open to their lives being changed—they sought that which they could not exactly name but which they knew they were drawn to by the word they had received of power beyond them—a vision beyond them.
In this Epiphany season we hear these stories on so many levels. Personally we all have those places in our lives—those people we know—where the miracle of grace is needed so desperately. We pray for healing—wholeness—hope—vision beyond this day. As a church we have experienced great miracles of blessing that is opening to us new possibilities to grow as a people of God through faith strengthening ministries and service to others—yet we also know that there are so many who have not yet even heard the promise of grace and we struggle to know how to share God’s miracles with them. As a congregation we may need to struggle with the questions of how much of our ministry is driven by our agendas and expectations and how open we can be to God’s leading—there are changes we are being lead to embrace—the miracles that lie before us if we only just try them.
As a nation among nations we yearn for God’s promise of peace to be revealed in forms that will deliver us from the limitations of our often power and ego driven expectations. Naaman’s servants basically asked, “What do you have to lose by taking one more chance.” This week the powerless African nation of Cameroon addressed the Security Council of the United Nations and the powerful governments of the United States and Europe urging them to set their power driven agendas aside to seek a solution that would consider the good of all nations and not just the reputation and resources of the first world nations. These are not easy words to hear. Maybe because we do not expect to encounter miracle in any form but on our terms.
This is the sixth Sunday after the Epiphany—six weeks now God has been trying to get our attention—there have been miracles during those weeks—some we know and celebrate—too many have been missed—because we lacked the eyes of faith to see them—and those who experienced them had not yet heard of the God of grace who authors such moments of joy.
To expect the miraculous—to long for more. To reach out to God and discover God has reached out to us in Jesus Christ. That is faith—that is miracle. The ability to imagine something more.
I have a miracle I visit every week—I know no better word to describe it. When illness struck him down in midlife, he was laid low. He was made a quadraplegic—unable to move from the neck down—confined to a wheel chair for life unless there is a miracle Some would have given up—withdrawn from the world—but with voice activated computer and a motorized wheel chair he continues to encounter the world and witnesses to his faith. His question for me so often has been, “I wonder what God has in mind for me now. Now that I can no longer use my limbs, I wonder what else God wants me to use.” Some would say though he has not yet received a miracle of healing he did receive a miracle of grace. I think he got a miracle called inspired faith. I know that after each visit with him I am filled with wonder—wonder at the power of faith to give meaning and purpose to a life. Wonder at the power of God’s grace to give life where I would expect to find none.
Why did you come to this place this morning? Did you come seeking a miracle? Did you come at least open to the possibility of a miracle? Are you listening? Could there be the voice of a young girl—or one who serves—urging you to do some little thing—some simple task —some act that witnesses to your faith—that opens the possibility of a miracle..
I’m feeling much better this morning. Would I call it a miracle? I’m not sure—but I like to think I’m open to the possibility.
Amen.