A Simple Matter -- Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Epiphany, Year B

I remember years ago reading a book about medical missionaries in Africa. I remember that Albert Schweitzer figured prominently in the book, but I can't recall the title or the author; it may have been Dr. Schweitzer himself. All I remember from the book, really, was an observation by one of the missionaries about the reaction of the peoples to whom they offered assistance. It seems the western medical treatment of disease was simply too simple. The attitude of their patients seemed to be one of distrust because the medical missionaries did not engage in the sort of complicated rituals the patients expected.

Consider. The missionaries gave the patients a drink from a bottle, or a pill, or perhaps (and most dramatically) an injection. Compare this with the treatment offered by the local faith practitioners (the men and women we westerners pejoratively call "witch doctors"). These folks burned smelly things, chanted, danced, rubbed the body of potions of all sorts, and so forth. This is what the patients thought was needed to cure disease. A drink from a bottle, or a pill, or an injection ... well! It was just too simple. Couldn't possibly work!

That's what's going on it the story of Naaman the leper and his cure by Elisha. Naaman, an Aramean general, hears from a captive Israelite girl that he might be cured if he goes to Israel. So he goes to the king of Israel, who hasn't a clue how to cure him and reacts rather negatively. But Elisha, the man of God, hears about this and sends a message to the king of Israel saying, "Send Naaman to me."

So Naaman goes to see Elisha. And what does Elisha do? He doesn't even see him; he has a servant tell him, "Bathe in the River Jordan." This is too simple. Naaman wants a show; he wants the prophet to "come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the spot and cure the leprosy!" And Naaman starts to go off in a huff.
However, Naaman's servants confront him and say, basically: "Look! If he'd told you do something difficult, you'd have done it. Why don't you at least try this easy thing?" So Naaman goes and bathes and is cured. It's just so simple.

The Gospel story is the same. A leper comes to Jesus and says, "You can make me clean." Like Naaman, he probably expects some fancy-shmancy ritual or difficult task or something. What he gets is Jesus saying, "Yep. I can. You're clean." It's so simple! And Jesus wants it to stay that way, so he says, "Keep quiet about this. Just show yourself to the priests and make the required offering."

Of course, the former leper is unable to keep his mouth shut and goes about spreading the word so that Jesus can't even openly enter a town without being mobbed. Like Naaman the Old Testament leper, like those Africans, and a lot like you and me, the New Testament leper isn't comfortable with simplicity.

And, yet, simplicity is at the heart of our faith. Sure, we have a lot of doctrines and dogmas, many of them very important. Sure, we have a lot of ritual and ceremony, much of it very important. But at the heart of the Christian faith is something very, very simple.

Karl Barth was a Swiss theologian, born in Basel, Switzerland. He studied at Bern, Berlin, Tubingen, and Marburg. While pastor at Safenwil, Aargau, he wrote a commentary on St Paul's Epistle to the Romans (1919) which caused something of a revolution in theology and established his theological reputation. He became professor at Gottingen (1921), Munster (1925), and Bonn (1930), but when he refused to take an unconditional oath to Hitler, he was dismissed and had to leave Germany. Thus, he became professor at Basel (1935--62). His theology emphasized the finiteness of man, and God's unquestionable authority and "otherness". His many works include the monumental Kirchliche Dogmatik (Church Dogmatics, 4 volumes, 1932-67).

A story is told about Karl Barth that several years after the Second World War he was asked by an American audience to summarize the gist of his enormous books on theology. After just a couple of moments of reflection, the learned man quoted from a familiar song: "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so." You see, at the heart of it all, underlying the thousands of pages of doctrine, dogma and theology written by Professor Barth and countless other theologians, is this simplest of all truths: "Jesus loves me."

We human beings are very leery of simplicity. We thrive on complicating things; complexity fascinates us and so we complicate our religions, our businesses, our families and our lives. In recent years, we have seen the birth of movement called "voluntary simplicity." It's really nothing new.... Jesus taught it as did many other religious sages; the most revered saints, such as Francis of Assisi, Benedict of Nursia, and our own patron, Paul, have taught and lived simplicity.

A few years ago I read an article by a woman named Catherine A. Thiemann entitled A Simple Heart in which she said:

[Voluntary simplicity] starts with a simple heart. And a simple heart starts with exploring why you are here on earth. You and I might have different perspectives on the purpose of life. That doesn't matter. What matters is that you begin the process of knowing why you are here. Without knowing that, it will be more difficult to have a simple heart. Although you might achieve a frugal lifestyle, you will not achieve simplicity.

In a simple life, all elements work toward life's ultimate purpose. Any element that doesn't work toward this goal becomes an obstacle. For example, my life's purpose is to know and follow the will of God. One obstacle is my many possessions. The individual items are innocent in themselves, but collectively demand too much of my time and attention. They distract me from the purpose to which I am called. As I shed my possessions, I free myself to hear God's will more clearly and do it more willingly.

But simplicity is not merely a lack of possessions. A simple life is an outward sign of a simple heart. When you focus your heart on your reason for being, you will begin to lose your appetite for the clutter in your life. You may find television less appealing, or rich foods, or popular magazines. You may find the "urge to buy" becoming less urgent. Without a simple heart, "voluntary simplicity" is an exercise in self-denial. With a simple heart, the "self" becomes less important, and therefore self-denial less painful.

She's right on, of course. Simplicity starts with the heart, with exploring why you, why each of us, are here on earth. Several years ago, Christian author Gordon McDonald wrote a book entitled The Life God Blesses: Weathering the Storms of Life That Threaten the Soul (Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1994). In it, McDonald suggested five questions to test one's spiritual health:

1. Who are you trying to please?

2. What insecurities are you pampering?

3. With whom or what are you competing?

4. What rewards are you seeking?

5. What shame are you covering?

Those are darned good questions to ask when one is exploring, as Thiemann suggests, the beginning of a simple heart: "Why you are here on earth?"

Somewhere in the answers to those questions, somewhere in the simple heart, one will hear the voice of the Lord. It is in the midst of our complicated lives that we need to pause and ask ourselves those questions, to seek that simplicity in which we can listen carefully for the Lord's greeting and guidance.

I sometimes find in the stories of the rabbis of eastern Europe, the Hasidim, the most enlightening of teachings. Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher and theologian, collected many of those stories. One is about a certain Rabbi Zusya, whose comment reflects, I think, an appreciation of simplicity. He is said to have once remarked, "In the coming world, they will not ask me: 'Why were you not Moses?' They will ask me, 'Why were you not Zusya?'" To be one's self, one's own sweet simple self, who is loved by God who has put you on earth for a reason ... that is what life and faith are all about.

At its heart, in our heart, religion is a simple matter.

"Go and wash."

"Yep, I can do that; you're healed."

"Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so."

Amen.