Where You Go

Ruth 1:6-22

August 22, 2021 • Mount Pleasant UMC

“Nothing remains of the Lodge. The intensity of the fire even destroyed the foundations. That takes a lot of heat.” So writes Maria Goff in her book Love Lives Here (chapter 1). "The Lodge" she is referring to was their family retreat in an isolated part of Canada, a place they would often open up to people who just needed a place to get away, to recover, to retreat. It caught fire, and though no one was hurt, the Lodge was a total loss. Burned literally to the ground. And, Goff says, as they stood there next to the charred ruins, the question that they all had was simple: what’s next? What do you do when something you love burns to the ground?

Ruth, Naomi and Orpah are in a similar situation in our text this morning. When we meet them, their life has burned to the ground. Not literally, of course, but they are at a crossroads, a point in life where they are all wondering: what’s next? Where do they go from here? The choices they make at this moment will affect everything from here on out. What do you do when your life has burned to the ground?

This morning we’re continuing our journey through the time of the Judges. But wait, I pretend to hear you saying. Ruth is not in the book of Judges, and you’re right. But the story of Ruth takes place during the time of the Judges (we’re told that at the very beginning of the book—1:1), which is part of why her story is included in the Bible right next to Judges. So, because of that historical setting, we’re looking at Ruth’s story as part of the larger story of Israel at the time. She, too, is an “Ordinary Hero,” and one whom I believe has a word or two to say to believers who find themselves in the midst of a time that’s confusing, uncertain or just plain messy. Have you ever been in such a time? Is your world like that right now? Maybe Ruth has something to say to you this morning. Let’s dive in and see.

So, a quick overview for those who may not be familiar with Ruth or who didn’t do the reading this past week (you know who you are). Naomi and her husband Elimelek are from Bethlehem (a town you might have heard of before), but because there was a famine there, they decided to up and move to a neighboring country, a place called Moab. From Bethlehem, you can see Moab across the mountains but there was "no love lost between Israel and Moab. It would be humiliating and dangerous to move there, but [Elimelek] has to feed his family” (Goldingay, Joshua, Judges & Ruth for Everyone, pg. 164). So they move there, and for a while, family life goes pretty well. They have food and, presumably, Elimelek has work—and then, without a lot of warning, Elimelek dies. It’s bad, but not the end of the world because, as the text notes, Naomi still has her two sons to take care of her, and the sons proceed to find Moabite wives and get married. Take note of that: they marry Moabite women. Not Israelites. Moabites. There was a big thing in Israel about not marrying outside their own people, and Naomi’s sons have just broken that law.

The fire that began with Elimelek’s death bursts into a raging inferno when both sons die. Suddenly, seemingly without a lot of warning, there are now three women left without any way to support themselves. In this culture, women did not work. They lost all social status and became completely dependent on the goodwill of others. There was basically only one profession available to women, and these three were not going to go there. Things now are worse than they were when they had no food. It’s even likely they had become homeless with the death of all the men (cf. Bible Background Commentary: Old Testament, pg. 277). Now the world really has burned down for them and all they are left with are smoldering embers.

Sometime later—again, we don’t know how long; the book is really unclear about timing because it’s just not that important to the author—but sometime later, Noami gets word that there is food back in Judah and so she packs up what little she has left in Moab in order to make her way back to Bethlehem. When her two daughters-in-law follow her, there is a decision to make. In ancient Hebrew custom, when a woman married into a family, she left everything about her old family behind—including their gods and religious customs. She would not just take her husband’s name; she would basically transfer her “membership” to the new family. So even when the husbands die, these two women are still part of Naomi’s family. That’s why they stay with her. And then there was this thing called Levirate marriage. That’s where, in the event of a husband’s death, the widow would be expected to marry the man’s brother and then have children in the dead man’s name, thus carrying on his family line. So, yeah, there’s that. That’s the background to the whole discussion Naomi has with Ruth and Orpah. If they’re going to find another husband, and in doing so find financial security, they might as well stay in Moab and take their chances because if they follow Naomi back to Bethlehem, there will be little or no hope of them ever having a family or a home of their own (cf. Huey, “Ruth,” Expository’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 3, pg. 522). Naomi says, “I’m too old to have new sons for you to marry, and even if I did, even if I get pregnant again, are you really going to wait for several years for them to grow up?” Add to that their ethnic heritage—they are Moabites, enemies of Israel—and their prospects aren’t that good in Bethlehem. After a brief protest, Orpah turns around and goes home but Ruth has a different plan in mind (1:11-14).

