Sermon: Healing Myths
Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30; Mark 1:40-45
Date: February 15, 2009
Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church
I don’t know how in the world he pulled it off, but one of my UCC colleagues, Rev. Tom Sorenson of Monroe, Washington, recently published a thoughtful book of theology (Liberating Theology) while he was working as a local church pastor. I have been reading it, and one of the topics he discussed influenced the way I read the texts for this week, so I want to start there.
Tom wrote a chapter on symbol and myth, which he calls the language of faith. Human language as a tool is best suited for describing our perceptions of the physical realm of life. “Language originates as a way to help us live in and understand the world of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations. It is very good at coming up with words to designate perceived objects. It can also come up with words to describe human thought processes, words like ‘idea,’ for example.” [1] Those are the jobs that language does well.
When it comes to describing our experience of the spiritual, words falter a bit. As Tom puts it, “Although we do perceive and experience the spiritual, we do not perceive or experience it with the usual human senses, and it is not merely a human thought process that derives from these perceptions. Human language, therefore, cannot truly grasp what the spiritual is.” [2] (Are you with me so far?) But we really want to communicate our experiences of the spiritual, to share them with others, try to make sense of them. So although language is an imperfect tool, we use it. We give the spiritual, or various aspects of it, names. We tell stories about our experience, or we tell stories that are like our experiences and we hope that these stories will convey the essence of our experiences to other people. In other words, we use myth and symbol, the language of faith. “They are the use of finite, limited human words, concepts, and images in an attempt to communicate something of the truth we have experienced of that which is infinite and infinitely transcends our finite, limited words, concepts and images.” [3]
Tom goes on to summarize Paul Tillich’s work on the nature and function of symbols, which I’m going to touch only lightly. A symbol has six characteristics: First, symbols point beyond themselves to something else. Second, the symbol participates in that to which it points. That is, the symbol has a presence in ordinary, physical reality but also has a presence in the transcendent spiritual reality to which it points. Third, a symbol opens up levels of reality which otherwise are closed to us. This is another way of saying that symbols are the only tools we have for accessing the spiritual. Fourth, a symbol unlocks dimensions and elements of our soul which correspond to the dimensions and elements of reality. That’s another way of saying that symbols connect us to the spiritual realm like a key that fits into a keyhole in the soul. The fifth characteristic of symbols is that they cannot be produced intentionally. They rise out of the collective and individual unconscious. And the sixth characteristic is closely related: we can’t just invent symbols. They arise as symbols when the situation is ripe for them, when the psychic and spiritual needs of a group of people cause them to rise up and produce within people a response to the symbol as symbol.
I know that is all quite esoteric, but I found it a helpful reminder of how symbolic language connects the physical and spiritual realms, acting almost as an elevator between floors would convey cargo. In his book, Tom uses the symbol of the cross to illustrate these principles. He goes on to say that in addition to singular symbols, religions also have their myths, which are stories that function as symbols. The popular meaning of the word myth is something that is believed to be true but is not in fact true (e.g. the “Mythbusters” TV show). But in the language of faith, we think of a myth as a story that connects us to the spiritual, a story that mediates the spiritual in the same way a symbol does.
Christianity, like other religions, is built on a foundation of symbol and myth. We might ask ourselves, if Christianity is mere symbol and myth, why should we have anything to do with it? Tillich answers this critique by saying that anyone who says “only a symbol” has not understood “the power of symbolic language, which surpasses in quality and strength the power of any non-symbolic language. One should never say ‘only a symbol’ but one should say ‘not less than a symbol.’” [4] And if we were to substitute “myth” for symbol in that statement, it would be equally true. Historical fact is just that, fact. “The historical facts upon which Christianity is based are nothing more than things that happened to other people a long time ago in a place far away. Facts are external to us; they are not part of us. Symbols and myths operate at a much deeper level than mere facts. They touch ultimate spiritual reality both beyond us and within us. They connect us to that reality. Thus have a power that mere fact can never have. Mere symbol and myth? No. Nothing less than true symbol and myth. That’s what gives our faith its saving power.” [5]
So if I say now that the story of the healing of Namaan is nothing less than a myth, you won’t take it the wrong way. Stories like this vibrate on a certain frequency that resonates in the depths of the soul. Myths such as this can help us to understand ourselves and begin to comprehend where God is leading us. Let’s review: Namaan is introduced as a great and powerful man, commander of the army, in high favor with his master the king. But though he was a mighty warrior, he suffered from leprosy.
