Yesterday afternoon I found myself struggling with yet another choice arising from the remodeling of my house. I had hoped I would become a little more competent with all these choices by this time in the process – or that at least that the difficult decisions would be all be made by this time – or that having made a lot of choices that I am happy about, that I would at least be confident in my choices by now.
I will admit that some days are better than others in that regard, but yesterday I got all hung up in the question of how to space the shelves that fill the closet in my office. Mind you, this is not a permanent installation – and so, not what you would call a final decision. The standards were already firmly in place. All I had to do was put the brackets into the standards and put the shelves in place. These are shelves which can be moved up or down anytime I feel like doing that. Nevertheless, I stood there with a bracket in one hand and my great big metal measuring tape in the other, absolutely paralyzed, unable to decide, wanting to do this installation just right, wanting not ever to do it again and convinced that I didn’t have enough information to make a good decision. How could I possibly put the shelves in place when I didn’t even know what I was going to put in them? Did I need a little space for CDs or a huge space for banker’s boxes? I had no idea what I wanted the whole thing to look like, so I just stood there, in a frenzy of indecision, wishing it would all be over.
The hardest choices are the ones where we don’t believe we have enough information. The hardest choices are the ones we only make a few times in our lives. Our lives are filled with choices. Every day we each make hundreds, perhaps tens of thousands of choices. We’re not even aware of most of those choices. Over time, we develop habits and patterns that free us from the tyranny of making a choice each time we take an action. Can you imagine a life in which every action requires a conscious choice? Can you imagine standing up and needing to decide whether to take the first step with your right leg or your left? Or getting ready to brush your teeth and needing to decide whether to brush the front teeth first or begin on the right side?
We make our choices in many different ways. We each have our own preferred ways of making choices—the methods that have worked for us over time. Even our preferred style of decision-making can change drastically depending on the mood we’re in, our degree of fatigue or energy, the impact of our values on the alternatives, and the emotions that the choices trigger in us. Many things affect our choices, but probably the biggest influence on our decision-making is our belief about the importance of the choice we’re making.
The scriptures we’ve just heard are filled with choices. In the lesson from II Kings, the Israelite girl chooses to tell her mistress about the prophet in Samaria. Naaman chooses to tell the king, who chooses to send Naaman along with a letter to the king of Israel. The prophet Elisha hears of the matter and chooses to send word to the king of Israel—who is in a frenzy of indecision about what he perceives as a threat of war. Elisha chooses to direct Naaman to wash himself, and after some moments of rage and very good advice from the servants, Naaman chooses to follow Elisha’s instructions and is healed of his leprosy. In our Gospel portion, the nameless leper chooses to seek healing from Jesus, naming the decision that Jesus must make, and Jesus chooses to make him whole once again.
At each of these decision points, a choice is made. And most important, at each of these decision points, an action is taken. At each point in these stories, people are choosing to become fully engaged in the process leading to healing. Their choices are not wishes or hopes. Their choices are actions—actions taken in full awareness of the potential risks those actions hold. Remember that in those days, leprosy was a catch-all phrase for many skin diseases. Some of these diseases were highly contagious. Some, like Hansen’s disease, the modern day name for leprosy, had such a low risk of contagion that spouses could live together for many years without the disease spreading from one to the other. However, the fear of contagion was so great and the law was so powerful that people labeled lepers were completely excluded from society.
It’s unlikely that anyone outside Naaman’s family knows that he suffers from leprosy. He could not retain his high position, despite his successful war record, if his condition were known. His choice to seek to be healed requires that he risk everything—his family, his position, his wealth. His choice to seek to be healed requires that he tell the truth about his situation. His choice to seek to be healed requires that he become fully engaged in the process of healing—even when he believes that the cure is ridiculous.
The nameless leper in the gospel story also must become fully engaged in the process of healing. In contrast to Naaman, we don’t hear of a long cross-country journey for him, but I don’t know if we can begin to measure the length of his journey to kneel at Jesus’ feet. His choice to leave the place where he has been set-apart, his choice to attempt to re-enter the society that has rejected him, is an enormous risk. He risks injury at the hands of those who have set him apart – those who would be made ritually unclean if he even accidentally brushed against them. He risks being injured, but, more important, he risks losing his only hope. What if this man – this Jesus – is not the healer everyone says he is? What if this encounter is like all the others – a hope that leads only to disappointment? The man’s choice to approach Jesus for healing requires that he be fully engaged in his faith—fully engaged in his search for healing.
Searching for healing is risky business. Searching for healing means that we have to step out of the way of life that is known to us and enter the unknown. Searching for healing means making the most important choice of our lives – the choice to tell the truth about ourselves – to ourselves. Searching for healing means that we have to take action when we don’t know what changes that will mean for our lives.
Most of us are like Naaman. We are strong, we are competent, we are looked
up to in our community and by our peers. And, like Naaman, most of us have a
secret, a secret that we believe, rightly or wrongly, would make a difference
to the way the rest of the world sees us.
Each of us know our own secret woundedness, our own imperfection, our own need
for healing
But making a choice to be healed means leaving behind the life we have –
the life we know for a life that almost certainly will be different.
The most difficult choices are the most important choices we make. The most
difficult choices are those where we don’t have perfect information. But
the truth, my friends, is that we never have perfect information. We never really
know in advance the consequences of our actions.
That means we can only act from our values – from our hope – from
our faith.
The good news is that the prophet still walks in the land. The God who brought healing to Naaman – the God who brought healing to the leper – is still with us. And our God has already made the choice – the choice to heal and nurture and love us. All we have to do is choose to receive what God has already given us.
Thanks be to God.