When everything has burned down around you, what do you do? And where will you go? Ruth is at that point. She has lost her husband, her home, her father-in-law, her security and, at this point, any hope of having any of those things again. The only thing she has to hold on to right now is Naomi and Naomi’s God. Now, before I go too far, let me say that while Orpah is often depicted as giving up or being selfish, in that time and place, she makes the logical decision. She does what any rational human being would do in her situation. Walk away from the fire. Hers is the smart choice; Ruth’s choice is risky (cf. Driesbach, “Ruth,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 3, pg. 518). She’s never been to Bethlehem. She does not know what lies ahead. Worse yet, she’s choosing to live as a foreigner, an immigrant, in a hostile land. Don’t rush ahead in this story; let’s think about what she is doing here, and then listen to how she responds to Naomi. “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me” (1:16-17).

Ruth’s answer to Naomi expresses a depth of commitment that we so rarely see these days, and in those days it would have been even more surprising especially from a Moabite to an Israelite. Ruth’s words here pledge at least three things to Naomi—first, her loyalty. “Where you go I will go,” she says (1:16). I’m going to share your circumstances and your home will be my home. Now, if I was Naomi, my first thought might be, “Great, another mouth to feed and I don't have any food for myself as it is!” But what Ruth is really saying here is that she will be Naomi’s support. This woman has lost everything, including her means of support. In just a few verses she will describe herself as “bitter” (1:20-21). But Ruth is now coming alongside her to help, to do whatever she can to support her. She doesn’t yet know what that looks like, but she’s willing to go and find out. Ruth is loyal to Naomi. When we go through difficult times, we need people who are loyal, who will stand by us, who will help us when we can’t help ourselves. But when we’re standing by the burned-out lodge, it’s too late to cultivate those friendships, those relationships. Who do you count among your support? Who can you call when things are tough? Who do you know will stand by you no matter what? Several years ago, our family went through a very difficult time and, being the introvert that I am, I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide, maybe ride it out if I could. It just so happened it all broke loose around the time of my birthday, and I was feeling anything but celebratory. Yet we had some friends who came, pulled me out of my metaphorical hole, and took us out to eat. We had a great night even in spite of the fire that was raging. I’ll never forget those folks because they unwaveringly stood by us until the fire was over—and they helped us then rebuild. Who will stand with you? Give thanks to God for them.

The second thing Ruth pledges is her faith. She says, “Your people will be my people and your God my God” (1:16). In fact, Ruth’s statement is even stronger in the original language. Literally, she says, “Your people my people; your God my God.” None of this “will be” stuff. “Your God my God.” Right now (cf. Huey 523). This is more amazing than we often think it is because it means Ruth is turning her back completely on all that she has known and on all that she has believed. She is turning her back on her gods and her family in order to fully commit to being part of this new people (the Hebrews) and to worship this, to her, “new” God. In fact, Ruth is committing to worshipping a God that Naomi isn’t even sure she wants anything to do with anymore. Naomi blames God for all of her misfortune, Naomi feels abandoned by God (1:20-21; cf. Goldingay 169). When Naomi has no faith, Ruth believes for her. I’ll believe when you can’t; I’ll hold on when you want to let go.

