HOPE
In a crooked and somewhat retired street of Samaria stood a house
which, next to the Ivory Palace of the king, was the most noted in
all Israel. On the outside there was nothing to denote any special
importance, nothing to particularly commend it to the attention of
the young man who walked along slowly, scanning each dwelling with
interest. It might have been the home of any well-to-do citizen. The
stranger paused doubtfully, asked a question of a passer-by, and then
approached the entrance gate, rapping loudly.
One in the garb of a servant but with the air and manner of authority
responded to the summons. That is to say, although not opening the
portal he called through it to know who was there and what the errand.
These questions being answered satisfactorily, the stranger was allowed
to remain standing without until the servant within walked leisurely
across the courtyard and ascended a flight of stone steps in the corner
to the flat roof of the dwelling and so into the presence of an older
man, to whom he bowed low and who, in return, greeted him eagerly.
“No message hath come to me from the king, Gehazi?”
“None, my master.”
“And what saith the people to-day?”
“Despair filleth all hearts, my lord, and the king rendeth his garments
and weepeth, for there be none to help.”
The face of the older man suddenly became gray and drawn and he went on
talking, but as if to himself: “Neither king nor people remember that
Jehovah is their refuge, a very present help in trouble. Yet will not
the son of Jezebel hearken nor the people whose minds the priests of
Baal hath darkened.” He stood silent a moment, then stretched out his
arms over the parapet, toward the panoramic view of the city and valley
below.
“O Israel, that ye would consider and know that the Lord is good and
that thy strength cometh from him, whose servant I am!”
His head sank upon his breast in meditation, but ere long he roused
himself and spoke with decision: “We have waited many days, Gehazi. Now
shall they see the salvation of the Lord of Hosts. Do thou send to the
palace and say to the young King Jehoram, ‘Wherefore hast thou rent thy
garments? Let this man, Naaman, come now to me and he shall know that
there is a God in Israel and I, his prophet.’”
Gehazi again bowed low, murmuring some words of assent, after which he
remembered to speak of the visitor below.
“A stranger, my master, is without the gate, desiring to talk with the
seer. He giveth his name as Isaac of Damascus, a soldier. Shall I bid
him enter?”
“Knowest thou his voice, Gehazi?”
“Nay, my master, but it hath the ring of sincerity.”
“Then shall he be admitted. Doubtless he cometh with this Syrian,
Naaman, and seeketh me to inquire of the Lord concerning him. I await
him here.”
Gehazi leisurely descended the stairs, crossed the courtyard, opened
the gate and received the visitor within. Isaac’s sandals having been
left outside, Gehazi brought forth a basin over which the young man
held first his hands and then his feet while the servant, from the ewer
which he held, poured water over them. Isaac then wiped off the water
with the towel which hung from the other’s girdle.
Gehazi now disappeared and a moment later set before the stranger
a little bread and wine. This was partaken of with the audible
satisfaction which Eastern etiquette demanded--the smacking of lips
which told of the pleasure conferred by this attention.
These ceremonies over, the visitor was conducted to the roof, where
the host awaited him. Gehazi bowed low before his master: “It is Isaac,
a soldier of Damascus.”
The older man forsook his meditation and looked toward his guest. In
the meanwhile, he of whom they spoke, apparently seeing nothing at all
had yet seen everything. No detail of his surroundings had escaped his
observant eye.
“If I like not the master better than the man,” he thought, “then
shall I know that the little maid hath been indeed mistaken in putting
confidence here,” and he sighed.
Noting that he was expected to approach, Isaac ran forward, prostrating
himself. Rising, he reverentially took between his hands the face
of the seer and kissed his head. Immediately the older man extended
his hand, which the visitor clasped, and each kissed the back of the
other’s hand. Isaac’s greeting was the tribute of an inferior to a
revered superior. Elisha’s extended hand was a condescension which the
younger man understood as placing him on the footing of an equal or
that of an honored guest, yet courtesy forbade him to speak until his
host had first taken the initiative.
The keen gaze of the latter seemed to penetrate his gorgeous costume
and lay bare every secret of his soul, but the voice was kindly: “What
is thy need, my son?”
“Thou art Elisha, prophet of Jehovah?”
“Yea, my son. What wouldst thou?”
What would he? Isaac’s voice fairly trembled with the earnestness of
his desire, and he spoke rapidly: “That thou wouldst heal my master,
Naaman the Syrian.”
