Bridges Over Troubled Waters

The full video of this teaching is available at the bottom of this post and can also be accessed directly at this link.

The king of Aram had great admiration for Naaman, the commander of his army, because through him the Lord had given Aram great victories. But though Naaman was a mighty warrior, he suffered from leprosy. —2 Kings 5:1

Power. Success. Medals. He could speak a word, and twenty-five thousand soldiers would kill for him. Naaman had it all. The king of Syria loved him because he was a winner, crushing enemies on the battlefield. He was untouchable.

But underneath all that prestige, influence, and armor were troubled waters—leprosy.

Leprosy was slow, cruel, and isolating. It stripped away sensation, disfigured skin, and eventually reputation. No amount of medals could cover that. No title could outrank the disease claiming his body. In his world, it was shame wrapped in exile—a death sentence with no timeline.

I can imagine his hidden routines at the end of each day. The quiet way he slipped off his armor at night, inspecting the growing patches of rot on his skin. The subtle shift of a servant’s eyes when she noticed the bandages beneath his robes. People who feared him in battle now pitied him in secret.

Naaman had fought and won battles that made nations tremble, but now he faced one in the mirror; he was powerless to win. The calm waters of his life were suddenly troubled in ways he never imagined.

At this time Aramean raiders had invaded the land of Israel, and among their captives was a young girl who had been given to Naaman’s wife as a maid. —2 Kings 5:2

Behind the mirror in which he viewed his primary problem was a house full of servants. One of them was an Israelite slave girl, a spoil of war, his property.

She had no rank. No rights. No reason to be noticed.
Torn from her home. Stripped of her freedom.

Her name isn’t even recorded, because slaves’ names rarely were.

She existed to serve, not to speak.
Every word she spoke was a risk.

Powerless by every measure that mattered, she still saw his need. And that’s where the story begins to turn.

One day the girl said to her mistress, “I wish my master would go to see the prophet in Samaria. He would heal him of his leprosy.” —2 Kings 5:3

Just one sentence. No dramatic moment. No guarantee she wouldn’t be punished for mentioning the one weakness he couldn’t command or conquer.

Before Elisha ever heard Naaman’s name, before a king sent a letter, before a river in Israel stirred with healing, there was a slave girl, standing in the shadows of an army commander's house, and gently beginning to build a bridge over Naaman’s troubled waters.

NOTE: As I was preparing to teach this whole story through verse 27, I couldn’t get past how much is packed into the first three verses. We’ll save the rest of the story for the next two articles. For now, let’s look at how much we can learn and apply from 2 Kings 5:1–3.

GOD OFTEN SENDS BRIDGE BUILDERS, NOT HEROES

Most of us already know we’re not heroes. And because of that, we assume someone else is better equipped to help. Someone smarter. Someone with more authority or more faith. I wonder how many times God placed someone right in front of us, and we stepped around them because we felt too small to make a difference.

PROXIMITY PRESENTS OPPORTUNITIES

She only knew of Naaman’s condition because she served in the rooms where his armor and bandages lay on the floor. She was there when the troubled waters began to rise. And from that place of proximity, she spoke the words that became the bridge’s beginning.

Who, in trouble, has God placed that close to you this week?

COMPASSION CROSSES BARRIERS

Everything about their world told her to stay silent.

She was an Israelite. He was Aramean.
She was the conquered. He was the conqueror.

She had every reason to remain quiet, to watch his strength slowly crumble, to let his troubled waters sweep him away.

But instead of bitterness, compassion moved her.
She chose mercy over memory.

Her words crossed borders—ethnic, political, spiritual.

HOW WE BUILD BRIDGES OVER TROUBLED WATERS

They might wear smiles, hold impressive titles, drive $50,000 cars, or carry confidence like armor—but underneath, the waters are churning.

So how do we build bridges?

1. Step toward the water, not away from it.

Most of us see someone treading water, barely able to breathe, and we just step around.
It’s not my place.
They probably don’t want help.
Someone else will step in.

But bridges don’t build themselves.

Bridge building always begins with movement—
toward the wounded,
toward the hard conversation,
toward the person everyone else avoids.

2. Be willing to risk looking out of place, out of line, or out of turn.

Real bridge building sometimes means you risk being;

• misunderstood

• dismissed

• ignored

• even resented.
  
  Compassion can look like intrusion.
  But silence builds nothing.

3. Lay planks of faith over their doubt.

Naaman didn’t ask for help. He didn’t believe healing was possible. Someone else spoke faith into his silence.

When people are stuck in deep waters, they often can’t see beyond the current.

That’s when our words become lumber.

“There is still hope.
God still calms seas.
There is still a way forward.”

One sentence of faith can reach further than we think.

4. You don’t have to fix everything.

Bridge building isn’t about being the solution.
It’s about providing a path to the One who can.

You’re not the healer.
You’re not the miracle worker.
You’re not the river that washes them clean.

But you can lay a plank that helps them reach Him.

5. Bridges don’t have to be big. They just have to be built.

Sometimes the first plank is a conversation.
A prayer.
A visit.
An invitation.
A text message.
A ride.
A meal.

Most bridges start small.

But the planks you lay faithfully can carry a soul from despair to hope.

Somewhere near you, someone’s waters are rising.

Will you pick up the plank God is putting in your hands?

Closing Note: Maybe you’re the one in the water—tired, hurting, barely keeping your head above the surface. God often begins help through unexpected people. Let good people step toward you and lay a plank of faith. Let them point you to the One who can heal what you can’t.

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