The Jordan River came into view and Naaman's
heart twisted just a little bit with the tiny bit of hope he allowed. Disgust
also rose up vying for the foremost spot. The war within the captain was
visible in his expressions. He was about to do something he did not want to do.
Everything in him all but demanded he stop this foolishness, that he turn back
and just go to his homeland. He was about to demean himself on a level he'd
never had to do so before. He was a Captain of the Syrian army! A great captain,
revered by many, praised by his King, and here he was about to strip down and
walk into a muddy river on foreign soil. It wasn't bad enough he had to put a
single foot into the river, he had to submerge himself fully, and not once but
seven times! He had to go under the water completely seven times, totally
covered by the reviled water. He couldn't do this thing, and yet he had to try,
he had to.
Walking to the water's edge, Naaman steeled
himself for what he had to do. His servants surrounded him and reached out
waiting for his permission to help him take off his clothes. Taking a deep
breath, Naaman gave a curt nod signaling them to begin. With each article of
clothing removed Naaman's jaw tightened until it was clenched so hard he
thought his teeth might break at any moment.
Stripped of all but a loincloth, Naaman forced
himself to look down upon his exposed flesh. He had to see the reason he was
doing this, he had to look at the blemishes on his skin. Leprosy. He could
still remember his first suspicious mark and the horror that overtook him. It
wasn't long before his suspicions were confirmed as the marked flesh expanded
and grew more loathsome. Unable to deny what was happening to him he'd
confessed to his king and the shame-filled him. He'd fall on his sword before
going into a leper colony, it was just a matter of how long he could hold off
before that had to happen. He had a family to consider and wanted them taken
care of before the inevitable.
Conversations at home about his condition grew
more frequent and spilled over into the ears of the servants, and soon that
little Israeli captive felt bold enough to speak to his wife about the prophet
in her land, the healing prophet. His wife, in turn, brought the information to
him, with such hope in her gaze he held back his initial reaction to scoff at
her falling for the little maid's lies. Her pleading with him to seek help from
the prophet was at first refused, but her tears broke his reticence easily
enough. He could never fight those tears they fell so seldom but when they did
it was always out of the deepest love for him. Agreeing to go to the king with
the request, Naaman told his wife softly to wipe away her tears, wishing he
dared to touch her to do so himself. He longed to kiss her tear dampened cheeks
and comfort her but he couldn't, and it had been a long time since he'd done
so. Leprosy had separated them from the intimacy they were accustomed to and he
missed her touch desperately. Such a man as he was, a strong Captain of a great
army, the victor in many a skirmish and yet at home he'd always melted into the
tender touch of his wife. For her, he had to try to save his life, even if it
was a fool's undertaking.
The white blotches across his torso, the
lesions moving to his extremities, Naaman knew it wouldn't be much longer
before he lost fingers, toes, his nose. Oh yes, he'd seen lepers and their many
disfigurements- always from a great distance, but close enough to know what
this disease would do to him sooner rather than later. This wretched disease
would be the death of him, he knew that, but here he stood not quite close
enough for Jordan's water to touch his bared feet. The fool's errand had to be
seen through to completion. He had to be able to tell his wife he'd done all
that was asked of him. To go back to her and tell her his pride had kept him
from following the prophet's instructions would only result in more tears and
pleading for him to go back and try again.
As the wind brushed over his exposed flesh,
Naaman's body shuddered hard. He had to get this over with now, there was no
reason for any more delay, none.
The men surrounding him took a step back and
all but his most trusted servant turned their backs on him, giving their master
the privacy his rank required. They didn't have to witness his humiliation
first hand and if they could, anyone of them would fight to keep any others
from seeing their master this way. They'd protect him, and give him all the
honor he deserved. Did they think their master a fool for undertaking this
journey? No. They all hoped for only the best outcome.
A step forward and the cool water touched his
feet. Naaman kept a gasp from escaping his clenched jaw, sparing himself the
humiliation of such a noise. With his feet wet he instantly just wanted to get
this whole ordeal over with as fast as he possibly could. One long stride and
then he forced himself to take shorter steps, he hadn't a clue when or if the
ground beneath would give way and he'd go under the water. He didn't want a
sudden dunking, he wanted to be in control of his submersion.
The water moved up over his knees, his thighs
and to his waist, this was far enough, he had enough room to completely
submerge himself. Did he turn around and look back at the shoreline where his
most trusted servant alone stood watching him, or did he keep himself facing
away? Did he want to see the only other witness to his degradation? No. No, he
did not.
Without another thought, Naaman spread his arms
slightly out to the side and bent his knees dropping his body downwards and the
water rushed over his chest, up to his arms, and to his neck. Pausing only long
enough to take a deep breath Naaman forced the rest of himself underneath the
water until he was sure not a single hair on the top of his head remained dry.
Less than a moment later he shot up out of the water, the force of his push
upwards causing him to stumble slightly before regaining solid footing. Water
cascaded down over his face and he blew a hard breath outwards and shook his
head displacing the water as best he could. One down. Only six more submersions
to go. Did he pause to look at his flesh? No, he just wanted to get this over
with. Down he went for the second time, a repeat of the first plunge. Up again,
another hard shake of his head and expulsion of his held breath. Two. He could
do this, only five more. After the next four plunges, Naaman paused, taking a
deep breath as he brushed the water from his face. His stomach was a knot of
hot anger and desperate hope. This time he did take a moment to look at his
disfigured flesh. The wet skin distorted things a bit but he could clearly make
out the marked skin twisted lesions still there on his arms. One more time,
just once more and this entire sordid ordeal would be over and he could go home
and make plans to end his life while a shred of dignity remained to him.
To be continued….
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