From Empty to Full, Part 2: The Lord Makes a Way

 

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

There is a little story that I tell sometimes on Christmas Eve. A woman lost her most valuable possession: a diamond ring. So upset, she called her sister, who came over right away to help her look for it. They got down on their hands and knees and began searching, inch by inch over the carpet in the living room. When her husband got home he saw the two women crawling around on the living room floor, intently looking at the carpet, serious as could be. He asked what they were doing. His wife said, “I lost my diamond ring and we’re looking for it.”

Well, he got right down on the floor with them to help in the search. The three of them were now crawling on the floor, inch by inch, searching for the lost ring. After what seemed like hours of fruitless searching the man looked at his wife and said, “Are you sure you lost it in here?” and she said, “No! Not at all. I probably lost it in the room across the hall.” He said, “So why aren’t we looking in that room?” and she answered, “The light is a lot better in here.”

This is one of the less appealing qualities of being human. We might be the most advanced of all God’s creatures, but when it comes to searching for what we need to fill us up, to make us complete, we are the worst. We seem to always look in the wrong places. And very often, for the wrong things.

Last week I said that the story of Ruth is a story of loss, of emptiness and longing to be full. Ruth, Orpah, and Naomi lost the men in their lives, thereby losing their social status and their economic security. In some ways they have lost their identity, their sense of who they are. Naomi even changed her name because she could no longer see herself as Naomi, which means pleasant.

Naomi and her family, Elimelech, Chilion, and Mahlon, all came to Moab as refugees; driven out of their homeland by a crisis of famine. They worked to make a home for themselves in this strange land, the sons even marrying local girls, in some ways becoming part of the community. But then the loss of the three men erased everything that might have been gained. Naomi is still a refugee – even more vulnerable now than she was before.

And so she is in a position of needing to find a new way to survive. She knows that the most logical place for her to look is back in Bethlehem, the place from which she came and where the famine which drove her away is now in the past.

And Ruth decides to go with her. This is not necessarily the logical, sensible thing for her to do. Indeed, Naomi urged both her daughters-in-law to go back to their parents’ house, that new husbands might be found for them. Orpah did the logical, sensible thing. Ruth did not.

Ruth looked at Naomi. She saw a woman growing old with nothing and no one in the world. She saw a journey ahead of her filled with dangers and hardships. And she saw that, at the end of the road Naomi still would have no one. Naomi would still be a widow, if she made this journey alone.

Ruth considered these things when she made the decision to go with her.

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical. It promised her no security and little hope of finding a future. But it was the caring thing to do, and so she went to Bethlehem with Naomi to seek a life.

Naomi and Ruth left Moab empty and journeyed to Bethlehem. For Ruth and Naomi, what they were is no longer. In Bethlehem they will discover what and who they will become.

The first thing Ruth did was to go out to find a place where she could glean. Gleaning was something she, as a widow and a stranger in the land, was entitled to do. When the workers go out to harvest the fields, they walk with their scythes and their baskets row by row, cutting the grain from the stalk. But they won’t get every last bit. Some small amount will be left on the stalk. Some small amount will fall to the earth, and the gleaner is permitted to gather what she can.

This is decreed by the law of Israel, in fact. In the book of Leviticus we read, “When you reap the harvest you shall not reap to the edges of your field or gather what falls to the ground. Leave it for the poor and the stranger” Everyone, even the poor and the stranger, has a right to eat.

Ruth found a field where the reapers were at work and she found a place behind them to glean.

It happened that Ruth found herself in the field of Boaz, a kinsman of Naomi. And Boaz was a kind and righteous man, who took notice of Ruth.

It is possible that Boaz noticed Ruth because she was pretty. It is possible that Boaz made it a habit to notice the people who worked in his fields because it was good business. Possibly, it was a combination of these things. But the story tells us that Boaz was kind to Ruth because he knew of Ruth’s great kindness toward Naomi. And so it goes.

He instructed his workers regarding Ruth, that the women should welcome her, and the men should leave her alone. He insisted that Ruth drink from the water that his men had drawn and eat from the bread and wine that had been prepared for the workers. And at the end of the day, Boaz made sure that Ruth went home with plenty of grain, that her gleaning shawl was full.

It was a good day of gleaning for Ruth, with the promise of more good days to come. But no one is going to get rich or fat off of gleaning. It is a means of survival, at best, hand to mouth. While the harvest season lasted, Ruth was out every day, gleaning behind the women in Boaz’ fields, bringing home food every evening for Naomi to prepare a meal for the two of them. And while Ruth was working, Naomi was thinking.