Bam! The truth in the story hits the ground running—no matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey…you are vulnerable. Our bodies are not fool-proof machines, and one of the things that binds us together as humans is the softness of our flesh, both in the sense of our fleshy soft beauty and our susceptibility to illness.
Suddenly the Great Man at the pinnacle of power and prestige is reminded that he is just a man, and a needy one at that. He has a skin disease, so there is no way to hide his illness. How agonizing for him! The psalm today has that intriguing verse that captures a common human experience: “As for me, I said in my prosperity, ‘I shall never be moved.’ By your favor, O Lord, you had established me as a strong mountain.” [Psalm 30:6-7a] The Message translation renders the verse this way: “When things were going great I crowed ‘I’ve got it made. I’m God’s favorite. He made me king of the mountain.’” But then… “You looked the other way and I fell to pieces.” You hid your face. Even though it’s not so, people often feel in times of trouble like God has turned away from them. Namaan may well have felt that way. Certainly what follows reveals his desperation.
Enter the messenger. The little Israelite slave is the polar opposite of Namaan in terms of status; she is female, young, a foreigner, a slave. But she knows where the healer is. She is not the healer, but she knows where healing may be found. And Namaan is so low he is compelled to listen to the lowly.
Even so, he sets off on his journey with the trappings of a Great Man, silver worth ten years’ wages, 150 pounds of pure gold coin, ten red-carpet worthy garments, credentials from the king. He may have a disease that’s bringing him down, but he’s determined to prove to anyone who glances at his entourage that he’s still at the top of the heap. The king of Israel freaks out at Namaan’s appearance, reading it as some kind of challenge, because he’s a king and only thinks in terms of politics. But the prophet is ready to take on the man and his disease.
We see in the story that the skin disease was not Namaan’s sole problem. He also had a vastly swollen ego and a nasty case of nationalism. Elisha the prophet treats all his diseases at once. The bloated ego is dealt with by Elisha declining to speak to him personally—another messenger appears in the story instead of the prophet himself. National pride is ministered to in the prophet’s insistence that his simple cure must be undertaken in a muddy little river in a land foreign to the Great Man. Namaan is almost too sick with swollen ego and nationalism to go for the cure. But his servants convince him to stoop to the cure (more messengers!). Mother Earth provides the touch of healing waters as Namaan dips himself in the river seven times. He was cured, and the story beyond the lectionary shows Namaan pledging his allegiance to God.
It’s positively epic. If it is nothing less than myth and symbol, how might we interpret such a story in a way that it interprets us? How can we access the power of such a story to transform us? You might find that it speaks to you personally. Is there something in your life that needs healing? Is it possible that you will have to get down off of some high horse to seek the healing you need? Is it possible that there are some simple steps toward health like weight loss, regular exercise or more sleep that you have rejected because of their homeliness, like Namaan initially rejected bathing in the muddy Jordan?
I myself am connecting with the story more as a social metaphor. This may be a bit far-fetched, but hear me out. One of the adjectives I keep hearing in the news in connection with the current state of our national economy is “ailing.” Have you heard that—numerous stories under the banner of our “ailing economy?” I think is the repetition of this phrase that sparked my imagination to think of America as Namaan. Our great nation, mighty, strong, prosperous, is ailing. We are unwell. And there’s no hiding it. There is a rash of job loss, an outbreak of foreclosures, an epidemic of failing businesses. We’re itchy with anxiety about frozen credit, toxic mortgages, phantom assets. The whole world knows we are unwell and plenty of other nations have hives as well.