The founder of the Methodist movement, John Wesley, often writes in his journal about his times of doubt and his struggles with faith. Despite a powerful experience of the Holy Spirit on Aldersgate Street, Wesley often found himself doubting whether or not he actually had faith. One time, he approached a mentor of his, Peter Bohler, and asked if he should give up preaching since he felt he was lacking faith. Bohler told him no and then gave this advice: “Preach faith till you have it; and then, because you have it, you will preach faith.” Along those same lines, Maxie Dunnam (a longtime pastor and seminary president) wrote this: “I’ve never seen a person who prayed her way into Christlikeness. I’ve never seen a person who studied his way into Christlikeness. I’ve never seen a person who worshipped her way into Christlikeness. But I know countless people who have acted their way into Christlikeness….What we set our hearts on, especially in the small moments on the way to somewhere else, determines the direction of our lives” (Dunnam, Christian Leadership, pgs. 25-27). Sometimes we need someone who will help us live into the faith we know, even when we don’t feel it. Ruth pledges her faith to Naomi. Who has done the same for you? Who has helped you believe when it would be easier to walk away?

Thirdly, Ruth pledges even her death to Naomi. “Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried” (1:17). In our culture, where we don’t like to talk about death, this is unsettling for most of us. I had a woman several years ago invite me over one afternoon to plan her funeral. When her daughter learned about this, she asked her mom why she hadn’t talked to her about it, and the mother said, “Well, dear, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.” Most people don’t, though I wish more would—make plans ahead of time and let your family know what you want. But Ruth isn’t really talking about funeral plans here. She’s really making two statements in this pledge. First, the rest of her life will be given to Naomi. She will not leave her. And second, she wants to remain a part of Naomi’s family so she will be buried in the family tomb, as was the custom then (cf. Huey 524). And in this pledge, Ruth becomes a foreshadowing of someone else who promises never to leave us or forsake us. Do you know who that is? It’s not the person sitting next to you or the first person you text every morning. There is one, however, who will always be with us, one from whom not even death itself can separate us. His name is Jesus; you might have heard of him. One of his very last promises to his disciples was this: “I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). The author of the letter to the Hebrews picked up on that, combining it with an Old Testament promise to remind us that God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5). And Paul put it this way in his letter to the Romans: “I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present not the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39). It does not matter how big that fire gets or how intensely it burns in your life—you will never be alone because he will never leave you or forsake you. You are his.

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t hard choices to be made. There is always the temptation, the desire to “go back to the way things were.” I have no doubt that most if not all of us in this room have experienced that over the past eighteen months, right? In the beginning stages of this pandemic, we heard a lot about “getting back to normal.” The change we underwent, in a fairly short time, was hard. As a former superintendent of mine said, “The only people who like change are babies with wet diapers.” We like things to be a certain way, and this pandemic has just thrown all of that out the window. When will life get back to normal? When will church get back to normal? When will everyone be back in worship? When can we put all this behind us and get on with the life we were used to? These are questions I hear and get asked at least weekly. And the answer is: we won’t. There is no going back. This coronavirus is something we are going to have to find a way to live with; it’s loose in the world and does not show any signs of going away. The hard truth is that there are a lot of things that have changed permanently, not just in church but in life. We will never again look at big crowds the same way, will we? It will take some time before we’re comfortable standing close to someone in a line. The question shouldn’t be when can we go back, because like in Ruth’s situation, going back isn’t really an option. The question should be: what can we learn and how can we move forward?