The prophet sighed. “Neither king nor people have asked this thing at
the hand of the Lord. Great love hast thou for thy master that thou
comest to me.”
“Love and gratitude and admiration and pity, my lord. All these have
I for my great and good master, Naaman, but I have come to thee more
in dread of sorrow to a little maid whom I carried away captive almost
five years ago and who hath brought to mind the teaching of my mother,
who was of the Land of Gilead. Thou must know, oh my father, that among
so many gods it is hard to know the one supreme save as now and again
one performeth some mighty work which causeth men to say, ‘Lo here,’
or ‘Lo there,’ but my mother and this little maid have ever maintained
that Jehovah is God alone, who only doeth marvelous works. If this be
so, thou his prophet canst heal my master of his leprosy.”
Straight into the troubled eyes of his young visitor the older man
looked and smiled. “It is well, my son. To win the unselfish affection
of a child; to love a maid purely and protectingly and to keep thyself
worthy of both will be to thy remorseful soul as waters of cleansing.”
Then, sternly: “And to atone for the evil thou hast wrought to the
House of Caleb, I charge thee to do this thing lest the wrath of
Jehovah fall upon thee.”
Awed and assenting, Isaac stood through a few moments of silence on the
part of his host. At last the latter turned to him. “As to thy master,
Naaman, behold, before thy return to the palace, he will have received
a message from the king to present himself to me. To-morrow at this
hour thou shalt bring him hither and both he and thou shalt know the
only true God.”
The speaker made a gesture by which his visitor understood that the
interview was ended. With respectful ceremony Isaac made his adieux
and started back to the Ivory Palace, back to his impatient master. As
he went he reviewed the events of the past few weeks, the disquieting
rumors which his familiarity with the language had enabled him to
hear in the long walks he had taken through the city with a view to
news-gathering, a pastime inspired by Jehoram’s delay and Naaman’s
depression. It was this which had driven him to the prophet. He must
know for himself if there were hope.
At the palace gate there awaited him a servant whom they had brought
from Syria to say that his master desired his presence without delay.
Isaac presented himself humbly, half expecting the wrath which he
encountered.
“So thine own business and pleasure are more to thee than mine, Isaac.”
“Nay, my master, I--”
“The king’s messenger hath been here and thou away. None but Lemuel to
speak his tongue and he haltingly and the message one of importance.
Yet peradventure I should not have expected thy interest. Thinkest thou
I have not marked thy many absences of late and this the longest of
all?”
“But, my master, if thou hadst followed me--” The eager tone trailed
off into silence. How could he relate the disheartening tidings he had
heard on every hand when it could but add to his master’s impatience
and perhaps frustrate the very purpose for which they had come? The
pause was lengthy.
Naaman’s manner changed from sarcastic irritability to amused
toleration. “I had forgotten, Isaac, how oft thou hast been in this
land. I should have remembered thy youth and thy good looks and the
charm of the maids of Israel.”
“Nay, nay, my master. I but went--”
Naaman waved aside the explanation. “Few maidens are unwilling to
smile upon a soldier, but it mattereth not,” he said with finality. “I
should not expect from thee the wisdom of age. I do not expect it. But
go now and make what preparations are necessary, for to-morrow, at the
fourth hour, we present ourselves before this prophet of Jehovah for my
healing. The mouth of the king hath spoken it.”
Other mouths, both within and without the palace, took up the words and
repeated them until, between excitement and curiosity, Samaria slept
badly that night. The next morning, at the hour appointed, the narrow
streets of the city were packed with humanity as the Syrian embassy
wended its slow and stately way to the house of the Man of God.
In front rode several dignitaries in chariots representing King
Jehoram. Next came Isaac on horseback, attended by his servant and
a soldier or two who preceded the chariot of Naaman. The Syrian
bodyguard, who followed, were escorted by the flower of the Israelitish
army. In the rear came the pack-animals, their picturesque drivers,
and a few more soldiers. It was a civil and not a military procession,
and the splendor and dignity of both countries were represented. Amid
gaping crowds the company came to a halt before the House of Elisha.
Slowly and as if in expectation of their arrival, the gate opened. The
moment was tense with expectancy. As a mark of respect to the prophet
all dismounted, including Naaman, but it was not Elisha. It was his
servant, Gehazi, with a message:
“Thus saith the Man of God: ‘Go wash in the Jordan seven times, and thy
flesh shall come again to thee and thou shalt be clean.’”