Is our nation sick enough to seek genuine healing? Will we humble ourselves and stoop to hear a voice of alternative wisdom? I think of all that Namaan had to set aside to seek a cure for what ailed him: his status, his armaments, his faith in his wealth, his insistence that he be treated with the respect due to a man in his position, his prejudice against the wisdom of another culture, his narrow patriotism. It seems to me that a wobbly economy is not the only thing that is ailing our nation; we have a few symptoms in common with Namaan. Will we be willing to lay down some of the behaviors that are making us sick?
I wonder if we could compare the church to messengers in the Namaan myth, particularly the young Israelite slave. I’ll focus on the UCC, not because we’re the most important but because of our weakness and low status. Of all the religious adherents in the U.S. UCC members represent 1%. We represent .6% of the total U.S. population. We are a young denomination, 50 years old. Barely a blip on the radar of the national consciousness. Puny. Right?
But we know of this Healer, this healing power. We know that the realm of the spirit is real, and that our nation’s economic problems are occurring in tandem with our spiritual problems. We know that one aspect of our nation’s ailment is that has neglected some of the deeply spiritual values that might cure what ails us. I’m talking about things like our belief in the equal value of all citizens, and equal access to justice. Freedom of conscience, and a commitment to peace at home and abroad. Governance by and for the people, free of corporate corruption. Respect for diversity, a will for hospitality. A lively interest in the common good that takes the most vulnerable into account. Our understanding that real wealth is land and food and family and creative people living in harmony. A common perception that we are part of something bigger than ourselves. There are a variety of spiritual values that are woven into the fabric of our nation that have been ignored as we have overemphasized a quest for affluence and domination.
We have a role to play in calling our nation back to its more spiritual values, its better nature. I’m not saying that we are or even should be what many call a “Christian Nation.” I don’t believe in theocracy. However, values that spring out of the root of faith can and must be brought to bear on shaping public policy and practice. Otherwise we leave the ailing nation to die of its disease of materialism, greed, xenophobia, narrow patriotism, swollen ego, and swaggering violence.
Jim Wellman (a Bainbridge Island Presbyterian clergyman, professor and writer) gave a talk at Seattle U last weekend that I attended. He was talking about the characteristics of evangelical and liberal churches in the Pacific Northwest. While he is from a liberal tradition and loves what he calls “hope-based” inclusive theology, he said that he found in his research that liberal churches are too frequently rule-bound, relatively stagnant, and only occasionally creative. The Evangelical churches he studied were on the whole more efficient, more innovative, and more effective in social outreach. Perhaps one reason for that is that Evangelical churches expect that something is going to happen. They expect God to be involved in human life, and expect God to transform humanity.
That struck me as an important insight. We should ask ourselves whether liberal or progressive churches really expect something to happen. Do we believe that God wants to heal what ails us, both personally and culturally? Do we rely on God leading us to greater health? Do we have faith that we have a part to play in the healing process? Do we expect anything transcendent to happen?
The story in Mark begins with the person who is ill falling on his knees and declaring his faith that Jesus could heal him. That gesture of faith and expectation was critical in that story. I believe it is critical in our story as a citizenry. We may not, as individuals or as a church, be the ones to heal our nation. But we know of a Healer, and we have been schooled in some powerful ideas, some compelling ideals that may contribute to our nation’s recovery from the current crisis. We may not be the Healer but we may play the role of the prophet and the messengers, who direct the mighty warrior to cleansing and renewal.
And we can steadfastly hope and trust that one day we will look back on this time as the occasion of our people’s renewal as we rise up out of murky waters restored and reinvigorated.
[1] Sorenson, Thomas C. Liberating Christianity: Overcoming Obstacles to Faith in the New Millennium Eugene, Oregon: WIPF & Stock, 2008, p. 23
[2] Ibid
[3] Ibid, p. 24
[4] Ibid p. 29
[5] Ibid