At the end of the season, Naomi told Ruth to wash and anoint herself with perfume, to put on her best clothes, then go down and see Boaz. “He will tell you what to do,” Naomi says to Ruth. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

We don’t know exactly what happened on the threshing room floor, although we can imagine. We do know that when Boaz awoke and found Ruth beside him, she said to him, “You are next of kin.” The term is laden with meaning that Boaz understood perfectly. To be the next of kin meant having the right to redeem. To be the redeemer meant taking Ruth as his wife, taking responsibility for her and Naomi and their family property – property that Elimelech had left behind years ago during the famine. It needs to be a man who will redeem Naomi and Ruth and make them whole again, and Boaz is that man.

And so it came to be. There was still one more detail to work out, which you can read about at the beginning of Chapter 4 if you like. But once Boaz had that taken care of, he married Ruth. And Ruth bore a child, giving fullness of life back to Naomi. Naomi who was empty is once again full.

And so we have a happy ending. It is a wonder that things ended this way. At every turn of this story, things could have gone from bad to worse. Every move Ruth and Naomi made was a risk. Everything could have turned out differently.

This is also true: at every turn, Ruth had an option that might have been easier for her. She could have stayed in Moab. Once she was in Bethlehem, she could have chosen a young man for herself out there in the fields – apparently there was interest. As was clear from the beginning of this story, Ruth had options. But Naomi did not.

And Ruth, in her faithfulness, chose the way that would offer the best chance for Naomi as well as herself. Ruth married Boaz so that Naomi would also be cared for, and so that the line of Naomi and Elimelech would continue.

And just in case the reader doesn’t care all that much about the line of Elimelech and Naomi, we are told that Ruth’s son Obed became the father of Jesse, who became the father of David. King David.

Through the story of Ruth we see the hand of the Lord at work. We see these women crossing from risk to safety and eventually to fullness. And it all happens through Ruth, the Moabite woman.

It all comes down to something called hesed – a word that appears several times in this little story. Hesed is a Hebrew word that is often translated “lovingkindness.”  Most often it is used to describe the abundant goodness of God. But here in this story it is used to describe Ruth.

Ruth showed abundant kindness. She went beyond what anyone expected of her. She did the things that she could do for Naomi because she was the one who could do it.

And Orpah? We never hear of her again. Back in Moab, she made the self-interested choice. It was not necessarily a bad choice – it was the practical thing, the logical thing. But Ruth was different. Ruth did the faithful thing. The hesed thing.

From this little story of Ruth we see a human acting in the image of God. Ruth makes decisions based, not on what is in her interest, but on what is good and right. Ruth looks beyond herself, she sees the needs of another, and she does what she can.

But let us not close the book on Ruth and move on to the next thing. We can benefit from pausing for a while on this one small life. Hundreds of years before Jesus, we see Ruth living according to the teachings of Jesus, going beyond what anyone expected. We see a kindness, a goodness, a generosity that is Christlike.

This is the life we, the church, are called to live. It doesn’t always appeal to us. It doesn’t always seem to make sense to us, seem logical or practical to us. Yet, this kindness, this self-emptying love? This is what will give us fullness.

We have choices in life. Even when we feel like there are no choices, it turns out that there are. Just as Ruth made the choice for hesed, lovingkindness, we have that choice too. In a state that seemed utterly empty, Ruth took the choice that carried Naomi along with her and led them both to fullness. We always have that choice too.

So let us be mindful of this when we seek our fullness. Whatever feels like fullness to you – a big checking account balance, a hefty retirement account, luxurious vacations – whatever it is for you. We will never find fullness there. Seek the way of lovingkindness and you will be full.

Photo: ChurchArt.com 

From Empty to Full, Part 1: When There Is No Way

 

Ruth 1:1-18

Mark 12:38-44

Joan Chittister said life is made up of a series of defining moments. Some of the moments are shared experiences: the great depression, Pearl Harbor, 9/11 – these are a few of the big ones that come to mind. All of us experience them together and, not only do they contribute to the formation of who we are personally, they shape the culture we are all a part of.

But other experiences are personal: an illness you experienced, a conversation you had with someone, a marriage, a job, a child – things that become part of the story of who you are. And that is what it is – a story.

I think one of the defining features of being human is the search for meaning. It is important for our lives to have meaning, and so we look for it in our experiences, we make meaning out of the pieces of our lives. This is what we are doing when we tell our stories.

The book of Ruth in the Old Testament is such a story. It takes pieces from life experience, puts them together in a meaningful way, and tells something true. I don’t know that all the characters in Ruth really existed. I don’t know if the events actually happened just as they are written. What I do know is that the story of Ruth tells deep and meaningful truths about life, truths that connect with our own experiences of loss and hope, despair and fulfillment.

