Sermon Archive

Betwixt Pity and Anger

(Rutgers, February 13, 2000; 6th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B;
Holy Communion)

II Kings 5:1–14 (OT, pp. 372–373); Mark 1:40–45 (NT, p. 36)

The world received the news this morning

of the death of Charles Schulz, creator of the Peanuts cartoon.

I find my title this morning apropos of many of those cartoons,

which often led us into the emotional zone

between pity and anger. For instance, I remember

one panel in which Charlie Brown is trying, rather

pitifully and with repressed anger, to fly his kite.

Looking on, Peppermint Patty observes to Violet,

"With Charlie Brown, flying a kite is always

an emotional experience."

"Betwixt Pity and Anger."

Perhaps this morning as I talk, you'll want to conjure up your

own mental images from Peanuts to help illustrate my sermon.

The two stories told in today’s scripture lessons also take us on

journeys through the terrain of pity and anger—emotions

that all of us experience frequently and know well.

So we understand that the words “pity” and “anger” each describe

no single, simple feeling but rather a cluster of complex feelings.

Thus the word “pity” is used to name a wide range of emotions

stretching from self-pity to condescending concern

to commiseration to sympathy to compassion.

And the narrative of Naaman the leper, in II Kings,

leads us through a tale of self-pity, sympathetic

intervention, and divine compassion, while

the account of Jesus and the unnamed leper,

in Mark, paints a portrait

of intense human compassion.

As for the word “anger,” it also covers a wide range of

emotions—from a flare of heat that releases tension

to a slow burn that saps creative energy,

from umbrage at a wound to one’s own ego

or at a threat to one’s self-interest

to righteous indignation over social ills and evils

or over personal injuries and injustices.

So the narrative of Naaman describes

a flash of anger rooted both in self-pity

and in indignation over personal injury,

while the account of Jesus + the leper

depicts Jesus’s great agitation

over a social ill of his time.

So let’s explore in some depth this morning’s vivid stories,

and let’s journey together through this terrain of pity and anger.

Naaman is a strong, proud, accomplished warrior,

the ranking general of his nation’s armed forces,

an honored and well-rewarded member of Syria’s ruling elite,

a man accustomed to adulation from commoners

and to riveted attention from their admiring eyes.

But now he’s loathe to leave the confines of his home and to endure

people’s stares, filled as they are with fear and condemnation,

for although clothes can conceal the fiery, inflamed skin

and the white, scaly patches that cover most of his torso,

his afflicted face makes it plain to all that his repulsive

skin disease has placed him “out of bounds” + turned

him into one who’s ritually unclean and defiling,

one who’s to be shunned and marginalized.

How low the mighty Naaman has fallen, and

he’s filled with self-pity + repressed anger.

Everyone in Naaman’s household knows of his shameful disease.

Yet it’s one of the lowliest servants in his elite Syrian home—

a recently arrived Israelite serving girl, a trophy of war, a

foreign slave—who intervenes sympathetically to help him.

Out of pity, she whispers to her mistress, Naaman’s wife,

that there’s a prophet in Israel with healing powers.

If only the master were to go to him, he would

be healed and restored to his position of power.

The Israelite girl’s message of hope for help is passed on to Naaman

and, with the blessing of the Syrian king, he sets out for Israel.

After some delay + confusion in the court of the Israelite king,

Naaman arrives at the humble house of the prophet Elisha,

with his entourage of horses and chariots + an enormous

treasure to offer in exchange for healing—

silver and gold, and many luxurious garments.

But the prophet Elisha doesn’t even come out of his house

to meet this mighty commander face to face. Instead,

he sends a servant outside to convey to Naaman this message:

“Go a day’s journey down to the River Jordan,

and there bathe seven times.

Your flesh will be restored, and

you will once again become clean and undefiled.”

Naaman responds to this delivered message by stomping off in rage.

His repressed anger stirs and awakens in him, rising to the surface

out of a mixture of self-pity and wounded ego

and righteous indignation over his having been

marginalized by even this prophet.

For even this healer, this holy man, has refused

to encounter him directly, has refused to behol

his afflicted face, to touch his diseased body.

Naaman’s anger serves to lap up some of his shame,

and to restore to him some sense of self-worth.

But it does not restore his health

or change most other people's attitude toward him.

Then it is that once again—as had happened earlier,

when the Israelite serving girl had spoken to Naaman’s wife—

once again it happens that a quite marginal character

intervenes sympathetically and acts with pity to rescue the

marginalized Naaman and to point him toward wholeness.

A servant suggests to Naaman that he might as well try

the simple river remedy prescribed by the prophet,

for there’s nothing to lose.

So Naaman goes and immerses himself seven times in the Jordan,

and he’s healed; he’s restored to wholeness by the power of God.

So at the end of our story’s lengthy journey through self-pity +

anger + righteous indignation + sympathetic intervention,

it arrives at its intended destination—the good news

that the compassion of God is offered even beyond

the borders of Israel to persons of all nations.

God’s compassion knows no bounds.

God’s compassion “colors outside the lines.”

It is so radically inclusive that it embraces

even enemy generals.

This morning’s second story, from Mark, presents us

with an interesting kind of "Rashomon" effect.

For it’s not at all clear whether Jesus’s controlling emotion,

through whose frame the entire narrative is to be viewed,

is pity or anger.

According to the translation found in our pew Bibles, when the leper

approaches Jesus and kneels before him begging for healing,

Jesus is moved with pity + for that reason chooses to touch him

and proclaim him clean.

But another translation, the Revised English Bible, follow

the different reading found in many ancient manuscripts of Mark,

and so tells us instead that when the leper approaches, kneels,

and begs for healing, Jesus is moved by anger and for

that reason chooses to touch him and proclaim him clean.

Well, which is it? Is this

a story of a sympathetic, empathetic, compassionate Christ

who’s moved by the man’s suffering to heal him?

Or is it a story of an angry Christ

whose motive for touching and healing the leper is rage,

rage over the priestly system of marginalizing lepers

and branding them unclean?

Is Jesus motivated by compassion for the man’s illness?

Or is Jesus motivated by indignation over a social illness,

the ostracizing of lepers?

Where betwixt pity and anger does Mark place Jesus?

Well, I suggest there’s virtue + merit in reading the story both ways,

for each of the readings highlights a valid, if differing, aspect

of Jesus’s complex personality. Indeed, it seems to me

quite likely that Jesus was moved by both emotions,

so that we need not choose between the two readings

but may welcome them both.

For Jesus was, I believe, both "moved by pity"

and "moved by anger."

Of course, we Christians are much more accustomed

to speaking of a compassionate Christ

than we are of an angry Christ.

Perhaps that’s because we’re more comfortable

with acts of charity and loving kindness

than we are with acts of prophecy and social criticism.

And certainly we who’ve participated in the marginalization of

many different kinds of people—

perhaps today not people suffering from diseases of the skin,

but, to be sure, people having different colors of skin—

certainly we who are guilty of marginalizing others

find it comfortable to think of Jesus as focused