I've Heard About You

I’ve Heard About You

Ruth 2:8-10

Ruth was a foreigner—a Moabite woman.  From the start, we pointed out just how extraordinary it is that there is a whole book in the Bible about a foreign woman who is presented as the model of lived faith.  Before we meet Ruth, we meet her future in-laws, a husband (Elimelech), a wife (Naomi) and their two sons.  This family goes through wave after wave of terrible challenges:  they have to flee Israel because of a famine; they have to build a new life in Moab; Elimelech dies suddenly and they have to grieve him and rebuild their lives again.  Eventually, both sons marry Moabite women and life seems to stabilize.  For ten years, life is pretty good.  Then, in a flash, both of the sons die. 

We’re left with three women, Naomi and her two daughters-in-law—Orpah and Ruth.  No one would have been more vulnerable in the ancient world that three widowed women.  Naomi, as an elderly widow would have been the most vulnerable of the three.  The other two women were young.  At least, they might remarry, which was the only way that a good life could be secured.  Naomi, seemingly, was destined to be on her own.

Eventually, Naomi finally hears some actual good news:  the famine is over in Israel.  She decides to go home.  After all, by law, in Israel, there were family members who would be expected to help her in some minimal way.  She tells Orpah and Ruth her plan and starts walking to Israel.  Initially, they both leave with her.  However, Naomi makes it clear to them that they should stay.  They’re young, beautiful women.  They have been loving daughters to her but they deserve to have a life.  Naomi does the right thing:  “Stay…Go find another husband.  Go have a good life.”  The last thing in the world that would be in Naomi’s interest is to be even more alone, but she’s not acting in her own interests. She’s acting out of love.

Orpah hears Ruth’s words, does the math, and realizes that Naomi is making a lot of sense.  Orpah does what is in her own interest.  She gives Naomi a big hug, tells her how much she loves her, and turns and walks away.  Here’s the truth:  no one in the ancient world would have faulted Orpah for this. She had been a great daughter-in-law.  Orpah’s not the problem.  Fate is.  Her husband died.  She needs a new husband.

So, Ruth and Naomi are left on the road.  Naomi pleads with Ruth:  “You’ve got to take care of yourself!  You’ve got to go!” Instead, Ruth hugs Naomi and refuses to let go.  Ruth says,“Don’t force me to leave you; don’t make me go home. Where you go, I go; and where you live, I’ll live. Your people are my people, your God is my god; where you die, I’ll die, and that’s where I’ll be buried, so help me God—not even death itself is going to come between us!”

“Where you go, I go.” There are moments in life when we catch glimpses of someone being fundamentally loyal and committed.  It’s the moment with a relatively new friend when some challenge arises and there’s every reason in the world for them to do what is in their best interests…but they don’t.  Instead, they sacrifice their own interests because, shockingly, the connection that you share matters more than some short term gain.  It’s the experience on a scorchingly hot work trip when everyone just keeps working because  sweating and being uncomfortable doesn’t matter nearly as much as getting the job done.  It’s the experience of watching someone genuinely suffer relentlessly caring for someone they love who is in pain.  They’re not going anywhere.  When human beings who are tuned to self-interest make the commitment to be self-sacrificing—to defer their needs because someone else’s needs matter more—that’s a game changer.

Ruth and Naomi, I like to think, make a little sign that says, “Israel or bust,” tape it to the back of the bag they are carrying and head to Naomi’s home—Bethlehem, for those of you who keep track of such things.  (I’m pretty sure that we’ll be hearing about Bethlehem in a few weeks…) At this point, we have to pause, though, and realize the immediate costs for Ruth. 

First, she has to walk at Naomi’s pace.  We’ve all walked with an older person we love.   We’re happy to be with them but, “Grandma…can we pick up the pace here?” (Some of us are now the older, plodding person!) Ruth’s every step had to be a living reminder that the only thing that mattered from now on was staying connected to Naomi. She had to be monitoring Naomi’s balance.  She had to be ready to catch her should she fall.  Being a caregiver is a 24/7, exhausting challenge.  You don’t get days off.

Also, just because you’re doing the right thing, that doesn’t mean that you’re going to be provided with the necessities.  You’re gong to get thirsty along the way.  Where’s that water going to come from? Here’s the problem, though. As soon as they leave Moab, Ruth doesn’t know the rules. Can a woman go on her own and draw water from a well in Judah?  What are the rules for finding them food?  How dangerous is it to be two women traveling on the road together?  There are so many unknowns. There are real risks and dangers, even when you’re doing the right thing, even when you’re living your faith.  

