Our own ELCA Bishop Mark Hanson, wanting to emblemize inclusion and solidarity, had hired a very poor and simple Hispanic woman as one of his office assistants. Laura Restrepo was from Mexico but now lived in the Pilsner neighborhood on the near south side of Chicago where she worshipped at Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey, a Spanish speaking Lutheran church. Her roots were humble; she came from poverty. But her simple faith and smart competency made her very effective in the Bishop's office.

The Bishop had a big week coming: traveling to Europe to a meeting of the World Council of Churches. Immediately following this he was scheduled to meet with Senate leaders in Washington to voice concerns about the war in Iraq. On top of all, he was sick: he had a terrible cold and flu like symptoms. He knew he should be in bed, but there he was at Higgins Road preparing for the big week to come.

Laura Restrepo felt bad. She saw how sick and flushed Mark Hanson looked and she mouthed silent prayers on his behalf. Then she approached the Bishop and told him that in her home congregation was a baptismal font that had healing powers. People from all over Pilsen came to get well from various sicknesses. Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey had gained a certain reputation, and the reputation wasn't very Lutheran at all. Such supernatural displays reminded people of that weird Santeria stuff, that indigenous voodoo religion that haunted poor neighborhoods of Chicago and Caribbean Latin America.

Bishop Hanson thanked her for her concern and got back to his stack of work. He loved people, and listened well, but sometimes it was like he was reading the Chicago Tribune through a glass window pane. He was a sophisticated educated man, and a bishop to boot, and he was just a little above it all. No fault of his own.

In the evening he told his wife Ione about the story Laura Restrepo told him about the baptismal font in Pilsen. Ione said, what do we have to lose? Let's go visit the Church. So Bishop Hanson called and asked to speak to Laura's Pastor, Pastor Manual Reuben. Bishop Hanson said he'd liked to come and worship with the people of Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey on Sunday, and they could expect him then. He said he had heard about their special baptismal font and would like to have a look.

Pastor Reuben was anxious. How do I handle this? I guess I'll have to write a really good sermon. Can I call some in the congregation to prepare a special meal? He was so anxious that he forgot to tell Mark Hanson they had agreed to worship jointly with another congregation Sunday morning.

Sunday morning blazed beautiful as Ione drove the nearly delirious Bishop Mark Hanson down Lake Shore Drive toward the near south side. They arrived at Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey ten minutes before the Service was to begin. No one was there. The Church was empty and so was the parking lot.

Ione went to the Sanctuary door and found a hand scrawled note. Bishop Hanson, it read, we are worshipping at the church four blocks south and two blocks west come and join us. The back door is open if you still want to look at our baptismal font.

Bishop Hanson was annoyed. Maybe it was just the flu-fever thinking through him, but he was annoyed. What kind of respect is this for the Bishop? Would a catholic bishop be treated with such indifference? What kind of message is this Pastor Manual Reuben trying to send?

Ione said, Mark let's go in. He said, let's go home. She said we're here, what do we have to lose. So they went to the garbage-strewn alley found the back door and slipped into the still sanctuary.

Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey was a poor congregation and the church looked it. It was built of cinder blocks but there was vibrant colorful art in the narthex. Ione and Bishop Hanson slipped into the hushed sanctuary and felt the solitude. The font was near the door, and was built of concrete, like a bird bath. Ione pushed Mark Hanson lightly toward it. Mark was flushed with a slight fever and felt annoyed, but he dipped his hands in the cool water and washed his face. He immediately felt one hundred percent better and the skin on his hands and face sizzled a little and turned pink.

Bishop Hanson and Ione rushed to their car, reeling with surprise, breathing fast. They drove four blocks south and two blocks west and found the African Methodist Episcopal church where Cristo Rey was worshipping.

After the service Bishop Hanson approached Pastor Manual Reuben and said, my friend I want to serve you and your congregation. Can we bring the resources of the whole ELCA on behalf on Igglesia Luterana Cristo Rey? Pastor Rueben said: as the Lord lives, we will take no gift. And Bishop Mark Hanson, feeling one hundred percent, and Ione his life partner, joined the two congregations for a great barbecue and party at the park. And then he went and did all of his important work the following week as Bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, fully healed and well.

By now you can tell that my silly little parable is a retelling of the story of Naaman the Syrian, one of the most beloved stories in the bible. The story is certainly one of my favorites.

But the exact meaning of the story is a little hard to pin down.

Most of us have heard that God shows preferential treatment of the poor. That's a basic insight of Liberation Theology, and a major theme in the Gospel of Luke as well as much of the rest of Scripture. God prefers to bless the poor and down-trodden. God loves to comfort the afflicted. God loves to elevate the weak and needy and despised and poor, subverting the order of things. It's a basic Gospel insight, and one that we should hear again and again.

But the story of Naaman the Syrian gives a radically different lesson: that God loves to subvert our expectations, surprising us, shocking us out of thought grooves we get stuck in. God loves to overturn expectations, and seems not at all concerned with the profound sense of offense we feel at God's freedom.

There's one glaring problem with the parable I just told. Though Bishop Hanson and Naaman both have immense power, Bishop Mark Hanson is a good guy. Naaman the Syrian is a bad guy. Bishop Hanson is a friend whom we respect. Naaman the Sryian is an enemy, a fascist, a terrorist, a tyrant in charge of the bloodthirsty army of a wicked regime. The Syrians or Arameans were Israel's avowed enemy, and Naaman was their general. The little girl who told him about Elisha was no Laura Restrepo from the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago. She was a nameless slave, and Naaman captured her in one of the bloody wars with Israel.

So God chose to heal this enemy Naaman: this tyrant, this terrorist, this fascist. God loved Namaan the Syrian and healed him. Perhaps God also loves Osama Bin Laden. Perhaps God will heal Sadaam Hussein.

Who do you know that doesn't deserve grace? That one is a perfect candidate for receiving grace and mercy and love and healing.

God loves to subvert our expectations, surprising us, shocking us out of thought grooves we get stuck in. God loves to overturn expectations, and seems not at all concerned with the profound sense of offense we feel at God's freedom.

That God: what a raven. That God: what a trickster fox.  —  Amen.