Heavy Armor and Unfiltered Truth
I have good news for all of you sitting in the pews today: the campaign mailers have officially stopped, the phone calls are over, and for the next hour, nobody is going to show you a single political ad.
We get to set down the headlines and step into a story that is thousands of years old—a story full of high-stakes political drama, oversized egos, and a very powerful man who desperately needed to take a deep breath.
Listen to how the story of Naaman begins:
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 a skin disease. 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 skin disease.” 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 skin disease.” 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 skin disease? 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.” –2 Kings 5:1–8 (NRSVue)
Notice how Naaman operates. He is a high-ranking military general with a chest full of medals, but under all that heavy brass armor, he’s human. He’s dealing with something he cannot control, cannot order around, and cannot fix with his title.
And who points him toward help? Not his king, not his top advisors, and certainly not an expensive specialist. It’s an unnamed, captive young girl serving in his kitchen.
I love this detail because it’s so typical of how God works. Naaman is walking around in 50 pounds of military armor, trying to look imposing, and God uses a servant girl to whisper: "You know, there’s a guy in Israel who could fix that."
It’s the ancient equivalent of a CEO being told how to run a company by the teenager working the drive-thru window. It’s humbling! But Naaman is desperate enough to listen.
The Red Carpet and the Muddy Water
So Naaman packs up his convoy. But because he’s a powerful man, he can’t just go quietly. He brings a state letter from the king (that nearly creates a major diplomatic crisis), ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of fine clothes. He’s basically rolling up to Samaria with an entourage, a trunk full of cash, and a red carpet rolled out in front of him.
He expects a grand spectacle. He expects a high-level diplomatic summit.
Let’s read what actually happens when he gets there:
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 skin disease! 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. Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel." –2 Kings 5:9–15a
Naaman is furious! And why is he mad? Because Elisha didn't even come out to greet him! Elisha sends an assistant to the door with a basic chore: "Go jump in the muddy Jordan River seven times."
Naaman wants fireworks. He wants Elisha to come out, put on a theatrical show, wave hands around, and make a big production of it. Instead, he gets common water and a simple instruction.
The Jordan River wasn't a pristine resort spa; it was a murky, unimpressive river. Naaman’s pride was wounded. He wanted to buy a miracle or earn a victory. He didn't want to strip off his fancy uniform, step into the mud, and look ridiculous in front of his soldiers.
How often do we do the exact same thing? We want God to meet us in grand, dramatic ways that match our expectations. But God so often bypasses our grand stages and meets us in the ordinary—in simple water, plain bread, common wine, and small acts of obedience.
The Ascent
Naaman stood high on his dignity. He wanted to stay up here—where he was in charge, where his medals protected him, where he didn't have to show anyone his brokenness.
He wanted a miracle from a high place. But his servants gently pull him back to reality: "If the prophet had asked you to do something heroic, you would have done it in a heartbeat. Why not just try the simple thing?"
Naaman had a choice. He could hold onto his status and keep his disease, or he could step down into the mud.
The Descent (The Seven Steps)
So Naaman - a Gentile - turns his chariot around and rides down to the muddy banks of the Jordan. Step by step, he strips away his defenses—and step by step, we are invited to ask ourselves what we are carrying.
Step one. Naaman unclasped his heavy cape, setting aside his high expectations. What expectations of how God ought to work are you holding onto today?
Step two. He unbuckled his sword, laying down his military power. Where are you exhausted from trying to control and fix everything yourself?
Step three. He removed his bronze chestplate, setting down his armor. What pride or political anger are you ready to unbuckle and set down?
Step four. He took off his tunic, laying aside his titles, medals, and rank. What titles or status games of the world do you need to step away from?
Step five. He stood exposed on the riverbank, vulnerable before God and his men. What defenses or masks are keeping you from letting God - and others - see you as you truly are?
Step six. He dipped into the muddy Jordan, trusting a simple, ordinary command. Where is God inviting you into quiet, ordinary grace right now?
Step seven. Seven times beneath the surface. Fully submerged. Made completely new.
Born Anew
When Naaman comes up out of the Jordan that seventh time, his skin is restored like that of a young boy - really a better translation is “little child.”
He came looking for a quick fix for his body, but God gave him a brand-new start.
And that is where Naaman's story meets ours today.
We might not wear brass armor or command an army, but every one of us walks into this room wearing our own defenses—our pride, our political fatigue, our self-reliance, and our need to look like we have it all together.
That is the exact promise of our baptism. We don't come to the font bringing our achievements, our titles, or our status. We come empty-handed, bringing only our need. And in those simple, ordinary waters, God washes away our old armor and makes us children of God.
In a week where we’ve been reminded of what happens when people choose hope over fear and unity over division, God invites us to do that exact same work in our own hearts.
Today, you don't need to put on a show for God or anyone else in this room. You don't need to carry your heavy armor up these steps. God is not asking you to climb higher to impress God; God is waiting for you right here, in the quiet, humble depths of divine mercy.
—
We pray. Lord God, give us the humor to laugh at our own pride, and the humility of Naaman to step down from our high places. Wash away our cynicism, quiet our anxious hearts, and meet us today in the quiet waters of Your unearned grace. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Preached Sunday, November 8, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.
No comments:
Post a Comment