Ruth is a stranger in a strange land.  If you’ve read your Bible, this puts her in good company.  It’s Joseph and his brothers fleeing to Egypt.  It’s our ancestors in faith fleeing into the wilderness.  It’s Jeremiah and the people being dragged off into exile.  It’s Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, fleeing Egypt because as long as Herod is alive, Israel is not a safe place, even for the Son of God to be.  So many people in our present world are refugees, too:  folks fleeing persecution and violence; people looking for food and a life.  The Bible reminds us that the strangers in a strange land are often some of the most faithful people around.  Still the world—the ancient world and our world, today— can be incredibly cruel to these incredibly vulnerable people.

Interestingly, this is not the case for Ruth and Naomi.  Having endured one terrible thing after another, as my father used to say, “The worm turns.”  They actually begin to have a little good fortune.  As our text unfolds, Ruth and Naomi are starving and desperate.  Ruth suggests that Naomi stay put while she tries to follow behind the local women in the fields.  What Naomi wants to do is called gleaning.  As a matter of law, farmers were required to leave 10 percent of their fields unpicked.  Poor women would be allowed to come and pick that leftover grain.  As a practical matter, those vulnerable women, if they didn’t stay together, would be “picked” themselves by abusive men.  Still, the chance to eat was worth the risk.  What Ruth intends to do, though, is to follow these poor women and find some bit of grain that they’ve missed.  Effectively, she’s assuming the position as the lowest of the low, even more humble then the already humbled if not humiliated women.  It would be wrong to put her needs ahead of those other women.  Instead, once again, Ruth does the right thing.

The big break—the good fortune—is that the field that she chooses for gleaning happens to be a field owned by Boaz, a member of Naomi’s dead husband, Elimelech’s, family.  Did Naomi realize this and keep that fact to herself?  Was this a field that Boaz had acquired in the time that Naomi had been away?  We don’t know.  All we know is that she’s working the field of a good and gracious man, Boaz, who is also known for doing the right thing.

Let’s pause and make our connection here.  Have you ever been doing the right thing and been prepared for the worst but, instead, someone responded with some small act of kindness that changed everything?  The other day, I went to visit someone in the hospital downtown.  It was a meaningful, tough visit.  I walked out of the hospital and tried to find a cab to get back to the train station.  There were no cabs anywhere and I’m really not Uber savvy.  I decided I would walk for a while.  As I walked, I realized that I didn’t really know the way and, more importantly, I really didn’t know how risky the area was.  Right about then, I saw a cab and waved to him.  He waved and pointed to his back seat where a passenger was sitting.  He gave me the, “sorry” gesture.  I walked on.  Then, a few minutes later, out of nowhere, that cab reappeared.  He came back to find me.  What Chicago cab driver does that?  At the train station, I told him that his kindness mattered.  Then, I gave him a rather extravagant tip.  He said that my appreciation made his day.

Boaz is the right person at the right time for Ruth to meet.  She’s just trying to do the right thing.  Boaz recognizes this.  He sees her.  Just ask someone who is a stranger in a strange land how invisible they feel!  No one sees them as anything other than a person they want to avoid.  Boaz calls Ruth “his daughter.”  He tells Ruth to stick close to the other women.  He puts out the word that no one should bother her. He tells Ruth that whenever she gets thirsty, she should help herself to water. Boaz cares.

Ruth asks the question that all of us who have ever been surprised by someone’s grace end up asking:  “Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?”  “Why do I matter to you?  Why do you see me as a person when so many other people don’t even seem to see me at all?  What’s up with your kindness?” It’s not that he says to her, “Ruth, you have a seat here in the house and I’ll go bag up some grain for you.”  It’s not that he has a “grand slam” solution for all of her challenges.  It’s really rather simple:  he cares and he translates that care into action by accounting for Ruth’s needs.  He does the right thing.

“Why do I matter to you?” Boaz’ answer is pretty direct.  He says to Ruth that he has heard about how kind she has been to her mother-in-law:  “I’ve been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband—how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know. May the Lord repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.” Ruth, I know the kind of person who you are.

Hear the force of Boaz’s words.  I don’t care that you’re a woman or a foreigner.  I care that you are someone who has been working hard to do the right thing.  I care that you have made real sacrifices that have cost you on behalf of Naomi.  You didn’t have to do that.  You didn’t have to be here.  You chose to do the right thing.  I think God should bless you for doing that.  Maybe those blessings start with me doing what I can do for you today.

It’s not that this is what always happens—that someone who is just trying to do the right thing runs into someone who offers them a little concrete encouragement and support.  Sometimes, you can do the right thing for a long time before anyone sees you at all.  Still, though, it matters so much when someone does care.  It’s like a good hearty meal hitting an empty stomach.  It’s like a cool drink of water after we’ve been in the desert.  It’s like manna straight from heaven.  “I’ve heard about you.  What I’ve heard makes me want to help you.” For that to happen, though, we have to be doing the right thing and we have to be watching for the folks who are quietly trying to do the same.