Maria Goff, standing next to the ruins of their Lodge, looked in vain for even one piece of charred wood that might still be intact. If she could have found it, she says, she probably would have tried to use it to begin rebuilding exactly what they had before. To go back. Then she writes this: “We do this all the time in our personal lives, too. We keep scorched pieces from our biggest failures and incorporate them into our lives as we rebuild ourselves. It’s not a good construction practice with wood, and it doesn’t make for a good future…Sometimes [starting over] requires cleaning absolutely everything away from what we had, or who we were. Doing this is both simple and hard…” And it will require every ounce of courage we have. When we read the story on the page, Ruth’s decision sounds like it was easy to make. Simple: just keep walking toward Bethlehem. But to do that she had to turn her back on absolutely everything she knew. She had to start all over again. She had to clear the slate. It could not have been easy. If anything, this past year and a half has given us a chance to do that. Start again. Start fresh. Realign our lives. Decide what stays and what goes. And decide never to go back to “normal.” If anything, I pray that we have learned, as Ruth learned, that in the midst of the fire, in the face of a world that has burned to the ground, we have to trust our uncertain future to an unchanging God.

One of the best parts of this summer was going with our youth to Birmingham, Alabama on the mission trip. While there, we toured the Civil Rights Institute, which is outstanding, and we visited Kelly Ingram Park, where many historic events have happened. We also learned about Martin Luther King Jr.’s involvement in Birmingham’s struggle toward justice. King was one of several people who led the movement in Birmingham, but it almost wasn’t so. In January 1956, as events were heating up in Montgomery and just beginning in Birmingham, King received a phone call from someone who called him racist names and threatened to blow up his home. Naturally, the call unsettled Martin, who began to pace in his home and finally settled in his kitchen for a cup of coffee. He wanted to quit. He felt weak and helpless and would have withdrawn that moment from the whole movement except he didn’t want people to think of him as a coward. He didn’t know what else to do except pray, and so that night at the kitchen table, Martin Luther King Jr. prayed a simple prayer he said he would always remember: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right but I have nothing left.” The voice of Jesus whispered to King that night these words: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.” It was that “vision in the kitchen” that gave King the courage to move ahead into places like Birmingham and to leave a legacy that continues on today (cf. Gilbreath, Birmingham Revolution, pgs. 51-52). In the kitchen, in the midst of fear and at a turning point, Pastor Martin Luther King Jr. had to learn to trust that God would be with him whatever might come. He never could have taken those steps had he not committed his uncertain future to an unchanging God.

So will you trust him? Some of you know that I can’t swim. I get the mechanics of it but I can’t seem to get it all to work together. My biggest problem with swimming, though, is trust. I don’t trust that the water will hold me. I see other people do it, I watch Olympians speed through the water without drowning. My head gets it. But my heart can’t trust. I can’t do the main thing they tell you to do in order to be able to swim: just lay back and trust the water. A lot of people are like that with God. Our head knows we should trust him. Our head knows we should believe in his mercy, grace and goodness. We might even come here and sing about it on Sunday mornings or at other times. But our heart—well, that’s a different story. It’s hard to trust that he will hold us and protect us when the fire gets too intense. But he will. I’ve experienced it, and so have a lot of other people in this room this morning. He will. Lean back into his arms and trust your uncertain future to our unchanging God. And when you do that, the things that matter will stand.

If you’re standing in front of a fire, if it seems like your world has burned down, I want you to know that God will use “even this.” After all Ruth went through, her story in the end is an amazing one. I hope you read it this week, but in case you didn’t, here’s the quick version: Ruth goes to work in the field of Boaz, who is a local farmer and, it turns out, a distant relative. There, she is treated well and is able to pick up the grain that the harvesters drop or miss. In fact, Boaz even tells them to drop some on purpose for her. Through a series of circumstances we don’t have time to get into this morning, Ruth eventually marries Boaz and they have children. One of those kids is named Obed, and Obed has a son whose name is Jesse. Then Jesse has a son—actually Jesse has a whole lot of sons, but one of them, the runt of the litter, is named David. Yes, that David. King David. The greatest king Israel ever knew. And because of that, this Moabite woman, this foreigner, this woman who thought her world was all burned up, becomes part of the lineage of Jesus, the Savior of the world. Yes, indeed, God can use “even this.” And he can use your “even this” when you give your fire over to him and trust your uncertain future to an unchanging God. Let’s pray.