The story begins long, long ago – in the time when the judges ruled, a period of time early in Israel’s history. When the people settled in the land God had led them to, there was no king. There was, instead, a series of individuals anointed to serve as judge over the people on sort of an ad hoc basis. It was a time of erratic, inconsistent governance.

And during this time, there was a famine in the land. Famines, even today, are periods of great migration, because people who have no food need to go in search of food. If they live in places where the systems of government are not functioning well, they are on their own to find a way. It so happened that during this famine, a man of Bethlehem took his wife and two sons and migrated to the land of Moab – a foreign land – because in Bethlehem there was no way for them to make a way.

The man’s name was Elimelech and his wife was Naomi. Their two sons, Mahlon and Chilion married Moabite wives, Orpah and Ruth.

Some of us have been given names that have special meaning, but in the book of Ruth, the names of the characters we have just been introduced to are surprisingly blunt in their meaning. Elimelech literally means “My God is king,” and by this we know Elimelech was a righteous man. Naomi means “pleasant,” so I guess she was pleasant.

But their sons’ names are a bit disturbing. Mahlon means sickly and Chilion means frail. Imagine: I’d like you to meet my son, sickly, and my other son, frail. Obviously, we don’t expect much of them. You might as well name your child He gonna die soon.

And they did – die soon. As did the patriarch, Elimelech. And we are left with three widows.

In ancient Israel a woman whose husband died was not necessarily called a widow. It was only if she had no living sons to care for her. In ancient Israel, to be a widow was to be utterly and completely vulnerable. Naomi, Ruth, and Orpah were widows.

Now on her own, Naomi decided that it was time for her to go back to Bethlehem. She had heard that the famine was over, so she knew it made the most sense for her to make the difficult journey back to her homeland. She told her daughters-in-law what she intended to do, but that she had no expectation that they would come with her. Ruth’s and Orpah’s families were in Moab. The thing that made sense for them was to go back home to their parents’ houses and hopefully be remarried.

Here is where names are important again. The name Orpah actually means “the back of the neck.” And the name Ruth is an allusion to the word friendship.

So, after some initial protestation, Miss Back-of-the-neck turns her back on Naomi. But Friendship stays. Then Pleasant and Friendship make their way to Bethlehem. Only, when they get there Naomi tells the people, “Call me no longer Naomi; call me Mara, for the Lord has dealt bitterly with me.” Mara means bitter.

The story of Ruth is a story of loss, of finding oneself empty. The place where this family began was Bethlehem, which literally means “house of bread.” But the house of bread became empty of bread, and so the family was forced to emigrate. Moab is a place where there is food, but in every other way may feel empty to them. The two sons marry, but they have no children, and then all three of the men die, leaving the women in complete emptiness. Naomi even speaks of the emptiness of her womb, her inability to provide husbands for Orpah and Ruth.

These women were in a state of emptiness because the world they lived in left them this way. Just like the widow in the Gospel of Mark who gives her two small copper coins to the temple treasury. Naomi had nothing. The widow in Mark’s gospel had nothing. But they were not poor because they were lazy, or because they had made bad choices in life. They were poor because the system they lived in was designed to deprive them of any good choices. The system they lived in was designed to keep all the power in some hands and out of the hands of others.

And somehow, this widow Jesus observes was expected to give all she had so the ones in power don’t have to feel the pinch in any way. How does that even happen? Who decides this is a system that makes sense?

You might feel that the story of Ruth and Naomi bears some similarities to your own story. If there is a part of your story where you had nowhere to turn, no one who would help you unless you handed over your dignity; if there is a part of your story when you begged for someone to understand what you needed, but they all just smiled sadly and shook their heads; if there is anything like this in your story, then you know.

And even if you don’t, all you need to do is think about the men, women, and children who come through the doors of H.O.P.E. every Tuesday and Thursday. All those who step up to our kitchen door Tuesdays and Thursdays for a wholesome meal, because they are hungry.

Sometimes I think of that saying, “give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” And it frustrates me that so much of what we do as a church is handing out fish, one fish at a time, one day at a time. And I wish we could, instead, hand people the power to fish for themselves, the freedom to provide for themselves.

But there are so many obstacles all along that way. Sometimes the change that the system needs is bigger than people are willing to risk. A kind of change we can’t imagine.

The system that left Naomi empty felt perfectly normal to them. The system that left the widow in the temple destitute felt righteous and just. And I wonder what we feel is normal, is just, and still leaves people with no way to make a way.

At times like this I feel we are far from the kingdom of God.

I don’t know for sure what it will take to bring us closer to the kingdom of God, closer to the love of neighbor that Jesus teaches. Until then it will be necessary to keep handing out fish, every day. Until then, the Naomis of the world, the ones who don’t have any good options, will continue to struggle in a world that beats hard against them.