All eyes were turned upon Naaman, who flushed crimson with rage
and disappointment. The Jordan indeed! The muddy, swift-flowing,
treacherous Jordan! Contrast it with the clear, sparkling waters of
the Abana and Pharpar back in Syria! If all he needed was to dip in
some river, he much preferred those at home. They were, at least, less
repulsive than this boasted stream in a foreign land. Were they not
better than all the rivers of Israel? And the idea of sending a servant
with the message! Why did not the prophet himself come out, and stand,
and call upon the name of his God in the spectacular manner of the
East? Why did he not strike his hand over the diseased flesh and effect
a cure with all the ceremony it was natural to expect? The meanest
servant could have hoped for nothing less than such treatment as he,
Naaman, had received. To put the most charitable construction upon the
act, the prophet had evidently not understood the position held by his
visitor, else he would have acted more in accordance with the customs
of the day. Nevertheless he, Naaman, had not come all the way to Israel
to be treated discourteously, slightingly; to be mocked and ridiculed.
The long and painful journey had been worse than useless. They would
return whence they had come and woe to Israel when Ben-hadad heard!
The Syrian embassy whispered among themselves. The elders of the city
and the dignitaries from the palace held a brief parley and then
approached Naaman with an air of dismayed humility, with apology and
almost with entreaty, but the outraged visitor was conscious only
of the insult put upon him. In the face of his anger all of Isaac’s
diplomacy served only to ruffle his feelings the more and to make the
efforts of the young interpreter and servant appear ridiculous in the
eyes of those who saw the futility of anything but surrender to the
exasperating circumstances. The king’s representatives were thoroughly
alarmed. In a few days, perhaps, when the wrath of their mighty visitor
had cooled, he might be persuaded to try the remedy, which appeared
even to them as questionable, if not absurd. If he did not care to
be reasonable, or if the prescription failed, then, indeed, the last
state of this miserable affair would be worse than the first. Years
ago King Ahab had had Ben-hadad at his mercy; Israel had put her foot
upon Syria’s neck, but since then other wars had changed entirely the
complexion of Eastern politics.[4]
It was a crestfallen party which took its slow departure from the
prophet’s house. Even the horses seemed to feel the general air of
gloom and walked less proudly. Isaac, chagrined at this unexpected
turn of affairs, heard not the comments of his companions, saw not the
jostling and awe-struck throngs, cared not for his master’s ire. He
was conscious only that back in Syria was a maid with the light of
happy expectancy in her eyes and it must not be dimmed! He resolved it
fiercely, striving to consider the situation as calmly as possible.
For Miriam’s sake, considerations of self were obliterated. Into the
struggle he threw his all, risking his future and the favor of his
impulsive master. At a turn into the wider street which led to the
palace, Naaman, with uncooled wrath, commanded greater speed, but
Isaac, turning, wheeled his horse directly in the path of the chariot,
thus halting the entire company.
The anger in his master’s eye was like a drawn sword, but love for
Miriam was like a shield, warding off the thrusts. His voice slightly
trembled but he held his ground: “My father, if the prophet had bid
thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have done it? How much
rather when he saith to thee, ‘Wash and be clean’?”
Naaman, the bluff man of moods, at first irritated at such daring,
gradually became aware that he admired it. He himself had experienced
great moments and high courage. And there was no selfishness in the
plea. Isaac was asking for nothing which could benefit him personally.
Naaman looked at the straight, young figure, at the earnest face, at
the yearning affection in the eyes. “My father,” he had said. Naaman
felt the charm of deference from youth to age; the tribute of regard
from man to master; the acknowledgment of respect from an inferior.
“If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have
done it?” He would. He was keyed up to any effort. That was wherein lay
the disappointment. “How much rather when he saith to thee, ‘Wash and
be clean’?” The logic appealed to Naaman’s sense of justice. Why not
indeed? It could but fail as had everything else. Why take all this
trouble and then refuse to do the thing recommended?
The king’s representatives looked on in amazement. Who and what was
this youthful interpreter and courtier that he dared speak words of
remonstrance and exhortation to this powerful foreigner? That he
was doing just this was evident even though the language used left
the exact sentences in doubt. The Syrian soldiery held its breath
in wonder, uncertain whether to admire Isaac’s bravery or condemn
his temerity. They would decide according to the outcome. Naaman’s
expression passed through a series of changes and took on the cool
matter-of-fact.
“On,” he directed, “on--to the Jordan!”