NAAMAN lived in Damascus. “Now Naaman, captain of the host of Syria, was a great man” with his Master, and “honorable, because by him the Lord had given deliverance unto Syria; he was also a mighty man of valor, but he was a leper.” So Naaman left Damascus, and went down to Samaria to see Elisha, that the prophet might heal him of the leprosy. Elisha told Naaman to go and dip himself seven times in the Jordan. The haughty Syrian became indignant at the idea, and it was natural that he should. The people of Damascus are now, and have always been, proud of their rivers. They sing about Abana and Pharpar, as also about the shades, fruits and flowers of the valley.
Old Naaman was a true Damascene. So, when told to bathe in the Jordan, he said: “Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, are they not better than all the waters of Israel?” He wanted to go back to his own native city, and there bathe in the fountain of the gods, whose pearly waters had rolled themselves through his heart and cut their channels there. Finally Naaman was persuaded to follow Elisha’s directions, and was healed of his leprosy. But, strangely enough, his house in Damascus was turned into a leper hospital, and remains one to this day.
Having heard so much of this loathsome disease, I am anxious to see it. So I call out, “Abraham, Abraham.”
“Sir?”
“Bring out the horses, and let’s go to the hospital.”
“Yes, sir.”
He brings out three horses—ears about fifteen inches long—and Johnson, Abraham and I are off for the “lepers’ den.” On the way, Johnson says: “Whittle, how long has the leprosy existed?” My reply is, “History traces the disease back to twelve or fifteen hundred years before the Christian era.”
Johnson. “Where did it originate?”