But perhaps there is a word of hope coming from Ruth, when she says to Naomi, where you go I will go.

I will go with you.

My prayer for us today is that –

until the day comes that this world looks like the kingdom of God, no matter how long that takes;

until the day when we can stop handing out sandwiches at our kitchen door and we can stop packing up bags of food for little children to take home for the weekend;

until the day when the Ruths and Naomis don’t have to walk that lonely road searching for a way when it feels like there is no way;

my prayer is that, every day until then, we make them the promise Ruth made: I will go with you. I will be there with you.

May it be so.

Photo: ChurchArt.com

Identity - Who We Are in Christ, Part 4: Citizens of Heaven

 

Mark12:28-34  

To what can I compare this scene in Mark 12?

I am remembering the experience I had about 20 years ago of being examined for ordination on the floor of presbytery. It is an experience one goes into with fear and trembling. Picture this.

As you, the examinee, stands in front of the gathering, they proceed to ask their questions:

Where do you stand on eschatology? Would you say you’re a premillennialist? Postmillennialist? Amillenialist?

Are you more a Zwinglian or a Calvinist on the matter of the eucharist? Or, heaven forbid, a Lutheran???

Do your views on God’s sovereignty and human free will conform more to a Reformed or an Arminian theology?

And then one person stands up and says, “Tell us something about God’s love.” This scribe who approaches Jesus in Mark 12 is that person.

This scribe knew the answer to his question before he asked Jesus, and he was appreciative of the answer Jesus gave. Love God and love your neighbor. This, he knew, is what it’s all about. And the truth of the matter is, they all knew that love is the most important thing. It’s just that it’s all too easy to forget the most important things.

As we finished Chapter 10 last week, I said we were right at the critical point in Jesus’ journey, where everything was about to change. They were about to enter Jerusalem, and now they are there.

And he has been assaulted with test questions, trip-you-up-and-haul-you-in-for-further-questioning questions. The authorities want to do their job and they think this is doing their job. But it seems like in their overwhelming concern for getting the details just right, they have lost sight of the “why” and even the “who.”

In the middle of all this, a certain scribe draws near to Jesus, and asks him a question that gets at the essence of everything. Among all God’s commandments, what is really the important thing? They actually have a conversation that really matters, just the two of them, while, presumably, argument continues all around them. Then Jesus leans in close to this scribe and says to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

And for each of us, in our heart of hearts, this is what we want to hear. “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” Because as followers of Jesus, this is what we call home. And we deeply long for it.

The apostle Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, “We are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. He will transform the body of our humiliation, that it may be conformed to the body of his glory.”

For four weeks now we have been talking about our identity - the who of it all, who we are in Christ. Over this time, we have looked at a few qualities of the identity we take on as Christians: we are first of all, forgiven. And as those who are forgiven, we practice forgiveness toward others – the two are inseparable. Secondly, we are friends. Jesus said there is no greater love that to lay down your life for your friends. And when we open ourselves completely to one another, in solidarity and compassion, we are laying down our lives for our friends.

A third quality is this: Jesus calls us to be salt and light for the world; to have a transformational impact on all around us.

In all these things we have the opportunity to radically change the world for good. Simply by living into our identity. And today we come to the why. Because we are citizens of heaven.

If we have been given a glimpse of the realm of God, then we know some of the ways it is different from this world we live in. Rather than vengeance there would be forgiveness. Rather than hatred there would be friendship. Rather than each of us retreating to our caves and turning our backs on the needs of the world, each of us would be salt and light in the world. We know that this is God’s desire for all of us – wholeness, shalom.

And we know that our souls long to be there.

We are all seeking, longing, aching to be not far from the kingdom of God. And so we practice this great commandment of love – to love the Lord with all of our being, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. And so in doing this we draw near to the kingdom of God.

Today we observe All Saints’ Day. We remember those servants of the Lord who have gone before us, particularly those who have died in this past year. It is, at the same time, a day of sadness and a day of thankfulness. Because when we remember these saints, we recognize all the ways they brought more love to the world. We remember how they walked in Christ’s way and practiced living out the greatest commandments.

We are thankful that they served as models of faith for us. These are the ones who taught us how to be faithful disciples, how to practice compassion and mercy and forgiveness. How to be a true friend. Because they lived, the world is not the same as it was before.

But we know, as well, that these saints also had models of faith who came before them, ones who taught them to walk this way in their time. Because this is not something one does alone. We are all a part of the great communion of the saints, the whole family of God, living and dead.

Let us give thanks for the identity that was bestowed on us in our baptism.

Let us give thanks for all the saints who have walked before us, showing us the way.

Let us live our lives always remembering the most important thing. Love. Let your decisions be made according to love of neighbor.

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